#and still wanting to talk to them about it. still needing them to comfort you and give you their advice and insights

[ghostlychaosfoil]

KIRBY QUESTIONS!!!

may be repetitive.. some questions refer to similar things

also it is mostly unnecessary to read the questions above, you can just read my responses

kirby fs has to grow on people. He instinctively puts up a intimidating persona when meeting new people, due to his old job as a repo man. Hes pretty annoying at first, but he will lower that persona eventually.

kirby is very used to being alone so he feels pretty comfortable and calm with being alone. He was homeschooled for most of his life and his only past social experiences were at jobs where he had to be serious with the exception of his dad, whom he spend most of his time with. His social personality is always an attempt at a serious person (since he was never that good at acting like that) it is pretty easy to see through him at his mix of anxiety, suspicion and despairity to be likeable. over time he gives ul the act.

the emotion that is the hardest for kirby to deal with is fear

kirby is more physically affectionate than emotionally affectionate, though he needs to recieve both. he used to be more emotionally affectionate with leatherhead, when helping him through his occasional depressive episodes concerning his divorced partner.

kirby good at keeping secrets from everyone but one select person (raph or leatherhead, depending on the time) which must hear ALL the secrets

He speak in hints and riddle when it come to his past or other sensitive topics otherwise he is regrettably blunt.

Kirby is a decent liar until you pick up on subtle habits of his. Kirby will cover or hide his shoulder marks when he lies because when he was young, leatherhead told him that everyone could see his shoulder marks glow (parenting hack he found online). Kirby will lie to prove his point, or to get out of a uncomfortable situation.

Kirby is not very open about his true feelings positive and negative verbally but hes is pretty bad at controlling his body language and facial expressions.

Kirbys main love language is acts of service with minor quality time and physical touch.

Kirby does not fall in love very quickly because he will have manyyy contradicting toughts and feelings

some small things that make kirby happy are butter, small animals, mountain dew, sunsets, and when his rollerblades are clean

His self esteem plummeted after his krangification, due to his lack of support system and different appearance.

When kirbys sense of humor is mainly observational. If someone says or does something he will lightheartedly use it as a tool to make a joke. He doesnt make puns though, he more repeats the action with his own humorous spin on it (ex pointing out the irony of something or repeating what someone said in a weird voice). His laugh is also very contagious, so he can make people laugh fairly easily if he wants to. There is also the aspect of him unintentionally being funny in awkward situations, in which case he gets defensive or tries to play it off like it was a joke all along.

its not hard to make kirby laugh, he will laugh at any stupid pun or slightly ironic situation. he is not very good at suppressing his laughs (he does get mad if the laugh breaks his serious act). Kirby has a mainly wheeze laugh or a snicker, depending on how funny it was.

Kirby does not hide it very well when he doesnt like someone. he will often either not talk to them or try to refute or disprove their every word.

Kirby easily relies on others to help him out but he later learned to be more independent when he lived alone.

His biggest struggle that no one around is able to understand or believe is learning how to interact with his peers in a “kind” way. or his nerve disfunction that other deem veeeery convinient.

Oh boy does he have to hide his identity! After he is dekrangified, his marks are stained pink, still giving him a krangy look, not to mention his increase in size. That mixed with him already being mutant, he keeps to the alleys and tops of buildings and tries to keep a low profile and wears his hood when in public.

If he could change one thing in the past it would have been to not have been so embarrassed of his dad, and instead had appreciated it while he could.

When kirby is sad or upset he would prefer company but is scared/embarrassed to ask for it or admit it. it would go something like “kirby do you want a hug?” “nahh”(WHY DID I SAY THAT I DO WANT A HUG I SHOULD ASK FOR A HUG AGAIN SAY NEVERMIND SAY NEVERMIND) “wait actually uhh”

when kirby is sick he would prefer not to be seen.

kirby sure does have nightmares! and sleep paralysis. They are usually about the krang invesion or being krangified, or something starting with a happy scenario like his old life in his house, restaurant, junk yard, rollerblading, and then it twists into something scary. And thats when his dreams arent being manipulated by venus. his venus dreams are very vivid yet muffled. Venus is trying to reconnect with kirby and trying to find him through his dreams, kirby not understanding this one bit. He later has dreams about venus even when she isnt trying to be in them, stemming from kirby constantly worrying about the venus dreams.

