#I might add onto this more at some point

[galakianexplosion]

Okay so; another little one punch man ramble. {SPOILERS! :D}

This is for the non revised lastest chapters in specific, and the monster association arc.

The parallels between Saitama and Flash,

Originaly from a conversation with my friend @kachikirby , it might be extremly obvious to everyone but id like to speak about it anyways! :D

To elaborate a tiny bit more on this and mostly rephrase ; So both have their own foe to defeat; Saitama with Garou and Flash with Emtpy void (motivated to fight god himself).

Both of their enemies is possessed by said god. And both wanted something out of the other party. Garou wanted to fight Saitama at his best and Empty Void deemed Flash worthy enough to be gifted the same "possession". So to throw both off they needed to get a reaction, something that'd break something inside of them.

Both don't have all that much to look to, even if we know less about Flash, i think it's safe to assume he's lonely and focuses on his strenght. Saitama is simillar, a man so bored with his own strenght.

But, both have someone, now you might add that Garou also managed to kill all other heroes (and more) present near him which certainly did not help Saitama feel better, which i will agree with! But the main factor for the whole state he gets into after stays Genos. (It's also heavily heavily implied/basicaly said that Saitama relies Genos for support and all of that) Saitama recieves Genos' core- his heart.

Now Flash on the other hand, despite his messy fall out with Sonic, said Sonic is really the only one he has. They both were each other's only source of "happiness" during the times when they were in the ninja training thing. They both relied on each other and had a whole dream with each other. They both have a very strong history despite their falling out. And even after that they do still care for one another. So, even with what Flash says to Blast about being soft in the revised version, he too, has a weakness in the form of someone else. Flash receives Sonic's head as his dismembered remains falls in the back. His head is even cut in half. In the middle, horizontaly.

Now, hear me out, im pretty sure there's a connection between God and the brain (as well as psychic powers and the moon but anyways,) and Sonic's head was cut in a way that kept said brain intact. I don't have much on this part right now but i do believe theres a link between all of those things---

Also could it be said that there was Heart and Mind (Reason and feelings) parallels

SO

Sonic's dead was false. It's a projection made from Empty Void to Flash, an illusion to break his spirit. WHICH SUCCEEDED. And broke Flash for long enough to able Empty Void to get the cube to touch him.

Meanwhile, Genos' death was fully real. He was really dead when Saitama fought with Garou.

But all turned out alright for the four of them. Flash got saved by Sonic, who was fully alive and well. And Saitama turned back time which allowed Genos to be alive again (and all the other heroes but you know)

So; both also had similar expressions at simmilar time. Faces shadowed out except for eyes. (Saitama's eyes don't appear on most of the pannels however) But both were clearly in a form of distress over someone they care about dying. They're both well aquainted with Death. They're heroes who kill monsters. And Flash also is an assassin.

It can also be said that they would not really have made it out on their own in some ways. Genos' core being there managed, in some ways, to keep Saitama's brain mostly in check (if you get what i mean). Saitama could probably have been way more dangerous otherwise. And Sonic managed to snap Flash out of the possession before God took a hold of him.

Because in the end, God is a convincing little meanie. Taking the form of someone you trust. (Except in psychos case where she fused with someone already gifted by god i believe) (and that homeless emporor who i believe saw a version of god because he perhaps didn't have anyone close to him.) So Flash did see Sonic, like if all his life and troubles were just a bad dream, he was in front of his childhood friend, in a vast field, being reassured by the other he just saw being cut apart seconds earlier.

And both Flash and Saitama know each other. And both lived trough their first encounter with God next to each other (along Manako)

All of this to say that both their parallels are very dear to me. I wonder what we'll see of it in the revised version!

[deoidesign]

A general cane guide for writers and artists (from a cane user, writer, and artist!)

Disclaimer: Though I have been using a cane for 6 years, I am not a doctor, nor am I by any means an expert. This guide is true to my experience, but there are as many ways to use a cane as there are cane users!

This guide will not include: White canes for blindness, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs as I have no personal experience with these.

This is meant to be a general guide to get you started and avoid some common mishaps/misconceptions in your writing, but you absolutely should continue to do your own research outside of this guide!

This is NOT a medical resource!!! And never tell a real person you think they're using a cane wrong!

The biggest recurring problem I've seen is using the cane on the wrong side. The cane goes on the opposite side of the pain! If your character has even-sided pain or needs it for balance/weakness, then use the cane in the non-dominant hand to keep the dominant hand free. Some cane users also switch sides to give their arm a rest!

A cane takes about 20% of your weight off the opposite leg. It should fit within your natural gait and become something of an extension of your body. If you need more weight off than 20%, then crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair is needed.

Putting more pressure on the cane, using it on the wrong side, or having it at the wrong height can make it less effective, and can cause long term damage to your body from improper pressure and posture. (Hugh Laurie genuinely hurt his body from years of using a cane wrong on House!)

(some people elect to use a cane wrong for their personal situation despite this, everyone is different!)

(an animated GIF of a cane matching the natural walking gait. It turns red when pressure is placed on it.)

When going up and down stairs, there is an ideal standard: You want to use the handrail and the cane at the same time, or prioritize the handrail if it's only on one side. When going up stairs you lead with your good leg and follow with the cane and hurt leg together. When going down stairs you lead with the cane and the bad leg and follow with the good leg!

Realistically though, many people don't move out of the way for cane users to access the railing, many stairs don't have railings, and many are wet, rusty, or generally not ideal to grip.

In these cases, if you have a friend nearby, holding on to them is a good idea. Or, take it one step at a time carefully if you're alone.

Now we come to a very common mistake I see... Using fashion canes for medical use!

(These are 4 broad shapes, but there is INCREDIBLE variation in cane handles. Research heavily what will be best for your character's specific needs!)

The handle is the contact point for all the weight you're putting on your cane, and that pressure is being put onto your hand, wrist, and shoulder. So the shape is very important for long term use!

Knob handles (and very decorative handles) are not used for medical use for this reason. It adds extra stress to the body and can damage your hand to put constant pressure onto these painful shapes.

The weight of a cane is also incredibly important, as a heavier cane will cause wear on your body much faster. When you're using it all day, it gets heavy fast! If your character struggles with weakness, then they won't want a heavy cane if they can help it!

This is also part of why sword canes aren't usually very viable for medical use (along with them usually being knob handles) is that swords are extra weight!

However, a small knife or perhaps a retractable blade hidden within the base might be viable even for weak characters.

Bases have a lot of variability as well, and the modern standard is generally adjustable bases. Adjustable canes are very handy if your character regularly changes shoe height, for instance (gotta keep the height at your hip!)

Canes help on most terrain with their standard base and structure. But for some terrain, you might want a different base, or to forego the cane entirely! This article covers it pretty well.

Many cane users decorate their canes! Stickers are incredibly common, and painting canes is relatively common as well! You'll also see people replacing the standard wrist strap with a personalized one, or even adding a small charm to the ring the strap connects to. (nothing too large, or it gets annoying as the cane is swinging around everywhere)

(my canes, for reference)

If your character uses a cane full time, then they might also have multiple canes that look different aesthetically to match their outfits!

When it comes to practical things outside of the cane, you reasonably only have one hand available while it's being used. Many people will hook their cane onto their arm or let it dangle on the strap (if they have one) while using their cane arm, but it's often significantly less convenient than 2 hands. But, if you need 2 hands, then it's either setting the cane down or letting it hang!

For this reason, optimizing one handed use is ideal! Keeping bags/items on the side of your free hand helps keep your items accessible.

When sitting, the cane either leans against a wall or table, goes under the chair, or hooks onto the back of the chair. (It often falls when hanging off of a chair, in my experience)

When getting up, the user will either use their cane to help them balance/support as they stand, or get up and then grab their cane. This depends on what it's being used for (balance vs pain when walking, for instance!)

That's everything I can think of for now. Thank you for reading my long-but-absolutely-not-comprehensive list of things to keep in mind when writing or drawing a cane user!

Happy disability pride month! Go forth and make more characters use canes!!!

[thatsveryvortex]

Writing Tools for Planning Your Story

I've tried tons of writing apps and sites, so you don't have to. Here's a list of free sites to plot out your novel, with my review and some images of how I use it.

Milanote

Milanote is like having a giant pinboard with folders. You can upload anything onto it [yes even your main doc] and then draw over it or connect things with lines and arrows

Milanote lets you add up to a hundred things for free, not including drawing. This is one of the downsides of the site as I've found myself reaching that limit recently.

For me, the best part is being able to draw over stuff, and the color swatches.

Milanote is a lot less structured than other sites I've used, and personally, I don't think their templates are worth using.

8/10 overall, Milanote is what I mainly use. Here are some pics of how I use it:

Miro

Miro is a flowchart website mainly used for corporate jobs, however, it can be a great plotting tool for that reason

Miro has a lot of great starter templates if you are looking for a more structured freeform experience. It also comes with a blank page as well.

Unfortunately, I'd argue that it's a bit of a hard tool for beginners to use without a template, I've learned copy-paste is my best friend with Miro the hard way.

It's much better than most platforms at making timelines though.

It has a limit of three boards which is a bit disappointing but overall, I think it's worth the try.

5/10 Miro is very middle of the road for me due to the limited ability to customize things and the free limit. Here are some pics:

[I wrote that part weeks ago, I am now fully using Miro and believe it's the best for making timelines and charts, I just wish it let me make more boards 8/10]

Hiveword

This might be someone's jam, I can't really say it's mine though.

First off, the unpaid version is really just a few boxes saying "Write a summary here." which makes it just not worth it in my opinion

There really isn't any way to customise things which is my favorite part of most of these softwares

I've barely used this, so maybe there's something I'm missing but

1/10, Just use Google Docs at this point, here's a couple pics

World Anvil

People like this software, it's mainly used for tabletop, which is just a different way of writing adventure, and I've seen it recommended by authors.

Unfortunately, I'm going to disagree with a lot of people and say it's hard to use and isn't even really good at plotting.

I may be biased on this one as every time I've tried to use it in the past I've struggled. However, it seems like another just write it in a document and create a folder.

I'd say it's closer to an organizing tool, but even then just use something else.

3/10, I have nothing to say about it but maybe you'll enjoy it, all here are two photos

Campfire

This is the one I think I've heard the most about, but have never actually tried.

right off the bat, I'm going to say this is 100% worth it, you'll see at the end with the photos but this is like if Miro and World Anvil had an organization baby.

It's extremely easy to understand, and it makes timelines, it's more for writing your whole book but idk about that yet.

7/10, its themes are really pretty but it limits how much you can do to 20 I believe. Here are the photos

That's all for now, honestly, I think you should use Miro if you are looking to plot things out, and Milanote if you want to collect and organize your thoughts for writing, as that's what I do. Obviously what I like won't be for everyone, but hopefully, this helped you see some options

[lalunanymph]

𝟏𝟏:𝟒𝟗𝐏𝐌 ─── your husband notices everything about you—even the things you don't notice about yourself

˚୨୧⋆ sylus x wife!reader

˚୨୧⋆ warnings: wife!reader, reader has just given birth a few months ago, jealous sylus!!, pregnancy, implied mentions of a fight, injuries, mentions of b/lood, explicit s/mut, implication of o/ral, teasing, petnames (wife, darling, doll, sweetie), daddy k/ink, breeding, shamelessly self-indulgent AND very selfship-coded :')

Nothing ever escapes Sylus’ attention. 

Other than cunning resourcefulness being his trademark which many associate with ravens—his favorite bird—another marker of your husband’s personality is that like a hawk, he’s acutely aware of everything.

Tonight’s date night after you’ve given birth to the twins didn’t go exactly as planned.

While Sylus was in a convenience store, buying the both of you drinks to whet off the balminess of the summer evening, you were approached by an obviously drunk man who asked if you were here alone.

After countless times of trying (and failing) to convince him that your husband wouldn’t be too happy about his unwanted advances, the man in question whose ring is around your finger appears, tall and imposing.

Safe to say, the night ended with one bloody nose, and a pair of split knuckles, the latter being the ones you were currently patching up. 

Your husband is reclining back against the plush pillows, black dress shirt unbuttoned slightly and showing off the deep divot of his pecs. His face is a mixture of emotions—anger, frustration, possessiveness, a hint of concern. All coalescing into one tense ball he keeps close to his chest as the adrenaline from the encounter with that sleazebag still hums through his veins. 

You stow your phone back into your purse, sighing.

“I've texted Sara to keep the twins for the night. I think we're both too angry and might say or do something rash.” 

His expression softens and he lets out a sigh, the anger and tension slowly starting to ebb away as he gazes at you.

“... that’s good. I wouldn’t want them to see me in this state.” 

You sigh again, picking up his bandaged hands.

“Y’know, I did tell him my husband was a big, scary man, but he still persisted in demanding a date,” you bring your husband’s knuckles to your lips, kissing the contused flesh softly. 

Sylus grunts, rolling his eyes, though his expression softens at your sweet gesture. “Some people just don’t know when to take a hint… so, I had to make a point.”

You scoff, clutching his hands tighter. “Yes. By socking him in the face. Very classy.”

Instead of appearing reticent like a sane person would, Sylus chuckles. “Didn’t see you complaining when you were cooing all over me, patching up like a good, little wife.”

His words make a flash of heat run through you, and you shoot him an exasperated glare. “Well, at least you looked sexy doing it. Punching that asshole in the face. Consider that compensation for tonight’s turn of events," politely, you add, “Thank you for defending my honor, darling.”

He lets out a low chuckle, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. Crimson eyes darken with a mixture of desire and affection, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. 

“No need to thank me, sweetie. It’s always a pleasure of mine to defend your honor. No one gets to disrespect you without facing repercussions.” 

You squirm in his lap, hitching a breath when you feel his hands play with the straps of your dress. Slowly, he drags them down, touch hot and insistent as the pads of his fingers graze your bare shoulder.

“Really, Sylus?” You try to look vexed, but the breathlessness his touch incites only fuels him to misbehave further. “Defending me has seriously gotten you all hot and bothered?” 

Your husband grins at your teasing tone, a wicked gleam in his eye as he continues to push the straps of your dress down further, baring more of your skin to his heated stare. His hands continue to explore, tracing over your exposed skin. 

“Hmm. I suppose seeing you in danger… really ignited something in me. Hearing someone insult you and disrespect what’s mine… makes me want to claim you all over again.”

Warmth fills your cheeks, and you fail to fight back a shiver. “T-that doesn’t make any sense.” 

Sylus’ fingers are now trailing your collarbone, tracing the marks he left there from the night before.