The darkest period of kirby’s life was the months after being unkrangified, before meeting raph. This is because he is fully cut off from everyone he once knew, and has massive amounts of ptsd and anxiety, and injury from being krangified.

its very easy for kirby’s emotions to cloud his judgement.

kirby does have fears and phobias, lots of them. his willingness to open up depends on the likelyhood that it will change someones view of him (this is mainly after krangification, he was an open book w his dad and repo)

Physical injuries post krang: ocular migranes cause by blood vessel spasms (temporary blindness), sensory and motor nerve damage in areas where the krang was most populated (crush injury in arm due to compression), some areas of skin just ripped up and cut, just so much fatigue (the krang had his body working nonstop for months). Mental illness oh boy he got that anxiety and ptsd (lets just say hes in the special classes iykwim /ij)

Kirby does have scars, the most prominent being the pink stained marks on his face arms and legs (his face mostly), and he HATESS them, kirby cant stand to look in a mirror for a long time. The sight of the scary pink on his face send him in a spiral. He also has a scars on his hands from a butter knife (the super noticeable one on his left hand, its very embarrassing when he admits what actually caused it and that it wasnt from a shark fight) and smaller ones on both hands (he tried both hands🫣) from pizza cutters. the hand cuts he doesnt mind as much, though he forgets about them as his hands are usually wrapped nowadays, they sometimes make him sad but only sometimes!

something that kirby will never forgive is something that kirby doesnt know yet… BUT in the meantime its the harm he caused as a krang

kirby deals with loss, stress, and anger in a sort of neutral way if its not that severe. He goes out of his way to avoid all things that would even slightly trigger a thought about the thing causing the distress (this could possibly mess with his sleep or safety🤔). He will try to distract himself with tasks such as cleaning or fixing things in his home, listening to the radio, going out and just walking around doing whatever he ends up doing. (if its severe them somebody go check on kirby)

best coping mechanisms above ⬆️ worst coping mechanism would be “try not to sleep ever challenge!!!” (somebody put him down)

It is super hard for kirby to own up to his mistakes and wrongdoings because he thinks admitting to them means hes a horrible person.

heheheh….. maybeeee

kirby’s fondest and most treasured memories would be cooking or watching tv with his dad.

some vices Kirby has are lying, stealing, and being easily agitated

Kirby doesnt not like his appearance, if he could change it he would at least change his marks back to normal shape and color.

His favorite blanket hold emotional value because it reminds him of the one he used to have. Its a giant fluffy brown blanket that he stole😳 through someones window( saw it, stuck his arm through to window, starts pulling it out and is struggling because he underestimated its size, its owner, who was IN THE ROOM, starts pulling it back and yelling, kirby had already gotten too deep he gotta commit, so he eventually wins the tug o war and scurries off w it). his butterfly knives later hold emotional value when one of the turtles etches Anata wa hitori ja nai when kirby is accepted into the fam.

Kirby would spend a lazy day to go on walk, rollerblade, just be outside. But if theres someone around, he will just try to join in on whatever they are doing, if nothing to di w them, he shall suggest a movie or crafts of some kind.

When kirby needs to feel comfortable, he would prefer to be in a quiet place or go with someone he trusts (ex raph, the other turtles too as time goes on). Another comfort is his blanket specifically or any blanket in general, he likes being warm.

Kirby’s sleeping habits are BAD due to his fear of dreaming that he has developed. His favorite sleeping position is on his back but most surfaces arent squishy enough for him to lay on his back due to his shell shape, his second favorite is fetal position. Kirby twitches and moves a LOT in his sleep unless its a super deep sleep, then hes totally still. If he’s sleeping with someone then he will often gravitate towards the warmth of the person, if not clinging to, hes at least touching them.

Oh kirby is picky with his food alright. He grew up in his dad’s restaurant (minotaurs pizza) and he expects everything he eats to be of that “high” quality (hes alwayss disappointed).Also ironically he mostly snacks on very not high quality food throughout the day instead if eating meals. he will at least try whatever you give him but he will complain the whole time. He has a borderline addiction to butter and buttery foods.

Their usual morning routine is not very set in stome for kirby, it fluxuates from day to day and where he is.

Their idea of a perfect hangout would be to go skate around somewhere not too busy or loud (maybe in naturee🤔) and then go get the “butter safe then sorry”(lmao) pizza from minotaurs pizza and then go to someones house and watch a movie

he dodsnt know what that is

At a party you would find kirby smuggling food in his pockets, either being really good or horribly bad at a party game, or scaring the hoes😔

for an event he would dress slightly different than he normally does and think its dressed up

Kirby dresses for comfort rather than style (his one rule for dressing is just NO PINK)

NO NONO NOnot like leo LMAOO

i dont knowww

some things people assume he doesnt know or can do: knows how to to churn butter so thats a thing that he can do. He is pretty good at fighting though his form is shit. he is knowledgeable on agriculture and earth stuff. Some things people assume he does know but he doesnt: this guy CANNOT spell and does not know what a lot of the words he uses mean. he cant ica skate (it is NOT the same as rollerblading) or skateboard.

He is really good at rollerblanding and negotiating, he is really bad at reading and writing

Kirby is good with money, hes very cheap and also very reluctant to spend it, so, he ends up saving lots of it.

kirby is NOT bilingual (I know I know sorry to disappoint the fans). He stuggled to learn his first language he couldnt speak another if he tried.