“It doesn’t need to make sense, doll. It’s something primal. Seeing you in danger like that… and the look on your face when I punched that idiot senseless… It's titillating. I just want to claim my wife, remind you and everyone else that you belong to me, body and soul and future baby.” 

Heat licks down your spine, and you shudder at his words. 

“F-future baby?” 

Sylus’ hands snake to your bare back, caressing the expanse of skin with soft, ticklish circles. Without warning, he leans in, lips hovering close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Yes, doll. Future baby. I'm going to fill you with my seed. Breed you over and over until I'm sure you're pregnant. And in a few weeks, we'll have a mini-us growing in your belly, a physical reminder of my claim on you."

His words are soft and sound almost sweet, but the filthiness in them makes you gasp, involuntarily arching your body into his. 

“Sylus…”

The idea of him claiming you again so boldly after defending you from danger turns you on like nothing in this world can. You know you have much to discuss with him about having another baby, considering you had just given birth to Sabrina and Protus a few months ago. But, in this instance, desire overtakes logic and all you want is to feel your husband deep inside you again. 

His lips are cool when they touch your jugular, trailing down the column of your neck until they reach your heaving chest. 

“Sy…” you whisper, eyes fluttering close. “Stop… teasing me.” 

You want this, he realizes with a jolt. You want this as much as he does. 

He lets out a low chuckle, hands continuing to caress every inch of your skin. 

“Oh, my pretty little doll. It’s not teasing anymore. It’s a promise.” His lips touch your ear, the heat of his breath and words snapping the last of your resolve. “And you know I never break my promises, doll.” 

A whimper slips from your parted mouth. The heat in this room is too much to bear, pressing down on you with the weight of an ocean closing in.

You can barely breathe when you exhale, “Breed me. Please… breed me.” 

Your bastard of a husband grins at your desperate plea, his hands gripping your hips tighter. It’s the predatory confidence of a man who knows he has you completely at his mercy, begging for him to claim you completely. 

“Say it again,” his fingers dance to the hair at the nape of your neck, sinking his fingers into your soft locks and using it to snap your face up to meet his darkened gaze. “Tell me you want me to breed you. Tell me you want to only belong to me.” 

The bite of pain pulls a wanton moan from your trembling lips, and you lose all bearings and composure, giving in to the desire which always leaves you wanting more of him on your knees.

“Oh god... please... breed me, Daddy. Make me yours. P-put a baby inside of me and make me a mama again…” 

Sylus’ eyes darken at your plea, the possessive need flaring in his chest. Those blood-red eyes burn with the desire of keeping and making his promise come true.

“Lay back, sweetie. Go on—there’s a good girl.” His bigger body hovers over you, pressing you into the bed. “Good girl. You're such a good girl, doll. Asking Daddy to breed you, begging to be filled with my seed, to carry my baby. You're mine. Mine to breed, mine to claim. Mine to make you a mommy again."

His words whip through you like an electric shock. You gasp, eyes fluttering and body arching further into his touch. 

“Please… yes…” 

As much as his self-control is reaching its breaking point, he needs to hear the words coming straight from your mouth; his grip on your hips tighten, eyes darkening with possessiveness. 

"You want this, doll? You want Daddy to fill you up—make sure you're pregnant with my baby?"

Your nod is equal parts desperation and desire. You lick your lips, nodding.

“Yes,” your whisper is like a bullet tearing through his chest, leaving it hot and stinging with pure need. “Yes, I want it so badly.”

Sylus groans, your words igniting the unquenchable thirst inside of him to make you his, his, his. 

Tearing the flimsy dress off your frame, he digs his fingers into your hips, mouth leaving a burning trail of kisses and bites across your neck, your jaw, your chest. 

Your hands grapple at his clothing, pulling off his expensive, tailor-made button-down and slacks, reaching into the heart of him to expose him fully to your lustful gaze. 

He sucks and licks on your nipples until they become all puffy and swollen just for him, and the second you tell him you can’t take it anymore, Sylus stakes his claim by sinking inside of you—inch by delicious inch.

Your pretty, milky pink nails stab into his shoulders, dragging down red lines across the pale expanse of his back. Your heels dig into his hips, and the way you’re desperately clinging onto him, makes him wonder if you want to fuse your body as one with his. 

“Sy… Sylus…” 

Fuck. He digs his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, strong hips snapping forward, giving you one powerful thrust after another. Your walls suck him so perfectly, like you were made for him. 

He fills you up over and over again, until every load becomes more painful. But, you can't get enough. You keen, beg, and cry for more, milking his promise to make you a mama again for what it’s worth.

Hours seem to pass, ravaging passages of time that are marked by more cum filling you; his shuddering, animalistic groans for you take it darling, take it all, take all of me like music to your ears.

Sylus collapses on top of you, breathing hard and red in the face. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his hand coming to rest gently on your stomach, caressing the soft skin with shaky fingers.

“Mhm… you’ll be the death of me one day, you know that, sweetie?” 

Giggling, you use what remains of your strength to twine your arms around his shoulders. The both of you stay like this for a while, slowly coming down from the high.

Briefly, your hand grazes your belly, and you wonder idly if what he promises has come true—if his seed has already taken.

Sylus, ever keen and observing, chuckles. It’s like he knows exactly what you're thinking. Planting a gentle kiss on top of your head, his voice is low and tender.

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, sweetie. I have a feeling you're already pregnant with my baby."

Your eyes widen, and you give him a shock look. 

Stammering, you say, “How do you know?” 

But, you should know this is Sylus you’re talking about. Mastermind of the N109 Zone. The leader of the most notorious organization alive. 

He’s always two steps ahead of you, seeing what you can’t see, anticipating what you can’t expect. 

Your husband’s palm drifts down to join yours on your stomach, his hand gently resting on yours.

“Call it a lucky guess… or, intuition. A few little signs here and there. Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight until you confirm it."

His words make your head spin, and you give him a look of reproachful intrigue.

“A… few signs here and there? What are you talking about?” 

Sylus nods, his touch reverent and tender. 

Without caring for your astonishment, he lays down his observations like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Your scent has been different, sweeter, a little intoxicating. Your body is more sensitive, more responsive to my touch. And there's a glow about you, a soft flush on your cheeks, a sparkle in your eyes. It's subtle, but I notice when it comes to you, doll.” 

You gape at him, and without thinking, tighten your grip on your belly.

As if he has a sensor on you, Sylus immediately notices the subconscious gesture.

“Mhm... You've been doing that a lot lately, doll. Touching your belly, caressing your stomach, as if you're already feeling the baby growing inside you. It's adorable, but it's also a bit of a giveaway.”

His tone turns teasing and you flush, flustered beyond measure.

“Wh-what are you? Some kind of werewolf?” You hiss, “How're you so attentive?!”

Your husband chuckles again, amusing himself by brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gently tracing your jawline.

“It's not a matter of being a werewolf. It's just a matter of paying attention to the woman I love.” His grin turns soft, becoming tender at the edges. “I notice everything about you, doll. Every little detail, every change in your body, every little thing. I can't help it. I can't stop watching you. And you just happen to have a few tell-tale signs right now that are screaming 'pregnant'.”

Pouting, you glare at him churlishly, deciding to challenge him. But, underneath the pomp and bravado is an innate curiosity to see how far your husband’s perception can go.  

“Tell me more then, since I myself don't seem to notice anything.”  

Sylus grins at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, and decides to indulge you. 

“Hmm, you really want to know? Well, here's another one... Your taste has changed, darling. A little sweeter, a little richer. Something I can't seem to get enough of, but it also seems to have gotten stronger lately.” 

You blanch, warmth flushing your cheeks.

“You mean... whenever you eat me out... you noticed my taste? That's...” 

Your speechlessness amuses him, and he chuckles, voice growing deeper, laced with hunger and heat.

“I notice everything about you, remember? Even the smallest changes in your body,” he drawls, glancing at the spot between your thighs. “Especially when it comes to the places I spend the most time on, tasting and exploring... Every. Single. Time.”

He punctuates his words with soft kisses to your neck, flustering you even more.

All you can mutter is a cute, little, “Hmph,” scowling and fanning your cheeks. 

Sylus adores your reaction to his words, and leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, teasing your skin.

“Mhm... why are you scowling at me? Are you embarrassed? Are you... thinking about all the times I've tasted and explored you, doll? I can practically see the memories playing in your head… it's delicious.”

You squeak, slapping a palm to his mouth, feeling like your face is hot enough to explode.

“Sylus!” 

He laughs, though the sound is muffled against your palm. His hand drifts down to your belly again, the gleam in his eyes possessive this time. 

The white-haired devil pries your hand from his mouth, kissing your wrist and placing it back down onto the bed. “Oh, doll. You're just too cute when you're flustered. And it's even cuter when you try to shut me up. It just makes me want to tease you more, Y/N.” 

Emboldened and somewhat foolish, you plaster on your faux confidence, egging him on. 

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think you’re dead wrong.” 

Sylus snorts, finding your foolish certainty endearing. 

“Are you doubting my observation skills? Are you saying I haven't noticed a thing? That I'm not paying attention to the little changes in your body… that I haven't noticed how you're reacting?”

You smirk, nodding. 

“Mhm hmm. I know my body better than you, Sy. You may be my husband, but I’ve been living in this meat suit for years. And I’ll know when I’m pregnant. Besides—” you giggle, enjoying the look of faint amusement spreading across his features. “—I bet you a hundred dollars that if I take a test right now, it’ll come back negative.” 

Sylus cocks a brow, eyes glistening with the challenge. 

You continue, oblivious to his smirk. “My period is due in a week, and I don’t have morning sickness, nor do I have any cravings. Besides, weren’t you the one who said we have to plan our family smarter? Why do you want to be right so badly?” 

Your husband chuckles, enjoying your bold confidence. His grip on your hip tightens, and he kneads the flesh, shrugging. 

“You’re so endlessly fascinating, doll. Yes, I do think we should space out conception times, but I never did say I wouldn't want more babies. Especially when they are living proof of our commitment and love for each other.”

Oh. You swallow hard. When he puts it that way…

But, you’re much too thick headed to give in. 

You cup his cheek, gaze softening, though the spark of a challenge remains in your eyes. 

“Fine. We’ll see who’s right tomorrow.” 

Sylus grabs your hand, enjoying the warmth of your skin with a touch of feral amusement in his crimson eyes. “And if I’m right? What is my reward, doll?” 

Grinning, you tease, “A hundred dollars.”

Your husband tilts his head to the side, as if considering your strange wager.

“... make that a hundred kisses and a dinner, doll. I don’t want your money.” 

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. A hundred kisses and a dinner—that’s easy for you. 

“Fine. We’ll see that I’m right tomorrow, then.” 

Night fades and the next day dawns.

You wake up to an empty bed, sheets rumpled and still warm. Your eyes land upon an innocuous pregnancy kit on the side table, fresh from the store.

Sylus is nowhere to be seen, though you suspect he’s downstairs in the kitchen sipping on a cup of coffee. Not wanting to look like you were chickening out of this bet, you huff and go straight into the bathroom, putting the test to use.

You’re going to win this bet, and Sylus will have to eat his words. There is no way your husband would be correct. All he has is a hunch while you know your body inside and out. 

No singular person in the world, not even the one you share a bed with every night, can claim to predict something as mercurial and unpredictable as a pregnancy which hasn’t happened yet—unless they were a prophet or someone from the world of Dune, you think with a scoff.

The timer goes off and you grasp the test, about to smirk and prance downstairs to show Sylus how far off his observation was, when you come to a hard pause.

“...”

You blink, checking the test and rechecking it again. You look at it closer to the light, scrutinizing the stupid white stick from front to back, wondering if it’s faulty or broken.

A languid knock on the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to find your husband leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.

“Go ahead, doll,” he gloats, noticing your reaction, the pallor of shock written all over your face. “Read the result out loud to me.” 

You swallow hard, setting the test down in defeat.

“Impossible.”

But, knowing how competitive your husband can be, he’s not going down without a fight.

“And the result is…?” 

Tossing him a scowl, you throw your hands up in the air, caving in so he can pipe down and just kiss you already. 

“Positive,” you groan, wrapping your arms around him. Sylus responds without a shred of hesitation, grasping your smaller body and holding it tightly to his, secretly elated at this reveal. The ghost of his chuckle brushes your neck.

“Yeah, doll? Say it again. Tell me I’m right.” 

You exhale a watery giggle, tears filling your eyes. The feeling of pure love fills your chest, and you look at him like he’s hung the moon up in your sky.

You’re going to be a mommy again; Sylus has made his promise come true. 

Touching your forehead to his, you breathe in his comforting scent, feeling the softness of his sleeping robe underneath your palms on his chest.

“You’re right, darling. You’re always right,” you whisper, the love you feel for your husband overflowing from your eyes. “It’s positive.” 

Nothing ever escapes Sylus' hawk-like attention, and for that, you love him a little more than you did before.

sydawn lore: we have twins together—a baby girl and a baby boy named sabrina and protus. initially, the scans and tests only picked up sabrina and it was literally on the surgical table when the doctors made a discovery that there was another whole ass baby inside of me (they called it a shadow pregnancy when one twin completely overshadows another) so long story short, we have two babies together with a third on the way :,) ok thx for reading bye !

— reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated !! thank you all for your support <3

© lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my selfship and reproduce it into your own bodies of work. do not translate and share across on other platforms.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad

there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging. 

which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.

“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.

“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”

“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.

“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”

“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”

“try and log in with that user.”

“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”

“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”

okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan. 

you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”

“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”

ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—

yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes. 

“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”

“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”

she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code. 

hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.

———

satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?

“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”

“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”

“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”

“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”

“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”

“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”

“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”

“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”

satoru deflates. 

okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope. 

evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing. 

but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches. 

life is so cruel sometimes. 

“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”

“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”

“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”

suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together. 

“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”

satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed. 

———

after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him. 

we need to talk. is all you send him. 

the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers. 

miss me already? knew it ;)

wow. what a dickhead. 

so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this. 

the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?

well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.

“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”

“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”

“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”

of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding. 

“okay,” you huff. 

meet me at my place. now.

on my way, he sends back almost instantly. 

“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”

“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case. 

———

“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”

“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”

okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded. 

“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”

“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”

“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”

“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised. 

it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.

“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”

he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”

“satoru.”

yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad. 

“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”

that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse. 

“so it’s my fault?”

“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”

“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief. 

“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”

“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”

“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”

“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”

“don’t curse at me, satoru—”

“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”

“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings. 

“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”

“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”

“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”

“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”

“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”

“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”

“now look at who's cursing!”

it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits. 

it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans. 