Kirby does like to sing but he is so bad at it. He is not confident in it. He will sing super loud if he knows hes alone (he WILL swear off singing if caught).

Kirby doesnt like the shopping aspect of gift giving (online shopping HAYES to see him coming but he doesnt have a credit card soo) but he LOVES seeing the person glow when they see what he got them. Kirby is actually a phenomenal gift giver.

Kirby can take a liking to a place so fast, but it will take a while for his perspective to shift from the old home to the new one. If he comes back to a place more than once than its a contender for a home.

Kirby would react to a dirty joke by immediately shifting to a blank expression and slowly turning to stare at the person whi said it.

The most stupid and dangerous thing hes ever done is either try to tame repos cat or stay awake for a long period of time alone in the city with a fucked up body

In the situation where he had to choose, he would rather stay loyal to the people he loves

Kirby would want to be remembered for being right.

If they were to commit a crime(he has commit it already) I would be theft alll the theft. or poisoning someone (he REALLY had to fight the urge when he was working at minotaurs).

OC questions

60 questions that can be made into an OC ask game, or you can just fill everything out yourself to get to know your character a little better :)

___

[1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?

[2] How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

[3] What emotion is the hardest for them to deal with?

[4] How physically and emotionally affectionate they are?

[5] Are they good at keeping secrets?

[6] How direct are they in conversations, do they speak in hints and riddles or bluntly say what they think?

[7] Are they a good liar, and what would they probably lie about?

[8] How open they are about their true feelings, both positive and negative?

[9] What is their love language?

[10] How quickly do they fall for someone?

[11] What are small things that make them happy?

[12] How high is their self-esteem?

[13] What kind of sense of humor do they have, if any?

[14] What does it take to make them laugh, and what does their laugh sound like?

[15] How do they act around people they don't like?

[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?

___

[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe?

[18] Do they ever have to hide their identity and for what reason?

[19] If they could change one thing about their past, what would they change?

[20] When they’re sad or upset, do they need company or some time alone?

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit and take care of them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

[22] Do they have nightmares, and if yes, when did they start and what are they usually about?

[23] What was the worst, the darkest period of their life that they have been through?

[24] How hard it is for them to not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement?

[25] Do they have fears and phobias, and if they do, do they usually keep it to themselves or talk about it openly?

[26] Do they have any physical or mental ilness, how do they handle it and how open they are about it?

[27] Do they have any scars, how did they get them and how do they feel about them?

[28] What is something that they will never be able to forgive?

[29] How do they deal with loss, stress and anger?

[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?

[31] How hard it is for them to own up to their mistakes and wrongdoings?

[32] Is there something they've done in the past that they deeply regret till this day?

[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?

___

[34] Do they have vices they don't want others to know about?

[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?

[36] Do they own items that have sentimental value?

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?

[39] What is their sleeping habits and favorite sleeping position, either alone and with someone?

[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?

[41] What’s their usual morning routine?

[42] What is their idea of a perfect friendly hangout and/or romantic date?

[43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?

[44] On a party, where would you find them?

[45] For an event, would they dress like they typically do, or go all out?

[46] Would they rather dress to look attractive or to feel comfortable, and what would they never wear?

[47] Do they drink alcohol, and if they do, how much and how often?

[48] Are they, or were they at some point in their life, a part of any subculture?

___

[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?

[50] What are they really good and really bad at?

[51] How good are they with money?

[52] Do they speak any other languages aside from their own?

[53] Do they like to sing and how confident they are with their singing?

[54] Do they like giving gifts, and how good are they at picking good gifts?

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke?

[57] What was the most stupid or dangerous thing they have ever done?

[58] In the situation where they had to choose, would they rather stay loyal to their morals or to people they love?

[59] What would they want to be remembered for?

[60] If they were to commit a crime, what kind of crime would it most likely be?

---

some of these question were written myself, some are the courtesy of my friend, and some were brought from my questionnaires in my old fandom. if you use them, please reblog or link back to this post

[allfearstofallto]

"Aren't you Going to Finish That Thought?"

Wanderer x Fem! Reader

Pure fluff, hurt and comfort

AN: Super super self indulgent fic. Just something I needed as a D1 yapper

“And when you dig the hole, it has to be very shallow, because the roots continue to grow down faster than-” you stop yourself, a hint of embarrassment on your face. You're talking too much. Again. Blabbing on and on about something or other that no one cares about, filling the silence with your annoying voice.

You always talked to Wanderer. You'd seek him out wherever he went just to sit and chat with him. Although, chatting meant he'd actually respond, he never said much back. Instead he'd have his nose in his book or his eyes focused on what was happening out the window, typically it was the sunset. You felt your heart sink at the realization. He was ignoring you. Telling you that you were bothering him with actions rather than words.