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”

he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever. 

you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants. 

“i��guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes. 

satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”

“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”

“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips. 

you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently. 

“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”

he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.

“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”

it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own. 

“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head. 

“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”

“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”

“yes,” you snort.

“and you’ll follow back, right?”

“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”

“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer. 

you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be. 

———

“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat. 

of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen. 

how considerate of you both. 

“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”

“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes. 

woefully, they both agree to split the check. 

suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: How they like to play with you

Warnings: MDNI! R18+ only, very explicit, female mc, Self-insert. Some of this might not be to your taste. Be warned.

tags: #nsfweds (Not safe for wednesdays)

Sylus' Play:

Handcuff/ rope play: It doesn't matter which one, but Sylus' more turned on if he's receiving it. He knows he can get himself unbound in the blink of an eye, but he likes seeing you take charge. Adds more to it when he's unaware that you're tying him up; He gets pleasantly surprised upon waking up after a nap and seeing that he can't move away from the bed frame. But we both know he's more than capable of escaping.

Blindfolds: Adding more to the thrill is when he can't see anything. This will heighten his sense of hearing, and his touch, matched with the handcuff, he'll be popping a boner quicker than he can make you come.

Manhandling: He knows how rough he can go and thankfully knows how to control it; after moving on with the handcuff and blindfold play, you'll be at his mercy from now on. Needless to say, you'll be bruised up and sore when you wake up the next day.

Zayne's Play:

Lingerie: Something about you anticipating what's going to happen always turns him on. Wearing any color or lingerie underneath your outfit, you always turn him on— even more so when you let him take a peek. It doesn't matter what outfit you wear: as long as you're wearing a lingerie underneath, he takes it as a sign that you'll both be having a long and fun night.

Stockings: It was rare for you to wear it out of formal events, so when you visit him wearing formal attire and stickings, you best bet that it will never see the light of day. It will be stripped off of you; if not, it'll be torn apart. It's sexy seeing a thin mesh of cloth hugs your supple, meaty thighs. He loses all reason when he's in between your legs, pounding you senseless while grazing his fingertips on that ripped, thin fabric.

Size difference: When he has the chance to look at you properly, he likes to take it slow, but rough. He likes it when he sees his large dick making a bulge on your stomach. He likes touching the bump, pointing to you about it before making you come quickly— but he doesn't stop. One orgasm after the other, he keeps pounding and pounding until you beg him to stop. He will eventually slow down, but that doesn't mean he'll stop.

Xavier's Play:

Consensual Somnophilia: It doesn't matter 'when' in particular, but every time you wake up, he's always in between your legs, greeting your pussy a good morning and hearing you respond with a moan. He likes it when he sees you groggy, only to process that you're in the middle of doing it with him. He likes it when he sees you on the bed, looking cute and comfy before unraveling to become a moaning and helpless mess.

Spontaneous quickies around the house: You don't know what turns him on, but you've done it practically everywhere with him. You would be cooking dinner, and he'd press his bulge against you, and the next thing you know, you're gripping onto the counter for dear life. Folding clothes on the sofa? You're on his lap, being denied an orgasm because you teased him a minute ago. In the bathroom? You'll be having mirror sex because 'who was it that invited him'?.

Begging: He is gentle with his words with you, often singing praises in your names, but if there is a downside to this— he is absolutely relentless. He begs you to keep going, and even after saying enough, he'll keep begging and distracting you until he eventually gets his way. "Please? One more? This is the last time, I promise. I'll be good, Yes?" His never-ending stamina makes you pass out; if not, you're making a mess of the floor or the bed by squirting a lot.

Rafayel's Play:

Teasing: He likes it when you get his hopes up. He likes the slow yet unfathomable shift of his calm self to the more intoxicated version of himself. For you, riling him up is absolutely fucking adorable— Seeing that flush in his ears and the barely visible hitch of his breath. No matter what he says or whispers to you, in the end, he'll almost always give in to his frustrations and fucks you against any surface. Thanks to this, he's slowly thinking that he's developed something for having public sex.

Taking pictures and videos: He does it with your consent and keeps it in the most secure corners of his phone. There was something about those amateur clips taken in your dark bedroom that made for a fascinating resource. He keeps it all to himself and uses it as his side dish for some of his solo times. Still, he likes seeing your body in mid-act, at its peak, or hearing your cries late at night through the video. He knows he gets too caught up in the moment, but being the artist that he is, he's the type to want to look back and admire the more…finer details.

Voyeurism: He's an artist— and a part of being an artist is the observation of natural phenomena, and a natural phenomenon may count as life and death or a human seeking pleasure. To him, watching you relieve yourself while oblivious to his gaze will more than likely turn him on. You being naughty and him being patient and resisting always gave him the impression that he had the upper hand with you. You, being utterly vulnerable under his gaze, have his inside churning like a hungry wolf, igniting his desires like a pyro maniac.

Author footnotes: Zayne denies and says he likes things vanilla and Xavier just goes silent when you ask.

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[xxtc-96xx]

so in regards to some recent community events

there have been some events happening in the community that unfortunately remind me of old happenings in previous fandoms, so I'd like to just put my two cents out there about the situation.

Mewtwo is overall pretty simple character design wise with a pretty simple palette. You'd seen how I have made some variations with a limited palette and they all still have some connection to the original purple and pink, or green and yellow. Because of that I know that I can't honestly expect someone out there might make a similar mewtwo character with colours close by, assuming that can never happen by coincidence is just unreasonable on my part, even when you add stripes as a nod to mewtwo's clone starters

So with that being said I think one needs to be reminded in this community that similarities are going to happen, be either colours, stripes, spots, accessories like glasses or scarves and not one of us owns that aspect of a design because sometimes you can only do so much with them while still trying to stay true to the original mewtwo

If there IS ever a situation where you might think perhaps there is another person out there who's designs lean closer to yours you should ask yourself first, is this a common thing? Does this artist have a history of copying everyone else, do they copy story ideas too or is it just in terms of appearance?

Once you consider that one should ask themself, how do I approach this? Simple, you send them a private message and you ask them. I can guarantee this community for the most part is pretty reasonable and I doubt the receiving end will bite your head off for asking. What shouldn't you do? smear them, making public call out posts accusing said person of theft with no evidence

That is what people did in my old community for the Lion King, and believe me when I was much younger I fell for the trap of making call out journals on thieves myself but that will never make the problem better, it just escalates the situation and makes it more complicated and stressful. I have dealt with genuine copycats in the lion king community, I have someone who has leeched onto both character aspects and story beats from me for fifteen years and counting at this point so at this point in my online career I've gotten better at telling coincidence from purposeful copying or theft. And the Lion King fandom has devolved into a sea of finger pointing and accusations, stealing and fighting. I've seen it happen every now and then here in the mewtwo and mew community now

Do not turn this community into what the Lion King turned into, we can be better than that, we can be adults and face the matter like adults, we can't be reactionary, we can't be twitter

[niniwritesxo]

nsfw alphabet - nam-gyu (player 124)

(it contains things like degrading, threesomes, and nam-gyu being an asshole tbh, if you aren’t into that i wouldn’t read this x)

saw this on @cybrasigilism ‘s page, you should really check that out ! (love their writing btw)

——————————————————————————

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- sorry to burst your bubble but his aftercare is probably none existent, he might hand you the tv remote afterwards but that’s about it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- 100% his hands, obviously he had to add some rings, because he knows girls like you will go crazy over it. favorite part about you is most likely your boobs or your ass (basic am i right?)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- he for sure has a breeding kink (who said that haha)

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- a dirty secret about namgyu is the fact he would to have a trio with thanos and you, the thought of seeing thanos fucking you turns him on more than he would like to admit.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- i think he has had a lot of one night stands, so he knows what he is doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

- he loves when you are on top of him, that way he can look at your body all he wants, the way your boobs bounce when he is thrusting into you, how you are so out of breath after a few rounds, he loves it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- i don’t think he is very humorous in bed, he doesn’t even think about making a joke in the moment because he is so focused.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

- i don’t think he has a insane bush, but lets just say he isn’t perfectly trimmed either.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- he sees you as a fuckbuddy, good for fucking. he isn’t looking for a relationship so he probably isn’t that romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- he looks up your (or your friends insta) and jerks off to your photos.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

- i feel like he would love tying you up, seeing how you aren’t able to move while he gets to do whatever he wants. (and knife play ..anyways!)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

- definitely in places where you COULD get caught like, fittings rooms & public restrooms.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- praise 1000%

‘Bet you’ve never been fucked like this huh?’ he says out of breath grabbing your chin, at this point it’s almost impossible for you to talk, it’s like he fucked your brains out. You decide to nod.

‘Fucking speak up’ he says glaring at you.

‘n-namgyu please, i need y-you please’ you manage to puff out.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- anal.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- he loves receiving especially when you suck him off. but he is also a munch, he loves going down on you. he could do it for hours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

- he is very rough and fast, it’s almost like hate fucking, nothing sensual about it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- he loves quickies, especially in the games he would find places where he could quickly release his stress onto you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- i think he has tried a lot already but will try all sorts of stuff on you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

- depends if he is under the influence of something, if he’s taken something? he could go on for hours on end. if he is sober he’ll probably pass out after a good 40 minutes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- he doesn’t own or use toys, he feels like his hand are good enough to keep you satisfied.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

- he is such a tease, you definitely need to wait before you can cum and he’ll make sure you beg for it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- i don’t think he moans, he is more like a grunts guy. i feel like he talks a lot tho. (cursing and degrading you obvi)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- it kinda turns him on when you try to be bossy for once, telling him what to do and what he isn’t aloud to do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

- he has a average body, leaning more towards a dad bod than a jacked up guy tho.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- his sex drive is hiiigh, he always feels horny and is always in for a quickie.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- give him ten minutes and he is gone.

english isn’t my first language so if i made any mistakes, i apologize x

[steddiehyperfixation]

with blonde hair and a tan

steddie brainworms so bad i wrote this silly little thing immediately after watching the rocky horror picture show for the first time the other night lol @steddie-spooktober day 30: "where in the hell did you find that costume?" | 1083 words | T |

Eddie can hear Steve and Robin squabbling as he makes his way up the stairs to Steve's room. 

“I just don't know about this, Rob.” 

“It was your idea!” 

“It's too much. I should wear something else.” 

“Little late for that now.” 

“Well-”

“Where in the hell did you find that costume?” Eddie stops in the doorway, frozen in a state of shock at the scene in front of him. His mouth hangs open, eyes wide, and a sudden heat rises in his cheeks. 

Because Steve is standing in front of his mirror wearing only a tiny metallic gold speedo and matching gold boots, his great expanse of tanned skin and muscles and body hair on full display. Robin stands next to him with a spray can of wash out bleach-blonde hair dye at the ready. 

Steve looks over at Eddie. “It's too much, isn't it? I knew it. I told you,” he says to Robin, gesturing at Eddie as if his reaction proves his point. “Look at his face, even he's embarrassed for me.” 

Robin snorts. “Yeah, I don't think that's why he's blushing, Steve-o.” 

“No one’s even gonna know who I am,” Steve continues to complain, thankfully ignoring Robin’s comment. 

“Rocky,” Eddie says. His voice comes out weird and cracked; he clears his throat. “You're Rocky, from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” 

“See?” Now it's Robin’s turn to gesture towards Eddie in vindication. “Totally recognizable. Totally good. It's just one party, and you've got all that unwarranted jock confidence, you'll be fine.” She pats Steve on the shoulder, then turns and tosses the spray dye at Eddie. “Here. You can take over spraying his hair. I have to finish getting myself ready.” 

Eddie fumbles trying to catch the spray can, his attempt to stammer out a protest falling on deaf ears as Robin pushes past him out of the room. “Okay.” He sighs. This is fine. He can totally handle being left alone with this literal golden adonis without getting heart palpitations. He can be cool and chill and normal. He can. 

Steve looks amused. “You don't have to. I can probably manage spraying my own hair just fine,” he says when Eddie still hasn't moved. 

“No, I got it.” Eddie shakes his head, shaking himself into motion. “You won't be able to get the back right on your own anyways.” He approaches Steve - with great restraint, he might add, because there's a part of his brain that's all animal right now and it's just raring to pounce on him. “So are you done trying to talk yourself out of this costume, then?” 

Steve chews at his lip as he studies his reflection again. “I think so,” he decides. His gaze flicks up to meet Eddie's eyes in the mirror. “You really don't think it's too much?” 

Eddie breaks the mirror eye contact before his face can turn any more red, fixing his focus singularly on starting to spray the blonde dye onto Steve's hair. “No, you uh, you look good. You really should've warned me- told me, I mean, what you were gonna be. I would've matched your theme, could've gone as Dr. Frank N Furter.” (His current costume in comparison is quite boring, just a basic vampire - albeit with some pretty impressive fake blood around his mouth if he does say so himself, but ultimately nothing special.)

“Now that would be something,” Steve mutters, the words a little breathier all of the sudden, but Eddie still doesn't dare let his glance wander from his hair. His voice is back to normal in a second anyway. “Well, there's always next year.” 

“Yeah, next year,” Eddie echoes. That really would be something, both of them in flamboyantly skimpy costumes. He's not sure if that would make this situation better or worse for him. 

He pushes up some of Steve's hair to make sure he's covered all the layers in the back, his fingers accidentally brushing along the skin of his neck, and Steve shivers. Eddie finds himself watching with an odd satisfaction as the goosebumps ripple up in the wake of his touch. 

“I think I might freeze to death like this, though,” Steve comments with a self-deprecating chuckle that just barely conceals that weird breathiness that's returned to his voice. “I probably should've considered that before I decided to go out half naked at night in the middle of fall.” 

“I bet you could easily find someone to keep you warm tonight,” Eddie tells him, forcing detachment. He locks his attention back on his hair dyeing work. “You walk in there looking like this and you'll have all the girls at the party falling at your feet. Probably even some of the guys too,” he adds, remembering Steve recently came out as bisexual. 

“Yeah?” Steve sounds like he's smiling, or maybe smirking. He tries (unsuccessfully) to catch Eddie's eyes again as Eddie moves in front of him to get to the last few pieces of hair. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Would you be one of them?” 

Eddie finishes with the hairspray, nothing left to keep using as an excuse to avoid his attention. He finally looks at Steve's face and raises an eyebrow, deflecting. “You want me to fall at your feet, Harrington?” 

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He glances down for a moment, then looks back up at him from under his lashes and takes a step closer. “I want you to keep me warm,” he clarifies in a murmur as he reaches for Eddie's free hand and guides it to hold his waist. Eddie's blood ignites at the touch and the look Steve's giving him, flames racing along his veins. 

That's as good an invitation as any, and Eddie's restraint shatters. He draws Steve hungrily to his lips. How could he not? The spray can falls from his grip in favor of using both hands to pull Steve closer and roam his body. And if Eddie's wandering hands linger for a while in their investigation of that perfect gold-clad ass, well that's between them and the lovely little sound Steve makes against his open mouth. 

And Robin, who has the misfortune of poking her head back into the room right then. 

She yelps and jumps out of view of the scene, banging her fist against the wall just next to the doorway to get their attention instead. “When you guys are done being gross,” she shouts, “there's a party we're gonna be late for!” 

[rafey-baby]

hidden 5

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: mentions of murder & violence, barry making an appearance, closure on the hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 3.5k

sooo this is the *actual* last part! (might write some blurbs for them at some point idk) thanks for reading love u <3

also him getting jealous was inspired by this ask

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

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

Consciousness drags her out of the comfort of her slumber, forcing her to blink her leaden eyelids open to Rafe’s heavy and very much naked body weighing her down against the couch cushions.  

She can feel his chest expanding with each lethargic inhale he takes and she’s momentarily disconcerted; entangled thoughts desperately trying to make sense of her current situation.

However, all too soon, the memories of last night cause her to let out a tired groan. What on earth was she thinking? Why would she let Rafe of all people fuck her? And more than once. She can’t even recall how many times she— 

Suddenly, she’s reminded of the reason she stirred from her state of dormancy in the first place when she feels Rafe’s sturdy abdomen pressing down on her bladder. 

“Ugh,” she lets the back of her head hit the armrest before trying to pry him off, albeit to no avail.  

“Rafe? Can you...” she shoves at his shoulder.  

However, he merely takes in a sleepy breath and shifts into a more pleasant position.  

“Rafe, wake up,” she tries again, this time pushing at his face that’s resting comfortably in the crook of her sweaty neck. In response, he offers her a drowsy hum before pasting a sluggish palm over her lips to make her go quiet.  

“Shh,” he silences her and she feels like slapping him because she’s about to pee on her couch and he’s hushing her, of all things.

She wraps her fingers around his limp wrist and yanks it away from her mouth with a huff. “I need to pee. Can you get off me, please?”  

He lets out a dozy grunt before groggily raising his head to look at her; squinting due to the daffodil-colored rays of sunshine peeking from the windows and appearing just as foggy as her a few minutes ago.  

He rubs a hand over his face, mumbling something incoherent under his breath and at last, removes his limbs that restrained her capability to move.  

“Thanks,” she peeps out before getting up and scurrying off to the bathroom; hearing him slump back down onto the couch immediately after.  

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

After rinsing off the stickiness of last night in the steaming shower and changing into a pair of sweats, she realizes she’s starving. Hunger is eating away at her insides and along with the graphic recollections of her and Rafe’s late-night activities vividly jumping around her skull; she can already feel a headache lurking around the corner. 

She’s in the process of cracking eggs on a pan when she hears Rafe entering the shower; the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the tiled floor following soon after. She begins to cut up some tomatoes to add into the mixture, when out of the blue, the doorbell rings.  

She doesn’t think Rafe hears it since the water is still running in the bathroom, which is why she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do.   

She figures that if it’s the police again, it would seem suspicious if it took her longer than normal to open it twice in a row now. Therefore, she turns off the stove and takes tentative steps towards the door.  

Fleetingly, she wonders if she should simply act as if no one’s home since opening doors to strangers was what got her into this mess in the first place. At this point though, she doesn’t necessarily have the mental capacity to care. 

She gingerly unlocks the door with her lip worried between her teeth, and behind it, stands a guy with hair as black as a crow and eyes as brown as coffee beans. 

“Is Rafe here?” He asks with such a slow drawl it makes her wonder if he’s high on something other than just life.  

And he doesn’t seem like a cop. But wouldn’t Rafe have told her if he was expecting someone?  

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s, um, he’s not here,” she decides to play it safe; the lie clumsily rolling off her tongue. However, she can tell that he’s not buying it. 

“You sure? You tellin’ me he gave me the wrong address then?” He wonders with a lazy furrow of his dark eyebrows.  

“Um, I don’t—” 

“Barry, told you to call me before you get here,” Rafe’s low rumble suddenly interrupts her; making a shiver trickle down her spine because him being right behind her, freshly showered, reminds her a little too much of his first night here.  

“Country club! Thought they got your ass already. Good to see you not in jail,” Barry exclaims loudly and takes the liberty of inviting himself in as if her home has turned into a public building free for anyone to just come and go as they please. At least he has the courtesy to close the door, she thinks.

He greets Rafe with a heartfelt pat on the back and she’s momentarily stunned when his mouth twists into a smile that would be considered warm and genuine; something she’s never had the luxury of receiving. 

“Why you didn’t tell me you were staying with a princess?” Barry pushes at his chest playfully. 

“Leave her alone, man,” Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance.  

“I ain’t do nothin’. Just statin’ the obvious here,” Barry raises his hands up in defense and the unexpected compliment makes her suppress a giddy simper. 

“Whatever, just get your ass here, I need your help,” Rafe grumbles out as he begins walking towards her bedroom. Not even asking if he can go there because why would he? 

“Ain’t nothin’ new about that,” Barry chuckles, revealing a golden tooth that glints under the light when he grins at her. 

And there’s a familiarity in which they interact that makes her figure they’ve known each other for a long time. With the little knowledge she has, she then comes to the conclusion that Barry most likely plays a part in the side business Rafe briefly mentioned when she’d found out about the cop he’d killed.

She assumes all of it is also connected to the plastic baggies full of white powder in the glove compartment of his truck, because there’s no way Rafe needs that much coke just for personal use.  

“We have to, uh, talk about some shit. So, go do something else, yeah?” Rafe looks over his shoulder at her.

“Right, um, okay,” she mumbles out before turning around to return to the safety of her kitchen.  

“Damn, Rafe. That how you talk to her even though she be letting you hide here?” Barry questions as he follows after him. 

“Shit, man, can you just— let’s just get this over with, alright? Don’t have all day,” Rafe mutters in response. 

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” Barry’s humorous tone is the last thing she hears before the door closes; leaving her to resume preparing her breakfast with a weary sigh.  

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

A few days later, she hears Rafe’s voice from the living room as she’s thoughtlessly reorganizing her closet; folding shirts and pants and taking out clothes she no longer wears, since he still doesn’t allow for her to leave the house without him. 

“Come watch this for a second?” His tone sounds almost excited when she pads over to stand next to him on the rug; looking over at him in question. 

However, he merely nods towards the television screen and turns the volume higher.  

“And then onto some more interesting news. The charges for Rafe Cameron, owner of Cameron Development, have been dropped due to no significant evidence found to prove him guilty. However, the investigation is still open and the police are doing everything they can in order to find the criminal behind the devastating murder that has shaken up the entire island for weeks now. In order to ensure everyone’s safety, we hope that you keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and…” 

Everything after that turns into muffled background noise as her jaw drops and her rounded eyes flicker over to Rafe.  

“I’m a free man, Puppy,” he turns to face her with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“How did you even…” she’s momentarily stunned; words withering away as she simply blinks up at him in surprise. 

“Don’t want you to worry about it, alright?” He’s quick to dismiss her as he clicks off the TV. 

“I’m, um, happy for you…even though you did kill the guy and—” 

“Already told you, he wasn’t a good person and an even shittier cop, remember? And I’m gonna need you to never mention that shit again, think you can do that?” He turns serious all of a sudden; peering into her eyes with a warning.  

“Y— yes,” her voice falters when he steps closer.   

“Cause if you can’t, I’m gon’ have to do something you won’t like, you understand?” He gazes at her with such intensity, she can’t do anything but nod with her shoulders tense.  

“You sure? Cause you’re kinda my only loose end here, and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, would we?” His tall frame hovers over her as he leans down to mutter out the words, causing her to flinch.  

“No, I promise. I’m not gonna say anything,” she squeaks out and means it.  

Who would even believe her? After all, she doesn’t have any actual proof and even if she did, she thinks Rafe could easily just pay himself out of it. And she’s not particularly keen on finding out how far he’s willing to take his vengeance.  

“Good,” he seems to relax some but a sense of dread washes over her anyway.  

“But what if…someone threatens me or something?” She asks with caution.  

“That’s not gonna happen. You always worry so much, just chill out for a bit, yeah?” He shrugs it off with an air of indifference she wishes she could possess as well. 

“But it’s a possibility. How do you know someone didn’t see us together when people were looking for you?” She reasons with her mind racing.  

“Listen, if someone threatens you…you come to me and I’ll fucking kill them for you, okay?” He suggests with complete seriousness.  

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t want you to—” 

However, she’s interrupted by amused laughter bubbling out of his chest. 

“I’m joking. Stop being an annoying Pogue for one second, yeah? Think we should go out for dinner, hm? Let me, uh, thank you for your hospitality and shit,” he says as he smooths a palm over his buzzed hair. 

“Like at a restaurant? You and me?” At the notion of them spending time together outside of all this, confusion tangles up her thoughts; making her forget all about her previous concerns.  

“You’re so fucking weird. Yes, you and me. Who else? Can get whatever expensive shit you want too, how’s that sound?” He coaxes her to agree with the mellow tone he adds, however, not without making fun of her first. 

“Um, okay…sounds great?” She can’t really grasp onto his motives in the headspace she’s currently in, merely assumes he wants to be on her good side so she wouldn’t change her mind about opening her mouth.  

“Great. Need to, uh, take care of some things over at Figure Eight first, but be ready at seven,” he makes it sound like a threat, even if he’s not trying to scare her with a gun anymore.  

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

She doesn’t think she’s ever been at a restaurant this costly; everything on the menu more than she could ever afford. Rafe practically demands her to not pay attention to the price and get anything she wants, however, it’s proving to be quite challenging as she scans over the list of dishes in front of her with creased brows.  

“You ready?” He asks with a hint of impatience.

“No, I can’t decide. There’s so many options and I don’t even know what half of them mean,” she mumbles out in distress. 

“I’ll just, uh, order for you, yeah?” He suggests with a raise of his brows as he stretches out his arms.  

At that, she swallows, desperately trying not to pay any mind to his large biceps practically on display.

“Okay, thanks,” she graces him with a grateful smile; feeling out of place with rich Kooks all around nearly suffocating her.  

Being here with Rafe, of all people, feels strange. Not even a day ago, she was still practically held captive by him, even if the leash of his strict rules around her throat had loosened up considerably, and his overly aggressive tendencies had dwindled down to grumpy mutters and displeased glares over the course of the few weeks they’d known each other. Now, she’s solely bound to him by this muddy, grimy secret that she will probably take down to her grave.  

And despite everything he’s done to her, in some peculiar way, she’s beginning to understand him. Because against all her morals, in a killer, someone who other people would consider a monster, she sees someone simply trying to survive in the harsh world with the crumpled cards life has dealt with him. And she isn’t all too sure how far her feelings of care towards the man branch out but what she does know, is that she doesn’t want him to go to prison. No matter what he’s done. 

And she’s never even met Rafe’s father and he hasn’t talked about him to her, but she has this feeling that to be so violent and hostile, has to be learned from someone.

No one is born evil, even if she wouldn’t necessarily describe him as that.

In Rafe, she sees a boy who was forced to grow up too quickly; someone with the burden of his father’s heavy legacy weighing down on his shoulders with every breath he takes. 

Therefore, she can’t find it in herself to be entirely too upset with him for the way he treated her, thinks she can live with it, even if it was wrong. Because looking back on it, in a way that makes no sense to her, it was also sort of thrilling to keep him hidden and follow along with his very much illegal activities. After all, she’s never really been one to break the rules.  

“Are you guys ready to order?” The server’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and makes her look up at a familiar face, slightly covered by sand-colored curls.  

“Y/N? Long time no talk! How’re you doing?” Lucas, a guy she had a fling with last year meets her eyes with his surprised ones. 

“Oh, hi. I’m good. What a crazy coincidence, didn’t even know you worked here,” she forces out a strained laugh because had she known, she would’ve asked Rafe to pick another restaurant.

“Actually, just started a few weeks ago. But since when do you eat on this side of the island?” He gives her a curious look.  

“I don’t. Just a…special occasion and stuff,“ she steals a glance at Rafe who’s quietly observing their interaction with narrowed eyes.  

And him talking to her right now feels entirely too humiliating since she had told Rafe about him, assuming the two of them would never meet.  

“Right…anyway, haven’t seen you at the surf shop in a while, you still work there or?” Lucas continues with an enthusiasm she can’t quite reciprocate.  

And it’s not like they ended up on bad terms — they weren’t even officially together — she just sort of withdrew from him because despite being an overall nice guy, she felt like he only cared about his own needs. More often than not went on about his day without even taking hers into consideration, both in and outside the bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, just had a little, um…family emergency. It was this whole thing, you don’t even wanna know the details,” she lies through her teeth; picking at the corner of her napkin as a distraction.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is everything okay now?” His jade eyes are sympathetic as he peers down at her.  

“Yes, everything’s good. Think I’ll be able to return next Monday,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries to appear nonchalant.  

“Cool…hey, I was actually wondering if you’d wanna catch up some time?” He scratches at the back of his head; seemingly nervous about her answer. 

She blinks.  

“Oh, um—” 

“You gon’ take our orders at some point or just flirt with her for the next hour?” Rafe invites himself into the conversation with a scoff; tilting his head at him in intrigue.  

And at that, Lucas finally turns towards him.  

“Wait a second, weren’t you just suspected for murder?” He asks with slightly wide eyes.  

“Nah, they dropped the charges cause they were tweaking. I didn’t do shit,” Rafe huffs out, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily.  

“Oh, right, right. That must, um, suck,” he rambles, seemingly intimidated by him. 

“Yeah, it does,” Rafe mutters, and him clearly trying to fight off a roll of his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by her, even if she’s not entirely sure why his mood has suddenly turned sour.  

Lucas is quick to fill in the silence that follows soon after. “Right, so, what would you two like to eat?”

And after he’s left with their orders, Rafe turns to look at her with an annoying smirk overlaying his features. “That the guy who couldn’t make you come?” 

“Rafe! He can still hear you,” she hisses and looks over her shoulder; relieved to discover he’s already out of earshot.  

“Don’t really care. That shit’s just embarrassing for him. What did you see in him anyway? Seems like an ass,” he furrows his brows at her.  

“You’re talking as if you’re any better?”  