“You talk so much,”

“Don't you ever shut up?”

“Not everything needs to be said,”

You mentally cringed at the words that suddenly filled your brain. All things that'd been said to you, all things that people you considered friends or loved ones thought about you. They could say it as a quip or with a playful smile on their faces, but you know that every joke has a bit of truth behind it. They meant it, even subconsciously. And maybe he felt the same way.

You silenced yourself. That familiar lump was forming in your throat, the one that meant you'd possibly cry if prodded the wrong way.

“Aren't you going to finish that thought?” Wanderer had finally looked up from his book. Pretty blue eyes now focused on you with a questioning gaze. His words startled you, seeing as he only spoke so often. You assumed he was being sarcastic again, but he wasn't wearing that smirk that he always did when saying something snarky. He truly meant it.

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to give him a weak smile that wasn't very convincing at downplaying your sudden lack of confidence, “I just- thought I was talking too much,” words spoken with a bit of sorrow behind them. Stammered out forcefully while you still resisted the urge to cry.

“Who said that?” His question had a bit of a bite behind it. A touch of anger in it. For a moment, you feared that he was angry at you, but his eyes had a certain softness to them when he looked upon your face.

“I don't know. Everyone?”

He clicked his tongue, “Am I everyone?”

“I don't-”

Wanderer cut you off before you could finish a self deprecating thought, “I was listening. I'm always listening. Don't you think I would've told you if you were bothering me?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

“When have I ever been nice?” he asked, but there was a softness to his voice that you realized only you had ever got the pleasure of hearing. Whenever you eavesdropped in him speaking to anyone else, he sounded annoyed, furious even that they'd dare approach him. But never with you.

His question makes your heart beat quicken and your eyes foggy with tears. You shrugged, shook your head, but didn't say anything else. You couldn't. Unless he wanted to console you as you sobbed.

“Now finish what you were saying. About the flowers, right?” Wanderer tried to mask that softness in his voice by sounding butter again, but you could hear through it.

With a laugh, you started up again, watching as his eyes fell onto his book. If you looked closely, really really closely, you could see a little smile playing at his lips.

[takes1]

your needy Kenma smut was SOOO good omfg I was biting my fist reading it!! can i request a needy suna smut?

needy!suna rintarou x reader

hi!! so glad you liked it!! wow this took me so long i'm so sorry! i just could not find a way to write it without it being exactly the same as kenma's!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / forbidden, established relationship / manager!reader / vocal!suna / whiny!suna / needy!suna / bratty!suna / liiiight mommy kink nobody freak tf out!! / suna has a cute laugh / creampie / raw cuddly sex / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Don't look at me like that, Rin'."

Your fingers were smushing the lower half of his face, angling his head away from you. His head stayed obediently forward at the center court, but those eyes were still piercing through you.

Through his fishy-lips, his words became jumbled together, "'can' helb i'--,"

It wasn't his fault he looked so mean, so critical when he focused in on something.

"I can't help it," He spat, rubbing his jaw.

Suna wasn't careful about his hand placement. The members of Inarizaki knew you had been dating for a time, but Coach Kurosu did not need a reason to question your managerial position.

When you pushed his hand away from your waist, his face scrunched; that mean and bitter look returned, tenfold.

A frustrated, hushed, but not quiet, "I want you."

Though it wasn't an appropriate time, place, or circumstance, it would be lie to say that it wasn't hot. The unique mixture of his assertive, court-like focus and lesser-known bedroom-only begging forced you to cross your arms.

"You-," You glanced around, thankful nobody heard that, "Have a game to focus on."

The attitude he gave was not only unwarranted, but it succeeded in making you less receptive. To you, it was obvious that he was only looking for an out. He was tired and halfway through a challenging match. You couldn't spare to be his partner right now, and he did not like that.

He sucked his teeth, tapped his foot, crossed his arms, worked his jaw, and gave you a sharp sigh, all within five minutes of angry silence.

What a whiny bastard.

You found his struggle almost amusing. At the moment, it was more important to maintain your focus, for the both of you.

Still, it kept you wondering throughout the remainder of the match: What had you possibly done to warrant such a strong response?

Every instance that he had to be around the bench, drinking water, a temporary switch-out, he would send you a deeply dissatisfied glance. You didn't justify it with a reaction. He was being bratty.

Though you were a prude, anti-PDA personality in public, especially around the team-- you were the one to push him back onto the mattress and throw his shirt across the room, once you were back at his place.

"Fuck--mnh!"

That pretty sigh was all he could get out before you were on top of him.

"Start talking," You muttered. Your shirt was off in seconds.

His breathing grew heavy, eyes black with lust at the sight of your pretty skin, his favorite bra he clocked earlier under your shirt- the whole reason his mind got to spinning.