“At least made you come, no? Multiple times, may I add. Or you need a reminder?” He nudges her foot under the table with his own; the self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face making her subtly kick him back.  

However, he merely wraps his fingers around her ankle; ceasing her futile attempt at bruising his leg with a chuckle rumbling from his chest.  

“You seriously just tried to kick me? Didn’t seem to complain when you were begging for me to—”  

“Rafe! Why are you talking so loud?” She whines, trying to release the limb he’s captured, however, his grip is strong and she’s not getting free until he decides she is.  

“Calm down, no one here cares. You Pogues never know how to relax, do you?” 

“I am relaxed!” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he taunts before finally letting go of her foot and she quickly pulls it back so he can’t grab for it again.  

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

“Can I ask you something?” She swallows something akin to sand in her throat; disrupting the sound of their silverware clinking against the ceramic plates as they contently fill up their bellies.  

“Hm?” His eyes flicker over to meet hers. 

“After this, um, are we just gonna go back to our sides of the island and never talk again?” There’s a wistful hue coloring over her question.  

“That’s what you want?” He raises his brows and she blinks; slightly taken aback by him not immediately answering with a yes.  

“Um, I don’t…know. What would we even do?” She takes a sip of water to appear indifferent to the entire situation. However, she’s failing miserably. 

“I mean, could think of a couple of things we could do…” he trails off with a smug grin, causing her to huff out a soft laugh. 

“Thought you didn’t hang out with Pogues?” She narrows her eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s even taking this conversation seriously. 

“Yeah, well, guess I could make an exception. After all, you did help a Kook, so you’re not really a Pogue anymore, are you?”  

“Okay first of all, that makes zero sense and I only helped you, cause you were gonna kill me,” she states, lowering her tone towards the end.  

“Stop saying that shit, Puppy,” he hisses, looking around to ensure no one heard it. “Wasn’t gonna kill you, just needed you to listen, alright?”  

“Well, you could’ve been a bit more polite about it,” she rests her elbows on the table, tone accusatory.  

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? That what you want me to say? A lot was going on and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Sometimes it’s, uh, hard for me to control my anger and shit,” he mutters out the last part, as if it’s difficult for him to admit.

“Yeah, I figured,” she’s smiling now; her attempt at making him feel guilty going down the drain because him trying to defend his behavior for once, is sort of entertaining. 

A scowl covers his face at the realization that she’s merely trying to make him sweat for her own enjoyment. “You know, I still think I should’ve picked another house,” he grants her a lighthearted glare.  

“Yeah, me too,” she nods in agreement.  

And at the sight of her barely contained grin, he can’t stop his mouth from curling up as well; both of them quietly giggling at the entirely too bizarre of a situation, that for some reason, feels far too much like a first date.  

It’s almost as if they’re meeting for the first time all over again.

[loveinhawkins]

picturing Dustin watching at the trailer park, right after Eddie says, “Hey, Steve? Make him pay.”

And for some reason Dustin’s reminded of ‘84, of his conversation with Steve on the railroad tracks, it’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh... electricity, you know?—although he’s grown enough to suspect that Steve might not know everything in that regard.

And it’s not electricity he senses, not exactly, but it’s definitely a storm of some kind: something fragile. Something—someone—that’s very scared.

Dustin’s running before he’s even registered his decision. “Steve!”

Steve turns around, and he already looks like he’s about to ask a question—something practical, like whether Dustin’s forgotten something—and Dustin feels a twist of regret, that that’s where Steve’s mind goes; yeah, they’re all ready for battle, so it makes sense, but…

Feeling suddenly very young, Dustin barrels into Steve and hugs him.

He hears Steve’s surprised inhale, his hesitancy, before he returns the hug in full force.

For a little while, it’s like the world narrows down to only this. No ash in the air, no nightmarish red in the sky. Just the two of them.

Dustin’s about to pull away when he feels Steve’s chin dig into the top of his head. Hears him sniff, very quietly, like he’s trying to hide it; and that makes Dustin think of the tunnels, or afterwards, really, when Steve held onto him with shaking hands, kept saying, “We’re okay, we’re okay.”

So he just keeps hugging back.

Steve’s the one to let go; he’s smiling, but he looks a little sad too, forehead creased with worry.

“I need a ride tomorrow,” Dustin says.

Steve huffs. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

Dustin taps his nose obnoxiously. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

It’s bullshit, of course; Dustin doesn’t need a ride anywhere.

Steve rolls his eyes, but some tightness in his jaw finally eases. “God, you’re such a dick.”

“Bright and early, Steve!” Dustin adds smugly. “Five am!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving him off, and for a moment it’s like they’re just in the school parking lot. He looks as if he’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it—glances back to where Robin and Nancy are waiting. He pulls Dustin in with one arm, a brief but tight hold. Nods, as if to himself. “Go on, scram.”

Dustin runs back to the trailer with a stitch in his side but a smile on his face. He knows it’s naive to think he can fix everything, but in this moment at least some part of the universe has been righted, even while in The Upside Down.

Eddie’s standing right where he left him, like he’s been frozen the whole time.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “is he, uh… is he okay?”

Dustin’s reminded that of course, Steve isn’t the only one who’s scared.

“Yeah, he will be,” he says, which he thinks is a more accurate answer than a simple yes or no.

It’s funny how life works, he muses while gathering supplies for the trailer defences. There’s no way he’d have thought even a week ago that Eddie would be sincerely asking him about Steve’s well-being. Whenever he happened to bring Steve up at Hellfire, Eddie would imitate him in a comedic falsetto, “Oh, Steve this, Steve that.”

For a minute, Eddie remains rooted to the spot, still staring in the direction of where Steve went—like he’d watched helplessly as Steve walked into the eye of a storm or something.

“You just gonna stand there and gawk?” Dustin says.

Eddie snorts. “So rude, Henderson.”

And it’s not like Dustin really knows, not when Steve and Eddie are still barely dancing around it themselves. Still, he can pick up on some things.

Like when they’ve finished setting up everything, waiting for the go-ahead for Eddie to start playing his guitar—to pass the time, they recount the high points of the day, keep it light. It’s a practice Eddie used to implement after campaigns.

And look, Dustin’s damn good at picking up on patterns. Like, he loves Steve, but he’s pretty sure the reality of him driving the hotwired RV doesn’t quite match up to how Eddie’s currently waxing lyrical about it.

He’s making it sound like it was something outta James Bond, Dustin thinks, when he’s sure Steve drove right into several trash cans.

Suddenly he knows exactly what he should do.

“Steve this, Steve that,” he sing-songs.

Eddie flushes; Dustin cackles.

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling as Dustin keeps laughing, like he knows there’s nothing mean-spirited in it. He keeps going, Steve this, Steve that, talking right over Dustin’s teasing—somehow finding even more moments where Steve truly shines.

And Dustin doesn’t know everything, not even close, but at the very least, he knows that this feels right.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Don't you agree we need more A/B/O for love and deep space?

Omegaverse Scenarios with the Boys

Content warning: Omegaverse, jealousy, marking, scenting, fluff, mild sexual content, no pronouns, MORE ABO! MORE ABO!

Original Post

“You’re back.”

You whip your head around to see Xavier standing at the balcony door, looking serene as ever in the mid-morning light. The soft look the sunlight gives him brings a smile to your face. However, it quickly strains and breaks, collapsing into a frown as Xavier steps out onto the deck. There’s nothing scary about his demeanor; he seems calm as usual but there’s a subtle tension in the air that fogs heavy from him.

Wordlessly, Xavier scans you up and down, focusing on…something. You’re not sure what he’s searching for, but you suspect he’s found it when his forehead creases and his voice drops.

“Did you visit Philos while you were out?"

"How'd you guess?"

"You smell like Jeremiah,” Xavier concludes coldly, which causes you to hold on tighter to the little packet of plant food clutched between your hands. “What were the two of you doing?” he follows up; this time he fixes his face and flashes you that sweet smile.

You’re smart enough to not be fooled by the innocent expression he puts on whenever he tries to pry information out of you. However, you have nothing to hide and answer honestly.

“My friend has been sick, so I wanted to send her some flowers.”

“Is that all?”

"I also got plant food for the strawberries," you add, flashing the green packet of nutrients. 

"That's not what I meant."

Your suspicion tipped off, you raise your eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Xavier closes in on you, each step making your heart pound as he boxes you in between himself and one of the large ceramic pots homing the strawberry plant. Raising your hands to your chest, your knuckles brush against the tassels of his hoodie as you try to make some space between the two of you. It's clear you have no room to run, and a part of you isn't sure you want to escape.

Xavier reaches out to you; his hand sweeps under the collar of your black turtleneck, sending jolts through your body when his fingertips hit the sore bruise in the soft junction of your neck. The way he immediately finds that tender target reminds you of the way he hunts down wanderers with precision, persistence, and unfortunately, pinpoint accuracy. Despite the severe shivers being coerced in your soul, it doesn’t frighten you as he traces around your scent gland.

“You’re practically shaking,” he mumbles, gripping the neck of your shirt and giving a gentle tug, exposing your bond mark. “Are you cold?”

“No," you answer immediately, watching his snooping hand from your periphery, "and don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not,” he says with a shake of his head as he continues to fumble with your clothing. “I was just wondering why you were so covered up.”

“There’s no reason,” you breathe out, distracted by the fierce concentration reflecting from dark pools of blue so different from the soft glimpses and angelic gazes he normally shares with you. They strike you so deeply, peering through you so sharply that memories from how the mark was made begin to flash through your mind, fumbling any other excuses you might have said.

“None at all?” he comments, making your face warm. “If the mark hurts, it’s nothing a hot bath won’t fix.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Then, why are you covering it up?” he asks; this game of cat and mouse quickly unravels when he brings up, “Did you not want Jeremiah to see it?”

“That’s not it,” you deny with a sigh, pushing his hand away.

You never understand how Xavier can be so jealous. Jeremiah is a friend to both of you; he has been for centuries from your understanding. Even if there was some point in those decades that Jeremiah possibly had feelings for you stronger than friendship, you didn’t hold those same feelings for him. You only desired to be bonded with one person, the one standing in front of you. Even when he was being a needlessly jealous dummy.

“It has nothing to do with him.”

“Do you not like the way it looks?” He questions instead, his demeanor softening only slightly with regret. With a slight blush, Xavier pouts and rubs the back of his neck. “I admit I was a little out of it when I did it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it! It’s pretty,” you finally yell, which causes him to clamp his mouth shut enough for you to explain better. “This is the first time anyone made a bond mark on me, and it’s a little embarrassing cause then everyone knows, we’re um…” you start to lose your concentration when he looms over you. You take a sudden step back, stopping only when the pot behind you threatens to fall over when you bump it. “Doing things…together.”

Chest aching, you hope your explanation is satisfactory. You never want to make him insecure but the idea of people knowing intimate details of your love life makes you sheepish.

“So, you don’t want him to know.”

“Xavier, did you not listen to what I said?”

“I did but isn’t what you said still a roundabout way of saying you’re hiding it?” He teases with a small laugh. There’s a pleased curve in the smile on his face and a shimmering light like stardust in his eyes; unbeknownst to you, that’s from knowing he’s the first and only one to ever mark you. How proud he would be if everyone was aware of that fact. “You don’t have to be embarrassed by something so natural. Everyone, especially him, should know you’re mine and I’m yours.” 

You open your mouth to protest but you’re interrupted by him grabbing your wrist in one hand to prevent you from squirming away as he hooks a finger into your turtleneck. Pulling your collar, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your bond mark then higher up to nip the soft flesh under your earlobe, higher until he's breathing into your ear. 

"I'll fix it," he murmurs and kisses your neck again and again until all you can make sense of is the heat blooming along your throat with each touch of his lips. 

His kisses lack his normal gentleness; they’re filled instead with a desire that makes your knees shake and buckle. You’d fallen if he hadn’t held you closer, squeezed you to him like letting go would be the end of him, as if he finds joy in feeling the aftershocks of your fluttering heart against your ribcage.

“Xavier, what are you-you-ah."

You desperately hold in the moan that builds up in your chest as he continues to bite into your skin and the sound of his kisses fills your ear smooch by smooch. Xavier chuckles against your flesh.

“Relax. I’m not going to do anything bad to you. I’m simply making a few minor adjustments to your  first  mark." He hums, tongue sliding along your neck to mark its target. “I think this is a good spot,” he whispers before sinking his teeth into your pulse.

It burns in a searingly blinding way, and your eyes roll up when he sucks onto your bite-broken skin. He doesn't stop until he manages to ring out a strangled moan from your throat. He cements his work with another swipe of his tongue then pulls away to admire it.

He paints that innocent smile back on his face as he locks his eyes with yours. His voice is light and airy like a weight is off his shoulders when the fresh mark peeks from your turtleneck. "This time I gave you a mark you can’t hide."

It’s another day at the arcade and another day Zayne watches you spend an exorbitant amount of money winning a plushie you could’ve easily ordered cheaper online. The Tinkle Toy you win this time is cuter than the normal fare at least. It’s a bright candy streamer rainbow, with smiling pink cotton candy clouds.

“I did it!” you cheer and hold out your prize to him in search of his approval. He congratulates you on your well-earned victory. With a smiling face, you push the toy closer to him rather than hug it to your chest in your normal possessive manner.

“What is it?”

You wave the toy back and forth. “You know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

In truth, Zayne knows exactly what you want, and it makes his neck hot under the collar. He presses his pointer finger to the bridge of his glasses and pushes them further up his nose as an excuse to avoid your slowly narrowing gaze. Your previously cheerful smile flattens into a stern line and your tone becomes more demanding.

“Zayne,” you repeat ominously, like a parent scolding their child for not finishing their chores. Somehow, it always works to earn his attention, and he briefly glances over the toy again; it looks much less cute this time, the carefully stitched smiles now a mocking grin.

Zayne examines his surroundings: the kids running around the overly decorated and gaudy arcade, the bored and drowsy-eyed employees behind the gift counter, the many older siblings and parents trying to win tickets for the little ones, and, well, you, glaring him down. That look tells him you’re not going to be willing to let this go despite how crowded the arcade has become in your short time here.

“You want me to scent your toy for you?” he questions, adding for emphasis, “Right here?”

“Rainbow Candy can’t join the other plushies in the nest without being christened by the leader.” Poking out your lip, you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. It doesn’t move him enough to give in, not until your eyes start to gloss like stained glass and you softly plead, “Please, Dr. Zayne.”