Suna was kept this irritating, calculating, slithery persona up around his friends, and especially during matches, because he learned that it kept him safe. He didn't always like being so on edge. He wanted to trust somebody enough to tell them everything that passed through his mind, to be skin-to-skin and a little weird, because you were comfortable and safe.

Here, under you, after enough love and time, he knew he didn't need to waste energy on appearances.

"I- ah-h, I just wanted you so bad," Was his honest attempt at an explanation.

He sat up to touch you, kiss you, but you kept him to the sheets with a forearm.

"Are you trying to get me kicked out?"

Suna huffed, eyes bouncing from your face, to your confined tits, then back, "What?""

Your legs slid a bit further apart, weight settling better onto his warm lap, "If Coach finds out we're dating, you know I'm gone."

You snapped, just for emphasis, but he flinched, "Like that. In an instant."

He was painfully hard. You could feel him throbbing, even through his combo of athletic shorts and thick sweatpants. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was keen enough to understand that you were a little pissed off about his lack of restraint.

He was in that spot you liked seeing him work through. Struggling, deciding whether to be nice, or snarky.

"You're smarter than that, baby," Was much kinder of a statement in tone, but it tipped him off to be rude, instead.

Those narrowed eyes dripped down to your chest slow, sweet, like honey.

"Why'd you wear that, then?" He felt you stiffen. He placed a hot palm onto your hip to help his well-intentioned venom settle.

You couldn't believe that was his entire problem, summed up in five words.

"Are you really so dirty-minded that you could tell what bra I was wearing? Under my shirt?"

The call-out was meant to return his energy, but he responded in a more secure way than you.

"When it's you, yeah--," He sat up with ease, against your pushing, just to remind you that he could outclass your force if he wanted to. He caught your small frown and he corrected himself, "Yes, ma'am."

You gave a small hum, a low-lidded stare right back at him. He was so hot when he deferred to you.

It warranted a strong, messy kiss- all charged with hours of denial, suggestive glances, and too many minutes of clothed rubbing.

All your clothes came off in a range of easy to difficult, distracted efforts.

Suna lay under you, all flushed and twitchy with anticipation. Your hands flitted down his sensitive, strong sides, his cock crammed between your legs, getting spoiled and slick. Not inside, not just yet.

You loved tickling him just to hear his laugh.

And he'd tolerate anything with you gliding over his dick, like that. Giving him such a good view.

"Shhh-haha-h-ahh!" He bit his lip to keep from giggling, moaning, too much or too loudly.

That look he gave you was enough. All twisted, pleading, intelligent. Like he knew exactly what he said and how he said it, would get you turned on.

His sound was adorable, rare.

It was unrestrained, and light, cute, enough to understand why he kept it behind his hand around his friends. Sounded exactly like something a bunch of guys might make fun of him for.

"Hmm.. Let's cuddle fuck," You pressed a tingly kiss just under his ear.

You knew he was feeling lazy. Your job today wasn't easy, either. You wanted to feel close at the end of a busy day, more than anything.

Suna was warm, and tired, and tacky to the touch but it all added to how badly you wanted each other. It was a demanding match, and getting all upset with each other made it feel that much longer.

Slick, and hot, and easy was the adjustment to him. Nothing to do with his real size- you were just ready, after having to put up an act, as if you were too above all of it.

The panting you had to listen to on the sidelines, watching him miss his mouth with the squeezy bottle, all the sweat and water dripping onto his jersey, it ate at you, corroded the brick walls you put up. Even his frustrated glare was sexy. He couldn't stop looking at you, even with an important task at hand, or when his teammates needed him to focus.

Now he fucked you like your mean -still, justified- rejection was never a problem, like he was savoring you slowly.

"Yes-yes, yesyes," Suna swallowed up your moans in a greedy kiss.

"Mmh- how's that feel--?" You purred.

"So good," A satisfied groan, "Fuck- Got such a perfect pussy."

His hand kept your thigh up, your knee close to your shoulder. He inspired a gasp at how quickly he bottomed out to your teasing.

He stretched you so good, so easily, and kept your trembling steady in his grasp-- but every sound he made was shaky, barely held together, and never masked.

After three months, Suna decided at some point on his own that he could trust you enough to completely let go in the bedroom. Though he naturally gravitated to a more submissive role, he usually said some downright sleazy, vulgar shit to get his kicks.

"A-ha, h-fuc-k, aughh, you feel so good, you--," His breath clipped into a high, closed-mouth whine as he pulled you harder onto the base of his cock, just flexing hard, as deep as he could get.

Your teeth sunk into his pillowcase, fingers filled with plush.

The knowledge that he loved it, but couldn't ever get as deep as he wanted, had your strength waning. Squeezing, bracing, at all the butterflies tired you out.

Although, if it were a competition, Suna had you beat by a mile. The drooling, whiny mess behind you may have had enough to strength to use his body weight to keep you smushed, but you could tell he was sloppier, clumsier, with exhaustion.

He buried his face in your neck.

"I-I'h- needed you so bad," His moan was so light and breathy- like he was swimming on Cloud 9-, "So-h, so... fucking...bad."

Your uncontrollable squirm to get away from the sensation was met with instant crushing. Even if you wanted your thigh back, it would never happen.

"Mh-h-! Rin-," You tried to speak, but he was hitting all your angles just right, so you stopped.

His words were twisting up that knot in your tummy, the trap of his arms a steady, innocent backdrop to how filthy he decided to fuck you.

Slurred mutters, consisting of mostly nonsense syllables and phrases, sometimes bred real messages like, "So hot," "Mommy," "So much," and, "'Can't take it."

His yapping, you thought, may have been a way of making up for how little he spoke, usually. You were generally much quieter than him here, but outside of the bedroom, the opposite remained true. It was cute.

"M'so- close-mh," His groans were short, choked on pleasure, his squeezing desperate and uneven.

The idea of him finishing close, hugging you, just like this, was too hot to let not happen.

You gathered yourself to tell him, "C-um-- Mh, inside, pretty boy."

"F-uck!" That tone completely tipped him over the edge.

Your grin was to yourself, twitchy and genuine, before the feeling of fullness set in.

He was left to fuck out his load as deep inside of you as he could get, "Fuckfu-ck- Ahh-hh-!"

Your nails dragged across his skin- the white hot, pulsing enough to spur a sudden orgasm. Dark lines remained in their wake as your muffled whines filled his ears.

And Suna was nothing if not dedicated. He fucked you as well as he could through your own, whinier, less violent experience. His breath, laden in the resolution of his own, was hot and tingly across your sensitive ear.

You squeezed his arm to stop and he finally let your leg down.

"Hm...sorry," He mumbled into a peck against your cheek, "You okay?"

Sore, and achy, you shared a giggly kiss. He softened naturally and you readjusted to hold each other, warm and soft, with chemical infatuation.

"Mhmm," You stole a longer, slower kiss.

Those pretty eyes watched you, worshipped you, as you rubbed your hand across his jaw.

"Perfect."

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[jungwnies]

under pressure - lando norris (ln4)

୨ৎ : pairing : lando norris x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : you and lando have been best friends since childhood, but as lando’s struggles grow and his relationships with others become more public, you finds yourself battling your unspoken love for him.

୨ৎ : genre : romance, drama, friendship ୨ৎ : wc : 684

୨ৎ requested ୨ৎ // ୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ // buy me a ko-fi ☕️

lando walked into his apartment, looking completely wiped out. his hair was a mess, his eyes were barely open, and his shoulders were slumped like the weight of the world was on them. you didn’t even have to ask what kind of day he’d had. you could see it in his face. it was written all over him.

you were already sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, but when he stepped inside, you put it down without a second thought. he barely even looked up when he dropped his bag to the floor and collapsed onto the couch next to you.

"long race?" you asked softly, glancing at him.

he didn’t even respond right away. he just let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his messy hair. "i can’t even remember the last time i slept," he muttered, his voice rough.

you didn’t say anything for a moment. you knew when to give him space, and you also knew when he needed someone. he’d always needed you, just like you’d always needed him. but lately, things had started to feel… different. he was still the same lando you’d grown up with, but there was something in the air between you two now—something you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried.

you let the silence hang for a while. you didn’t need to push him to talk. lando would tell you when he was ready.

“you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you said quietly, your voice calm, reassuring. you just let your hand rest on the couch between you, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric. he knew you’d always be there for him.

after a few seconds, he let out a shaky breath, and you saw his eyes shift, like he was thinking about something he didn’t know how to say.

“it’s just… been hard,” he finally said, his voice cracking a little.

you could hear the exhaustion in his tone, see it in the slump of his shoulders. he didn’t even need to say anything else for you to know exactly what he meant. the race, the pressure, the constant noise of being in the public eye. you knew it was all getting to him. and if you were honest, you knew he wasn’t just tired from the race. it was everything that had been weighing on him lately.

“you’re always here for me,” he said after a beat, his eyes flicking over to you. there was something soft in his gaze, like he was grateful, but also a little sad. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

you smiled, but it wasn’t as easy as it used to be. “you don’t have to do anything alone, lando. you know that.”

he sighed and leaned back against the couch, his eyes starting to drift closed. you wanted to reach out, to touch him, to comfort him, but there was a part of you that held back. you’d been in love with him for so long now, but you’d never said anything. you thought he didn’t feel the same, and the last thing you wanted to do was make things awkward between you two.

so, you just sat there, close enough that you could feel his warmth, but far enough that it didn’t feel like you were pushing your luck. you kept your feelings hidden, hoping he would never notice.

lando shifted slightly, turning his head toward you. his voice was softer now, almost a whisper. “thanks,” he said, his eyes finally opening and meeting yours.

you nodded, your throat tightening. “always.”

and for a second, it was just the two of you, like it always had been. you could hear the quiet hum of the apartment around you, but in that moment, everything else felt distant. lando was right there, close to you, and you tried not to think about how much you wanted more.

but deep down, you knew you couldn’t have more. you were his best friend, and that was enough. or, at least, you tried to convince yourself that it was.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt2

Hyungline x Gn! Reader

(sorry this took like forever lmao ive been going through it in life unfortunately💀💀💀 )

Bangchan

The hum of the studio was still present, but now it felt different- less like a comforting embrace and more like static electricity prickling your skin.