Ice quickly breaks and chips in the mildest bit of sunlight, dissolving into warm puddles, and it’s just like that when Zayne finally breaks and melts at the smallest insistence from you. Grabbing the toy, Zayne quickly shoves it against his throat, ignoring how plush the toy feels against the underside of his chin. He trails it up and down the column of his neck, swiping it one final time under his chin. It’s a simple motion, done quickly and precisely to efficiently cover the toy in his scent in the least amount of time possible, yet it still feels so inappropriate to do here under your watchful, yearning gaze threatening to make his body stiff.

As he feels his limit about to be broken, he hands the rainbow back to your waiting arms.

“Is this satisfactory?”

You squeeze onto the toy as if someone could snatch it away. You press your face against it, smelling deeply, and when you look up at him from under your brow it’s with the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever witnessed.

“Your best work yet, Dr. Zayne. Good job!” you giggle, and he has half a mind to pinch your cheek and wipe that childish grin off your face. “Now, I’ll have something to remember you by while you’re at work today.”

“Is that why you demand I scent all your toys?” he asks, and you nod slowly.

“You’re always so busy that I hardly get to see you outside of the hospital, so when I get lonely I just cuddle with these guys,” you confess. You press your nose deeper into one of the garishly pink cotton candy clouds; this time when your eyes waver like watery skies, it isn’t to sway him. “When the teddies smell like you, it’s like I’m holding a piece of you too.”

Those words connect everything that has ever happened between the two of you together, stringing the moments like a red line of fate. Despite the words  I love you  never leaving your lips, it excites the same effect that can make a sane man an idiot, an effect not even Zayne is immune to when you so innocently and freely express your feelings to him.

It’s a skill he struggles with; though for you and your happiness, he’s willing to give in and let loose the restrained mask he wears on his face as he listens to the one person he’s longed for all this time admit that they get lonely without him beside them.

“I think scenting you before my shift would be more comforting,” he offers; the adoration glowing in your irises makes him weak enough to stroke your forehead with the back of his hand. There’s a little whimper muffled into your plushie while your forehead feels hot to touch before your face falls into shock and your eyes dart around the room, like his before. As sweet and innocent as you can be, you can also be very easy to read. “You’re thinking inappropriately.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not here.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

Zayne gently pokes your forehead to clear your head of the improper thoughts running through it causing you to whine and rub the spot, which only reminds him how you’re much, much cuter than any plushie. 

You hold in a giggle as Rafayel shoves his face against the crook of your neck. Since you came over to his studio, he hasn’t been able to tear himself away from you, which left you sitting on the couch, covered in little splotches of dried paint, trying to discern why he feels the need to drag his hands down your arm and audibly sniff your hair.

His breath is heavy and ragged as he sucks in a breath, or rather your scent, and continues to trace up your skin until his finger can finally sink into the collar of your button-up. “Did you do something different today? New lotion? Bath Soap?” 

“I did what I normally do every day.”

Rafayel groans against your skin again. You haven’t seen him hot and bothered, face soaked and flushing red with fever, since his last ebb day, which already happened earlier this year.

“Are you sure?” His lips on your skin feel so familiar that your body is immediately on edge and reacting to every stuttered exhale he makes whenever your leg so much as brushes against him. He sinks closer to you, removing any space in between your bodies. “You smell delectable.”

“Rafayel?”

“I just want a taste.”

“Rafayel, are you rutting?”

“No, I’m not,” he groans, laps your shoulder without any care for the fabric covering it, then pricks his canines against vulnerable, pulsing skin. You can tell he’s about to lose it when he pops the first button on your shirt, not even paying attention to the way his nails draw across your upper chest. “I’m just…admiring you…there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

There’s a whimper melting from his mouth when you press your hand to his chest and push away. Your confidence is quickly rising thanks to the pitiful expression on his face, highlighted by parted, puffy lips and wide violet-pink eyes fogged with hazy lustful clouds.

“I charge by the hour for appearances.”

Rafayel huffs lightly in response. Something about him is different today; something that your experience tells you is due to the rut he fails to explain away. He misses the usual flare he has, the coy seduction that he uses to draw you in. He trades it for brute force, spurred by the mind-numbing need to have this fire in him quenched inside of you as he grips your wrist and forces you closer to him.

“Just send any charges directly to the studio,” he pants out in desperation between sporadic breaths. His voice hitches, forming a short gasp when you grip his chin and focus his sights back on you. He follows so readily at any touch you offer him no matter how rough. Your mind was becoming fuzzy with how much power you have when he’s like this.

“I only take payments in kisses, but I’ll be sure to let Thomas know.”

There’s a moment where his eyes narrow, perhaps in frustration, before they drop and lock on your mouth; specifically, he's memorized by the motion of your tongue glancing across your lips. Rafayel is only consumed with thoughts of how gravely he wants to be the one wetting them despite doing so hundreds of times before. His body wildly craves yours like the months before he was graced with a taste of you, or maybe this yearning is because he knows exactly how it feels to be touched by you as you are now. Rafayel isn't sure which it is anymore, the lines fade and blur, becoming harder to trace by the second. It hurts being this vulnerable, his body uncontrolled by himself, but if you’re his mate then there isn’t anything to fear, at least not this time.

“On second thought, I really should settle my own debts.”

“Are you sure you can afford it?”

“I’ll gladly pay you with interest, darling,” he barely manages to force out in his last single coherent thought. “Now, let me taste you already.”

Rafayel leans closer, aiming for your lips, but is stopped by your nail dragging up the center of his neck, unhindered by the thick gulp he takes to stop his heart from jumping into his throat. You creep your finger up his chin, stopping at the point to force his head up and eyes to lock with yours. The smile on your face is torturous, the look in your eyes out to kill as your lips purse and part to form one simple word,

“Beg.”

The arrogant smirk on your face says you know he will; Rafayel knows he will; anything for a small taste to quench this thirst built in him since eternity for you, but he also knows he’ll have you in his trap instead very soon.

[rebootgrimm]

So Trump Won, Now What?

I get it, we’re all worried. I am too. Above all else on this list, keep yourself safe. Don’t do anything stupid, especially without a plan.

Find Ways to Cope

With the election results, it’s understandable to be afraid. Do whatever you need to (within reasonable amounts. please do not overdose) to comfort yourself.

Take off of school / work if possible to rest. If you don’t have money saved up to be able to take a day off, that’s completely understandable. If you can’t take a day off school for whatever reason (like me. I’m writing this while being driven to school) then that’s okay as well.

Eat comfort foods. You can take a cheat day if you’re on a diet today, you deserve it.

Do things that help you calm down. Some things can include: drawing, crafts, listening to music (punk playlist I helped create here if that might help), knitting, etc. Whatever it is, do it. 

Cry. It’s understandable to want to cry after this. I felt like crying too.

Prepare For the Worst

I hate to say it, but it’s likely that shits going to hit the fan once Trump hits office. Here’s some ideas on what to do.

Preserve any media that MAGA might try and get rid of. For me that’s going to be writing things online down into a notebook and preserving punk songs (likely onto a cassette tape just so I have it tangibly), for Janet next door that might be pirating. Buying any books that might get destroyed is a good idea as well, so that way it still exists, despite censorship.

Stock up on physical items that may end up being destroyed / not being sold anymore. Books are a good idea to have since book censorship has existed as long as dictatorship has. Another idea is over the counter birth control since it likely won’t be allowed to be sold anymore. If anyone has any more ideas, put them in the reblogs / comments.

Stock up on money. I have a secret stash that has about $200 in physical dollars hidden in it, and that’s just counting dollars. 

Build Community

This goes hand-in-hand with prepare for the worst, but I felt like it deserved its own section.

Make a garden. It may be a bit late to do that right now due to it being winter in the U.S., but you can always prepare for one. Food prices will likely go up, so it’s good to have plans for free food.

I’m not sure what to title this bullet point, but with prices for everything likely going to go up, it’s great if there’s people who can provide things like clothes or anything else one might need.

Even without any of the other two things, having community in general is good. Even if that’s just a group of friends who you sit with at the lunch table and talk with, it’s still a community. If you aren’t able to make one in real life for whatever reason, then make one online.

If anyone has anything at all to add on then please put it in the reblogs (preferred) or comments. I’m not usually one to ask for reblogs, but I’d argue that this is really important and needs to be shared. Remember that your existence is resistance and that it’s always okay to punch a Nazi.

@our-trans-punk-experience @liberalsarecool

[kiribakuswife]

Love Thy Neighbor

Shouta Aizawa x Reader

Kinktober day 14!!

There was something weird about your next door neighbor. You had moved in about a month ago, and every interaction you had was not exactly what you had imagined. It was a small neighborhood, and you had gotten close with nearly every other neighbor around you; everyone besides the grumpy man next door.

It started your first day after moving in. Ever the hostess, you decided to bring cookies to all of your neighbors, sort of as an introduction sort of thing. It went great until you reached the last house in your loop, smiling brightly with your last batch of cookies as you knocked on the door. Your smile didn’t falter as the door opened slowly, revealing an exhausted looking man. You had to admit to yourself he was quite handsome, hair pulled back as his blank expression looked down at you.

“Hi!” You said, “I just wanted to introduce myself! I just moved in next door, my name’s (y/n).” You beamed at him as his eyes followed your thumb pointing to your house. “I brought these for you.” You continued, holding out the tray for him. He stared down at it briefly before looking back to you with a quizzical look.

“Why?” He asked, with a brow raised. You flattered for only a second, stumbling over your words. You had thought it was pretty normal. No one else had questioned you.

“Um, as a welcome, I guess?” Your response sounded more like a question, even to your own ears, causing you to cringe internally as his heavy gaze watched you intently.

“I don’t take food from strangers.” Was all he said, closing the door gently in your face, causing you to defleat, both with embarrassment and relief that his stupidly captivating eyes were no longer on you.

The next time you saw him, you were outside planting flowers, trying to add some light into your incredibly bare front yard. He was leaving the house in a suit, looking far more put together from the last time you saw him. His hair was brushed back off his forehead, allowing you to get a good look at him this time as you squinted up at him from below your sun hat. He was clean shaven this time, a scar under his eyes, pulling you in a way you didn’t want to think about.

“Hi neighbor!” You called, waving at him. He seemed to pause for a moment, startled by your voice. He waved a hand awkwardly in your direction, as you stood, wiping your hands on your apron before making your way over to the waist high fence that separated your yard. “I never got your name.” You prompted, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Shouta.” He provided plainly, squinting at you as he went to open the door to his car. “You have dirt on your face, (y/n).” Your face flamed as he got into the car, driving off as you watched, gaping. You weren’t sure if the blush was from embarrassment from smearing dirt on your face or from the fact that he had actually remembered your name.

The fact that he had actually remembered your name spurred you on though. You didn’t have to be best friends, but you were determined to at least develop some sort of acquaintance ship with him. The type of relationship where you wouldn’t feel bad if you had to ask him for a cup of sugar or something. 

It had continued on like that for a few weeks, a few words here and there as you passed each other. His hours were weird, typically working throughout the day, concluding he might have been a teacher or something, but every so often he wouldn’t come home until late in the evening, headlights shining through your window as you curled on the couch. It wasn’t like you were stalking him, you worked from home, your office window looking out onto the street. It wasn’t like you were trying to learn more about him than the little bit you had pulled out from your brief conversations. It wasn’t like you were interested in him or anything. Nothing like that.

The summer had turned into fall, morphing into winter as snow began to fall outside the window. He was home today, sort of confirming your teacher theory as the news droned in the background, calling out the cancellation of certain schools due to the weather. With the weather as nasty as it was, you decided it was time to bake. The warmth of a fresh out of the oven pie as the snow piled outside your window was a feeling next to nothing and you smiled to yourself as you pulled ingredients out of the cabinets. 

You had everything you needed for a pumpkin pie, everything except the eggs. You grimaced as you looked outside. The snow was only piling higher, and even if you did trust your car to get to the store without sliding off the road into a ditch, you would have to unearth it from the snow to even start the drive. A pie was not worth that effort,deciding today was going to be a lazy day as soon as you woke. As you looked outside weighing your options, your eyes suddenly flicked next door. Shouta! He was sure to at least have two eggs!

You rushed to the door, pulling on a jacket, boots, a hat and a scarf before throwing the door open. The chill from  the wind ripped into you as you marched down your drive and up his. You regretted not grabbing a pair of gloves as your hands shook, red as you knocked on his door. He sure took his time coming, shivering on his porch as he swung the door open, almost looking concerned as he took you in.

“Are you alright, (y/n)? What are you doing out here?” He questioned before you could speak, brows pulled together as he scanned you over.

“Hello Shouta!” You smiled at him, “I’ve come to ask if I could pretty please borrow two eggs.” You asked, placing your hands together and squeezing your eyes shut. He said nothing as you waited, cracking an eye open.

“You braved this shit for two eggs?” He asked, opening up the door further, gesturing you inside. “Come in, I’ll grab them.”

“Thank you!” You cheered, following him inside as he grunted out a reply, moving deeper into the house as you bounced on your toes by the closed door, trying to warm up. His home was sort of what you had expected, clean and quite minimal as you looked around. It seemed cozy though, a fire burning in the fireplace and a book placed open on the table, a blanket pooled on the couch. You almost felt bad for bothering him as he approached from the kitchen, eggs in hand.

“Ah, thank you! I owe you!” You smiled up at him as he held them out to you. “I’m making a pumpkin pie, I’ll bring you some!” You decided as he nodded.

“Perhaps wait until after the storm to come back out.” He said, and you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile across his face.

“Only because you said so,” You winked at him, pulling your scarf tighter as you turned to the door. “Thank you again, Shouta. I totally owe you.” You added with a wave as you exited, braving the cold as you hustled back home, a stay warm! Echoing behind you.

You had seen less of him in the days following the storm. The streets had been cleared, and the only interaction you had actually had was the plate left on your doorstep with a note saying “Pie was great. Thank you.” Maybe it was the end of the grading period, you reasoned as you looked outside. He was gone before you woke in the morning, and didn’t get home until way late in the night. You almost missed the little waves he had started sending in your direction as he drove off in the morning, or the small conversations you had as you conveniently had to take the trash out as he pulled in.

You shut off your computer with a sigh, heading into the kitchen to scrounge together a dinner of whatever little bits of foods you could find in the fridge, leaning against the counter as you scrolled on your phone. You nearly jumped out of your skin as a stern knock rang out, banging on your door. It was dark outside, nerves setting in as you read the time. It was nearly midnight, no reason for anyone to be knocking. You glanced out the window as you approached the door cautiously. Shouta had gotten home at some point, and you hoped that if something happened and you screamed loud enough he would at least call the police for you.