The once-warm atmosphere had turned cold, muted, and the silence stretched like a chasm between you and Chan.

He didn’t ask if you needed anything anymore. He didn’t look at you at all.

The first hour after your slip-up had been the worst. You’d sat there, staring at the screen of your phone, scrolling aimlessly to avoid looking at him. But your thoughts betrayed you, circling back to the look on his face when you’d called him clingy- the hurt in his eyes, the faint slump of his shoulders, the way his movements slowed, as though your words had drained the energy out of him.

This is almost unbearable... You thought to yourself. I've never been uncomfortable around Chris before, rather the complete opposite...I don't like this.

You had apologized in your head a dozen times already, running over how you could bring it up without making things worse. But every time you glanced his way, you found yourself frozen, the words dying in your throat.

I was harsh...I'm feel horrible...

Chan wasn’t usually one to sulk, but this was different. He didn’t seem angry-he didn’t snap or lash out.

Although you wished he would have. It may have been better than this thick tension.

But instead of yelling or cursing, he buried himself in his work, shutting you out completely. His usual hums and absentminded muttering as he worked were nowhere to be found. The tapping of keys and the occasional adjustment of a dial were the only sounds that filled the room.

It felt unbearable.

After almost two hours of sitting in silence, the tension was too much. You shifted in your chair, swallowing the lump in your throat as you finally spoke up.

“Chan,” you said softly, your voice hesitant.

He didn’t respond immediately. His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Yeah?” he said, his tone neutral- too neutral.

You winced. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. I-” You rushed out.

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, his voice tight, clipped.

But it wasn’t fine. You could hear it in the way his words came out too quickly, the way he immediately went back to typing as though he hadn’t just brushed you off.

Serves me right...

You tried again. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He let out a breath, finally turning his chair to face you. His expression was guarded, a carefully constructed mask of calm, but his eyes gave him away.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I get it. I was being overbearing. I just…I thought I was helping. I'll ease up from now on."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t trying to defend himself- he was agreeing with you, accepting blame where there wasn’t any to take.

And you didn't want him to agree.

“You- you were helping,” you said quickly. “I was just… overwhelmed, and I didn’t think before I spoke. I-I don't want you to ease up...I love you the way you are.”

Chan nodded slowly, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t convinced.

“Sometimes I overdo it,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how to…not worry about the people I care about. Or love.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about himself, about how he carried the weight of everyone’s needs on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his responsibility.

“And I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” you said quickly, leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always so thoughtful, Chan. I just…” You trailed off, struggling to put your feelings into words. "I...uh...damn it..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue, but there was a distance in his gaze now- an invisible barrier you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Because you’re not. I was just having a bad day, and I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should wrap this up anyway.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It wasn’t angry, but it was dismissive.

Final.

“Chan-”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should get some rest. I’ll finish up here.”

The dismissal stung more than you expected. You stood up, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should push further or give him space. But the way he had already turned back to his desk made the decision for you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, glancing back one last time. Chan was hunched over his keyboard, his back to you, the soft glow of the monitor casting shadows across his face.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond.

As you headed out he called out.

"Y/N."

You turned towards him, hopeful.

"You don't have to come tomorrow. Ji...sung-ah and...Innie-ah are supposed to be here to work on something with me."

You sighed and bit the inside part of your lip. He was terrible at lying.

Then a small rush of unrighteous anger hit you.

"Thats okay, I had plans anyways." You shot back, leaving. You almost missed the surprised look as he lifted his head from his bag.

The walk home was a blur. The guilt in your chest felt heavier with every step, suffocating you until you could hardly breathe.

But now that guilt stemmed from also saying something to purposefully provoke him.

Why would I even say that? I have no reason to be mad- but he...he has all the reason to be.

You thought about texting him, but what could you say? Nothing you typed out felt like enough. Apologizing once wasn’t going to fix this.

And you were too prideful to admit your pettiness.

It's embarrassing...

When you finally got home, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. You replayed all the moments over and over in your head, wishing you could go back and choose different words, wishing you could make him understand how much he meant to you.

But then your anger driven words hit you. You just loved digging yourself deeper graves. So, you pulled out your phone and shot a text.

Deciding that if you were at a standstill with each other, you at least wouldn't lie to him.