The knock came again as you grabbed the knob, honestly starting to get annoyed with whoever was on the other side. If they were banging on your door at midnight, they could at least have some patience. You nearly fell back as you swung the door open at the sight before you. Shouta stood on your porch, breathing heavily as he stared into your soul.

“(y/n) I-” He cut himself off, shaking his head, “I’m so sorry to bother you, I don’t know what’s come over me.” he shrank into the shadows of your porch, stepping back as his nose flared.

“What happened, are you alright?” You rushed out, reaching a hand out to grab his arm as he stumbled back further. He was dressed differently, all back with a heavy looking belt, a gray scarf wrapped tight around him. He shook his head again, trying to pull his arm away before freezing as he looked down at you. You squirmed in his gaze, you hadn’t even thought to throw on a jacket or something over your thin tank top as you opened the door, chills going through your skin at the icy air, nipples hardening to a point.

“Did you mean it?” His voice was low, almost a whisper as you shook your head, not having a clue what he was talking about, “When you said you owed me.” He explained, grabbing onto your own arm, embarrassingly making you lean into him. His words sent a spark through you, a spark you had been trying to snuff out since you first stood on his doorstep offering him cookies.

“Of course.” You mumbled out, eyes caught in his own.

“I was hit with a quirk.” He explained, guiding you back into your open doorway. “But I promise you, this is not just because of the quirk.” he slammed your door shut behind him, dragging you further into your house. He looked around, finally pulling you up the stairs. “Room?” he asked suddenly, whipping around to you.

“Room? What? What is going on?” Your head spun, gesturing to a door down the hall anyway.

“Can I fuck you?” he asked bluntly as he dragged you through the doorway, causing you to choke. 

“Well I’m not going to say no.” You laughed awkwardly. You wouldn’t lie to yourself, you had fantasized about him in your bed more than once, and you were going to take the chance if it presented itself to you his words of it’s not just because of the quirk echoing in your mind. “What do you mean by the quirk what happened?” You questioned, breath catching as he pulled you close, hands sliding under your shirt as his lips fell on your neck.

“Stupid fucking sex quirk.” He breathed out, “Makes you irresistibly horny for the one you’re most attracted to.” His words made you flush, suddenly feeling almost too hot as he lifted you, legs coming around his waist as he led you to the bed.

“Most attracted to?” You squeaked as he dropped you, soon coming back and capturing your lips on his own as a response. Your shirt was fully pushed up now, his hands cupping your breasts in a way that had you moaning into his mouth.

“I’ll tell you everything later.” He huffed out as he pulled back, a heavy gaze falling down to watch as he massaged your boobs. “I’m sorry if I came off as rude.” He continued, pulling your shirt over your head, his own following. “You make me-” He cut himself off with a groan as he ground against you, causing you to arch into him. “Fucking insane.” he finished, pulling back to yank off your shorts.

“In a good way?” You asked, trying for a joke but failing as you moaned out, his fingers sliding along your entrance.

“The best way.” He answered, sliding a finger inside and curling it, your hips bucking. He added another finger, easing you open. “I won’t be able to be gentle with you.” he sighed out, almost sounding disappointed as he pulled his fingers out, causing you to whine at the loss.

“I never said I wanted you to be.” You whispered out, watching as a smug grin split his face as he leaned back, pulling down his pants.

His cock was incredibly hard, almost looking painful as he looked down at you below him, stripped bare, legs spread wide and cheeks flushed. “You’re irresistible, you know that.” he cooed down at you, hair falling in his face as he looked down, guiding his cock to slide along your core. You groaned at the sensation, breaking out into a high pitched moan as he slid in roughly, entirely in one motion. 

His pace was almost brutal as he gripped your hips, pinning you to the bed as you cried out below him. “Look at you…” He said, brushing your hair back from your face as he grunted, “Just letting me in to fuck you.” You cried out at his words, your moans filling your empty halls. Your brain had officially left your body as you melted into him, pliant in whatever he wanted from you.

Your voice only raised in volume as his hand snaked down between you, finding your clit and rubbing with a brutality that matched his thrust, the pleasure almost making it hard to breathe. You felt the pressure increase, and knew you were close, far closer than you imagined. He leaned down, sucking harshly at your nipple, and with that you were done, nearly screaming his name as you came around him. He moaned at the feeling, hips stuttering before pulling out suddenly, grasping his cock in his hand, and with a few jerky movements he was cumming too, painting your skin with thick ropes.

He held his eyes tightly shut as he came, stilling above you. He looked like a god in this light, and for this moment he was yours. “I’ll grab you a towel.” He murmured, finally pulling away from you. Your eyes followed him as he left the room, brain finally deciding to reconnect as you asked yourself what the fuck just happened?

[dunmeshistash]

Does anyone else feel like they portrayal Kabru "cooler" in the anime than he is in the manga?

There's so many tiny differences that I feel like add up to a lack of the complex characterization he has in the manga. Small stuff like his facial expressions in certain scenes that to me reveal who he actually is behind his façade.

One of the ones that bothered me the most was this as he realizes Laios' true nature of a monster lover

In the anime he feels analytical/ thoughtful during this part but in the manga he's clearly more thrown off/disappointed with the realization.

And worst of all from the episode when he says bye to Laios

This is what we see of him as he says goodbye, his side profile from not too close and his EAR

And then he says "don't forget it next time" while posing and leaving as if it's an afterthought and not the main point he was making

This is how this interaction goes in the manga

His expression as he thinks about asking

His expression as he asks him to remember

He makes sure of it before even moving onto the exit. "Don't forget it next time, okay?" It's important for him and to me all these small expressions are important to realize that, it isnt some cool exiting phrase he just says, I thought thats what it felt like in the anime 🤔

And now on today's episode

Isn't this framed as Shuro seeing him as someone sinister? While in the manga this is framed as something lame edit: unhinged about him not something mysterious (Kabru looking at him moving away from Kabru vs Kabru moving away showing his back to shuro)

I might be thinking way too much into this but all these little details add up to me and make me feel sad that part of the complexity I love about Kabru is being lost. I was wondering if anyone else that read the manga felt similarly.

[bookyeom]

pairing: Jeonghan x reader word count: 4.7k warnings: kissing, a swear or two, Jeonghan is wet and yes that's a warning, long-haired Jeonghan which is also a very serious warning

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary.

nonsense by sabrina carpenter

i'll be honest looking at you got me thinking nonsense cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in i can’t find my chill, i must have lost it i don't even know, i'm talking nonsense

Yoon Jeonghan comes into your life with the same chaos and tumult of the heavy rain that’s pounding down against your window.

It’s during the middle of an October storm when he shows up at your door. There are loud knocks reverberating throughout your apartment, and you can hear a man calling out for someone named Soonyoung to just ‘let him in already’. It’s followed by more unintelligible mumbles, though you think you can make out the words ‘rain’ and ‘soaking wet’ — you think there might be a few curse words thrown in there, too. Honestly, you’d have ignored the guy if he didn’t sound so… defeated. But you feel bad, so you open the door.

And lock eyes with one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen. 

Well, you think to yourself, damn. 

You watch as the man in front of you stops mid-sentence and mid-knock, hand hanging in the air between the two of you for a moment. You take a moment to note the long, dark hair that falls just below his ears, the ends of it dripping rainwater onto his black leather jacket; the dark eyes, framed by some of the most beautiful eyelashes you’ve ever seen. He blinks, a single droplet fluttering down onto his flushed cheek as he does. Then he drops his hand and straightens, wet hair clinging to his forehead — and he smiles. 

“You’re not Soonyoung.”

His words surprise you. The guy standing in front of you is definitely not who you had been expecting, either. He’s gorgeous, rain-soaked and all. You’re certain that you’ve never seen him around here before, because you would definitely remember if you had. 

“No, I’m not,” you affirm. You point over his shoulder to the door across the hall. “Soonyoung’s over there.” 

“Ah,” he says slowly, smile turning sheepish, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He winces as soon as his fingers slide into the wet material, as if suddenly remembering the predicament he’s in, and you stifle a laugh. “I’m Jeonghan,” he adds, and you can tell that he’s attempting to play it cool despite how obviously displeased he is with the current events.

Jeonghan. A pretty name for a pretty guy, you think. 

“Hi, Jeonghan.”

His smile grows, and yours does too. “I’m one of Soonyoung’s friends,” he explains. “He forgot to give me the code for the door downstairs, and he wasn’t answering his buzzer...” He glances down at himself, soaked to the bone, and the smile falls from his lips. You can’t help it — you let out the giggle you’ve been suppressing. His gaze finds yours again at the sound, eyebrows raising, and you bite your lip. 

“Sorry,” you offer, semi-apologetic, though you’re still biting back a grin. “That sucks.”

“Thanks so much,” he returns, and you can hear the sarcasm in his voice. You hold up your hands in surrender, and then he’s smiling at you again, and — holy shit, he’s pretty. 

Neither of you move, and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows. Jeonghan seems to snap out of it, lifting a hand to run through his hair, and you’re almost embarrassed at the way you ogle him while he does. He doesn’t seem to notice, thank god. You’ve never met this man before, but something tells you he’d be awfully smug if he knew. You don’t look like that and not know it.

“I just moved into an apartment down the street,” he continues, “so I’ll be at Soonyoung’s more often.” He pauses, and then he smiles at you again — like he’s got a secret that you don’t get to know. “I’ll see you around?”

“Sure. See you later, Jeonghan.”

You don’t think too much about Jeonghan over the next couple of days. Work is busier than usual, so you get home late every day, exhausted — and you spend far too much money on takeout food. But today is finally Friday, so you treat yourself to an XL pizza with zero regrets. You’ll start making your own meals again tomorrow. 

You’re lounging on your couch, only half paying attention to the series playing on your TV screen, when you hear a knock on your door that shakes you out of your exhausted daze. Your eyebrows furrow. Usually, you’d have to let the delivery person in with your buzzer, but you suppose someone might have let them in the building. 

You grab your wallet, flipping it open to take out your debit card. When you open your door, you freeze in your tracks, because it’s not the pizza delivery guy who stands on the other side. It’s Jeonghan. 

Your eyes take him in, head to toe, and you can’t even be ashamed about it. You don’t think you could look away if you tried. He looks different today — more put-together. A lot drier. Just as devastatingly beautiful, though. You’d nearly forgotten. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“Hi,” you echo. 

Then he does the thing that hooked you the first time you’d met — he smiles. He doesn’t say anything else until you raise your eyebrows, and he seems to realize that it’s his turn to speak again.

“What are you paying me for?”

You blink. Then you remember you’re clutching your bank card in your hand, and you let out an awkward laugh. “Thought you were the delivery guy.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he teases. 

“I forgive you.”

Jeonghan’s smile widens, and you wait for him to continue. “I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about last week,” he says, and you watch as he bites his lip with a sheepish smile. “Not a great first impression.”

You hum. “True. You’re lucky I even opened the door that night, what with how crazy you sounded and all.” 

You’re teasing, but he’s unflinching as he holds your gaze and responds, “Yeah, I am lucky.”

You manage to keep your cool as you cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe, but you’d be lying if you said his blatant flirtation isn’t working on you. “Well, you’re extra lucky I opened the door again today.”

He breaks out into a grin. “Like I said… I know.”

You don’t even attempt to smile back — it just happens, involuntarily. God, he’s cute. 

You wait again for him to say something. He doesn’t. He just looks at you, and you start to feel a bit warm under his gaze. “Was there anything else?” You finally say. “I hope you didn’t forget where Soonyoung lives again.”

“Oh.” Jeonghan blinks, shaking his head. “No. I just… didn’t get your name last time.”

He seems to immediately regret how quickly he’s said the words, and you can’t believe how absolutely endeared you are by it all. Something tells you that the man in front of you is usually better at this. It makes you flush, makes you feel far too giddy, to realize that you seem to be the reason he’s flustered. 

“Y/N,” you offer, and Jeonghan’s smile returns. 

“Y/N,” he repeats. “Nice to meet you… Again.”

When he excuses himself towards Soonyoung’s and you close the door behind you, you don’t even try to tamper down the grin that’s on your face.

The next week, it takes everything in you not to think about Jeonghan.

It’s Wednesday morning when you run into Soonyoung in the lobby by the post boxes. He looks like he’s just come from the gym, Nike bag slung over one shoulder as he flashes you a smile, lifting one hand in an excited wave. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Hey,” you greet. 

"How are you?"

His energy is contagious, and you can already feel your morning getting brighter just at the sight of him.

"I'm doing good, Soonyoung, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm great!" He turns to leave with another hearty wave, free hand now full of mail, and you wave back. You’re startled when you hear his footsteps come to an abrupt halt. He calls your name again, and you turn to him in surprise.

“Are you busy Friday night?” 

Your eyes widen. “Me?”

Soonyoung giggles, nose scrunching up as he does. “No, the mailbox.”

You blush. “Right. I don’t think so, why?”

“I’m having a little gathering with some of my friends,” he tells you. “If you’re home, I’d love for you to come!”

You’re caught off guard — and terribly, terribly pleased. You’ve always liked Soonyoung’s energy, and you’re honestly surprised you haven’t hung out with him before. Plus, your mind supplies unhelpfully, Jeonghan might be there.

“That sounds fun,” you say, brushing the thought aside, and Soonyoung beams.

“Cool! People are coming around 8:00.” He grins. “You know where to find me.”

On Friday, you cross the hall to Soonyoung’s just after 8:30pm. You were hoping Jeonghan would be there by now – because you don’t know any of Soonyoung’s other friends, is what you tell yourself – but he isn’t. Soonyoung greets you with a hug and a beaming smile, and he quickly pulls you into his apartment and introduces you to his other friends.

It’s easy, you realize, to talk to them. You manage to entrench yourself deep into a conversation about the best ways to cook potatoes with his friend Mingyu, but your eyes still keep flickering to the front door against your will. It’s just after 9:00 when Jeonghan finally arrives.

You try to play it cool when your eyes meet, as if you haven’t been holding your breath waiting for him to arrive, your hand lifting to send him a small wave before you turn back to your conversation with Mingyu. You can feel Jeonghan’s eyes still on you, though, and it takes every effort you have in you to ignore the pull of his gaze.

You’re surprised when Soonyoung plops down next to you, leaning forward to slap Mingyu’s knee. The younger man lets out a whine, but Soonyoung simply grins. Mingyu doesn’t retaliate with anything more than a pout, even though he could easily win against Soonyoung in a fistfight. It makes you smile, how much they seem to genuinely like each other. 

“Y/N!” Soonyoung suddenly turns to you, and you startle.  

“Soonyoung!” You say back, and you hear Mingyu snicker from his spot across from you.

“You’re so cool,” Soonyoung gushes, and you can tell he’s a few drinks deep, but it makes you smile anyway. You’re about to thank him when he continues, “I’m so glad Jeonghan suggested inviting you. I don’t know why I never have before! You’re super cool.”

You ignore the way your face flushes, and Soonyoung is thankfully too excited to notice. 

“Thanks, Soonyoung. I’m glad to be here,” you say honestly, and you’re greeted with that blinding smile again in return. You’ve always thought that your neighbour was cute, and you’re quickly discovering that his personality absolutely matches your initial assessment.

As Soonyoung turns back to Mingyu and the two of them fall into an animated conversation, your eyes wander across the room, Soonyoung’s previous words replaying in your mind. 

Jeonghan suggested inviting you.

Your eyes quickly find the man in question. He’s leaning against the wall by the window now as he chats to his other friends. You watch him for a moment, a smile on your lips, and he must feel your gaze on him because he turns, soft brown eyes meeting yours. You don’t look away this time, arching an eyebrow at him, and he easily returns the gesture. It makes you smile even more.

You excuse yourself from Soonyoung and Mingyu, heading into the kitchen. You’ve just found where Soonyoung keeps his glasses and are filling one up with water from the tap when you hear someone enter the room behind you.

“Hey, 213.”

You try to be nonchalant when you turn, your eyebrows raised as you lift the glass to your lips. “I gave you my name… and for what?”

The smile on Jeonghan’s mouth grows. It really is quite something, the power that smile holds. “I’m so sorry,” he teases. “Hi, Y/N.” 

The sound of your name coming from his mouth sounds even better today. “Hi, Jeonghan.”

He leans against the counter, hands sliding into his pockets. “Did you have a good week?”

“I did,” you say honestly. “It was a lot less busy than last week — which was nuts. I had like eight projects due and…” You trail off, cheeks flushing as you realize you’d begun to ramble. So much for keeping your cool. What is it about this guy that lowers all your defenses? You’ve only met him twice before tonight.

You can’t help it, though. You want to know more — you want to know everything about him. And what’s even scarier is that you think you might want him to know everything about you, too.

“I’m glad,” is all he says, and you feel the sudden need to take another sip of water, averting your eyes. 

“What about you?” 

He hums. “Mine was good, too.” You can feel him looking at you, not saying anything until you meet his eyes again, and then he says, “It’s even better now.”

You don’t have a chance to answer before a commotion sounds through the apartment, and the both of you jump. You follow Jeonghan back out into the living room, where you find two new faces at the door. The man beside you amusedly informs you that the newcomers are Seokmin and Seungkwan, or in other words, the two that encourage — and even join in on — all of Soonyoung’s bad ideas. The commotion you’d heard had been the result of a tipsy Soonyoung seeing his partners in crime and loudly cheering.

The moment with Jeonghan is lost as the two of you rejoin the party, but it's all you think about for the rest of the evening. 

As the night goes on, you find that you really like Soonyoung’s friends. But after just one glass of wine and the clock passing 11:00pm, you can feel your energy draining. You’re pretty sure Soonyoung himself is asleep in the armchair. You wait for Seungkwan to finish telling his story before you announce your plans to excuse yourself. The news is met with a chorus of awws and boos, but you know they’re only teasing. You can’t help but laugh at their antics, bidding your goodbyes as you stand and head for the door.

“I’ll walk you home.”

You turn as Jeonghan speaks from behind you, ready to tease him because really? but he’s prepared for it, already grinning blindingly over at you before you can make a retort. You wonder how old he was when he learned the power of disarmament that his smile holds. 

He opens the door and gestures for you to leave first, and you concede. You take the four steps out into the hall and across to your own apartment door, Jeonghan trailing behind you. As you pull out and insert your key, you glance at him and you say, “Thanks for asking Soonyoung to invite me.”

You see Jeonghan’s eyes flash in surprise, but he’s quick to mask it. “No problem,” he responds, a hand lifting to scratch the side of his jaw. He offers you a shy smile and you jokingly roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, too.

“Was it too hard to invite me yourself, or what?”

Jeonghan leans against the wall. If he’s phased by your bluntness, it doesn’t show. “I didn’t have any way to contact you.”

“‘Didn’t’, past tense?” Your door unlocks, and you gently push it open with one hand. “Why, do you have a way to contact me now?”

You’re teasing him, and you know he knows it. But all he does is smile, pushing off the wall as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out for you to take. 

“You tell me.”

You almost want to pretend to debate his proposal, but his eyes are so sincere as he waits that you just can’t tease him. You knew from the second he took out his phone that you were going to give him your number, so what’s the point in pretending? 

Wordlessly, you take his phone and enter your information, trying to ignore the way you can feel him watching you. You hand it back to him without a word, contact info saved, and offer him a soft ‘goodnight’ before you slip into your apartment.

Unknown Number [11:21pm]: hi :)

Y/N [11:23pm]: who’s this? ;)

Jeonghan [11:24pm]: oh sorry, do i have the wrong number? 

Jeonghan [11:24pm]: I’ll go

You bite your lip, clutching a pillow to your chest as you debate your answer. You’re feeling so giddy, so shy — you even kick your feet a little. You think for a minute, debating whether or not to just go for it. You do.

Y/N [11:26pm]: please don’t

You expect him to tease you for giving in so easily. He doesn’t.

Jeonghan [11:27pm]: :)

Jeonghan (11:27pm]: hi, y/n

To your pleasant surprise, you end up spending more and more time across the hallway at Soonyoung’s over the next few weeks. He texts you the morning after his party and apologizes for how drunk he had gotten, and an hour later, you show up at his door with cookies and two bottles of purple Gatorade. The rest is history. 

You really like Soonyoung. He’s hilarious, and kind, and a little bit out there in all the best of ways. He appreciates your cooking, and you appreciate his taste in takeout food. He tolerates your rom coms and you tolerate his poor taste in TV sitcoms. You’re grateful to have made a new friend, and you like spending time with him. 

It doesn’t hurt that Jeonghan stops by a couple of times, too. And every time, you willfully ignore the smug looks Soonyoung sends your way.

It’s been over a month since you met Jeonghan. You text almost every day, and you’ve seen him at Soonyoung’s almost every week since you met. He makes you laugh, he texts you good night, and you’ve caught him looking at you on more than one occasion. And yet — he hasn’t made a single move. 

You think that maybe you should be the one to do it, but you’re unsure. You know he’s flirting with you — you’re not stupid — and you know he’s not shy about any of it. He has to know you’re flirting with him, too, because you’ve never been more obvious about anything in your life, ever. You usually have no qualms about being the one to make a move first, but in these weeks getting to know Jeonghan, you’ve learned some things.

One: Jeonghan has your favourite smile in the world.

Two: He’s confident, and loves to tease.

Three: He’s actually a giant softie.

You see his softness in so many ways. You see it in the way he remembers everything about his friends, from allergies to favourite colours; in the way he brought salt when he came over last week because he remembered Soonyoung ran out; in the way he pretends to complain but then watches his friend’s antics with the fondest of smiles. 

And you wonder if maybe he’s as afraid of this new thing between you as you are.

So you’re giving him time. 

But on nights like tonight, when Soonyoung purposefully moves to the armchair when Jeonghan arrives so that he can join you on the couch, when Jeonghan’s knee is pressed to yours and his arm is on the back of the couch, when you catch him staring during the movie and he doesn’t look away — you think you might snap if he doesn’t do something soon.

“I swear I’ve never seen Jeonghan this much in all the years I’ve known him,” Soonyoung comments out of the blue one Thursday evening.

It takes you a second to process what he’s said, your head lifting from your laptop to look at him. “Oh.” You blink. “Because he lives closer now, you mean?”

Soonyoung simply scoffs, and you distinctly feel like you’re missing something. He gives you a pointed look. “We used to be roommates in uni, and I didn’t even see him this much then.” You nod slowly, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes. He rolls his eyes. “He’s obviously around more lately because of you, Y/N.”

The flush spreads all the way from your head to your toes. The idea of it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you hide your face behind your laptop again. “Shut up, Soonyoung.”

“Are you going to tell me you didn’t notice?”

You pause, staring at your screen but not really seeing it. “I did notice,” you finally say softly. “But…”

“But what? Don’t pretend you’re not just as down bad for him.”

You bite down on your lower lip, but you don’t deny it. “He hasn’t said anything, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung doesn’t look at you as he casually says, “Yeah, well, that’s because Jeonghan’s a dumbass.”

You snort but don’t respond, and the conversation is left at that.

Jeonghan [2:45pm]: what are you upto?

Y/N [2:48pm]: trying not to murder my new bookshelf before I even get it put up 

Y/N [2:48pm]: you?

Jeonghan [2:50pm]: haha oh no

Jeonghan [2:53pm]: i have to stop by Soonyoung’s on my way home 

Jeonghan [2:53pm]: do you want some help? 

Jeonghan, it turns out, isn’t much help at all. 

“You’re worse than me!”

You can’t stop laughing as Jeonghan stands there helplessly, both of you watching the bookshelf crumble for the third time in an hour. As the last piece hits the floor, he turns to pout at you. 

“Let’s give up for now,” you offer, and you try to hold back your giggle at the indignant look on his face. You can’t.

Jeonghan groans as you dissolve into another fit of laughter. He collapses down onto the couch next to you, his head falling back. His hair has gotten a bit longer recently since he’s started letting it grow out, and your eyes can’t help but watch the way the dark strands fall over the back of your sofa. You suppress a shiver as you picture running your fingers through it, before shaking yourself out of it. 

“Why did you volunteer to help if you’re this bad at it?” You tease him one more time, and he opens one eye to glare at you.

“I didn’t think it could be that much harder than Lego.” His voice is small when he says it, obviously embarrassed, and you try — you really try — not to laugh at him. It’s futile. 

“Lego?” You repeat, and then you’re breaking into a fit of giggles again.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I have a sick Lego collection at my place.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Inviting yourself over so soon?”

You ignore the flutter in your tummy and opt for rolling your eyes as a response. “You’re literally in my apartment right now, Jeonghan.”

He holds your gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting as he stares at you, and the butterflies take full flight, unable to stop that silly little feeling from settling deep in the pit of your stomach. “I am,” he hums. He breaks your gaze only to lift his head and glance around the living room, before his eyes settle on you again and he says, “I like it. It’s very… you.”

“Very me?” You question, amused, leaning your elbow on the back of the couch and resting your head on it. “How so?”

“You know,” Jeonghan gestures vaguely, “cozy, warm…” He smiles, and you’re so aware of just how close he is when he shifts to imitate your pose and finishes, “and, you know, beautiful.”

Your breath catches in spite of yourself. He flirts with you, you know this, but he’s never said anything outright like that before. His eyes begin to travel across your face, lazy and slow, the corner of his mouth lifting the longer he looks at you. His gaze lingers on your mouth, and yours lingers on his, and –

“Didn’t you say you have to stop at Soonyoung’s for something?” 

You have absolutely no clue why you decided to whisper that right now. Jeonghan pulls back a little, slow and blinking. You wince when he looks away from you.

“Oh,” he says, “yeah. Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I guess I should… go.” 

You try to meet his eyes, but in a moment of shyness that is so very un-Jeonghan, he refuses to look at you as he stands up. You want to beat yourself up for saying anything – you’d meant to tease him a little, not kick him out.

“Jeonghan,” you say, and he stops making his way to the front door. He still doesn’t look at you, though, and you force your next words to come out strong. “The next time you want to see me, you can just ask. You don’t have to use Soonyoung as an excuse.” 

He looks at you now, eyes lifting from the floor, and you’re so relieved that you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I don’t?”

“No,” you shake your head, “because I want to see you, too.”

“You… do?”

You’ve never seen him like this. He seems uncertain, unsure, and you feel horrible for trying to tease him when you’re certain he’d been about to make a move. “Yes.” You nod, taking a step towards him. “Jeonghan?”

“Yeah?” His gaze is unwavering on you now.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?” 

“I think you were going to kiss me just now, and I opened my big mouth instead of just letting you do it.” 

Jeonghan’s cheeks flush pink, and you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to turn away from you. He’s embarrassed, which you’ve never seen in the weeks that you’ve known him, and it suddenly dawns on you that he probably thinks you didn’t want to kiss him. Your heart drops into your toes.

“Please kiss me, Jeonghan.”

Desperation is all you can hear as you say the words, and it would be your turn to be embarrassed if you didn’t want it so badly. Want him so badly. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to process. You’ve never seen him this speechless, either. It’s a day of firsts.

“Please.”

Your final word comes out in a plea, a near beg – another first. You don’t care. You can’t think about anything else. 

He closes the gap before you can so much as breathe another word, hands flying to your jaw as he presses his mouth to yours, fiercer than anything you could have ever dreamed of. Your hands grasp onto his hoodie as you gasp, stumbling a little, but he doesn’t let you get very far. And then you’re kissing him back, pulling him into you as close as he can go, closer, closer — and then even closer still. The way his mouth opens against yours, the way he moves as he kisses you stupid, has your knees nearly buckling underneath you.

It’s him that breaks away first. You’re breathless, and so is he, and neither of you says anything for a minute. 

“You wanted me to do that?”

You pull away to look up at him, his hands still on your face. “Only since the first day I met you, you dumbass.”

“You…”

“Yeah.”

His hands drop from your face before he pulls you with him to sit back on the couch. Your heart is racing as you wait for him to speak. 

“You like me?”

“With all due respect,” you say incredulously, “you’re literally so fucking stupid.”

Jeonghan pouts. “I thought…” He runs a hand through his hair, and you resist the urge to do it for him. “I thought you and Soonyoung…”

Your jaw drops. “Me and Soonyoung?!”

“You’re always together! And you always talk about how cute he is –”

“He is cute, Jeonghan. But I definitely haven’t been waiting for him to make out with me.”

Jeonghan groans, and he’s blushing again. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know if Soonyoung was into you, or if you were into him, because you guys get along so well, and he makes you laugh so much, and…” He shrugs. “I didn’t want to interfere if there was something going on there.” 

“Jeonghan,” you say slowly. “Did you ever just… I don’t know, ask Soonyoung if he likes me?”

Jeonghan blinks for a moment. 

“Also – do you not think you and I get along well?” You’re teasing him now, and you watch as the realization dawns on him. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and you’re amazed yet again at the way you somehow manage to render him as bashful as this. 

You reach for his hand, tugging him closer, and he comes willingly. You lift a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear as you say, “You can make it up to me somehow, I’m sure.”

You’re pleased when he seems to take that as a challenge.

A/N: Finally a Hannie one! Thanks for waiting xx

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