——————————————————————————

Minho

The next morning, you woke up feeling a mix of guilt and lingering irritation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, your mind replaying the events from the previous night like a broken record. You had lashed out, hurt him, and now there was this gnawing uncertainty about where things stood.

You debated texting Minho to apologize, but the thought of his cold tone from last night stopped you. The memory of his quick, hollow kiss on your temple was like a dull ache in your chest- a reminder of how much damage had been done.

You sighed as you reached for your phone, jumping when you see a text from Minho.

Minho: Dori didn't even wait for me to finish preparing his breakfast before eating Soonie's. Such a menace.

You stared at the text for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. It wasn’t unusual for him to send updates about his cats, but this felt like an attempt to return to normalcy without directly addressing what had happened.

Should I respond? Should I apologize? You wanted to, but the thought of putting your emotions into words felt daunting.

Instead, you liked the message, telling yourself you’d figure it out later. But as the day dragged on, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything. By the evening, your phone buzzed, breaking you from your thoughts.

Minho: Did you eat?

The question was simple, almost routine, but it held a strange weight. And you were unsure how to respond.

Was this his way of reaching out, or was he just trying to check a box out of habit?

You hesitated before typing back: You: Yeah. Did you?

His reply came almost immediately: Minho: Mhm. Chan-hyung made japchae. Ate while working. Minho: Also, three cups of pudding.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle. You could picture him in his studio, his face reflected in a the mirrors, as he sat crisscross on the dance floor, scribbling choreo ideas, spoon in one hand and a cup of pudding beside him. The image tugged at your heartstrings in the way only a lover could do.

You: Busy day? Minho: Always.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of your couch.

Short. Not necessarily clipped, but there were no teasing or playful jabs. No emojis. Just facts. It felt so unlike him, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You could feel the awkwardness as if he was sitting in the room with you.

You: I’m sorry about last night. You typed out a response, then deleted it, then typed it again. Finally, you settled on: You: I miss you.

The three dots signaling his response appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. You held your breath, waiting.

Minho: Yeah...

You: I'm sorry.

Minho: It's fine.

It wasn’t fine. You knew that. The lack of warmth in his reply was enough to confirm it.

You: It doesn’t feel fine. Minho: Maybe it’s not...

There it was. The crack in the veneer. Your chest tightened as you stared at his words. You wanted to fix it, to make it right, but you didn’t know how.

You: Can we talk? Minho: Not right now. I’m tired.

The conversation ended there. You stared at the screen long after his reply, the words “I’m tired” echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion he was talking about. He was emotionally drained, and you were the reason.

You: Okay, goodnight. I love you. Minho: Night. I love you too.

Over the next two weeks, things didn't get much better.

You hadn't seen him in person, and only had a few video calls where anytime you tried to bring up an apology, Minho deflected the conversation.

It felt like more of an awkward and intimate friendship interacting rather than a couple. And you needed to change that. You couldn't handle it. You missed your boyfriend.

Minho had always been steady, a constant in your life. You hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline he was until you cut it with a single careless word.

Clingy.

The way his expression had shifted when you said it- it haunted you. Minho, who rarely let his emotions crack the surface, had been hurt. You’d seen it, felt it in the way he pulled back from you. And you wanted to pull him back towards you.

That’s what brought you to his house a few nights later, your chest tight with desperation and dread. You didn’t have a plan, just a need to be near him, to try and fix what you’d broken.

The porch light cast a faint glow as you arrived, the sight of it familiar yet unsettling. You hesitated at the keypad, your fingers trembling as you entered the code. For a moment, you feared he might have changed it, but the lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet night, and your heart ached with the thought that you still knew this house so well.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the entryway doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

“Minho?” Dori was the only cat by the door, immediately rushing to you to rub up against your legs. "Min?"

Your voice was soft, tentative, as you slipped off your shoes and into slippers, but it went unanswered.

The faint murmur of voices reached you from the living room. You moved toward the sound, your footsteps hesitant.

And then you saw them.

She was sitting on the couch, her laughter carrying easily in the stillness of the house.

Minho was beside her, close enough that the space between them seemed insignificant. His expression, one that had been so cold and was open-relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in minute.

Your stomach twisted painfully, the scene before you crashing down like a tidal wave.

You must have made a sound, because Minho’s head turned sharply in your direction. His eyes widened, surprise etched across his face.

“Y/N?”

The girl followed his gaze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

You froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I-” The words caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for why you were here, standing uninvited in his doorway.

“Y/N-ah, wait-” He said, scrambling up from the couch, tripping over Dori who had decided to join the party.

But you were already backing away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, your voice cracking as you stumbled toward the door. You knocked into the cats water bowl, soaking your feet. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you forced the words out. “I’ll just- go.”

Minho reached for you, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Don’t-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, pulling away. The door slammed shut behind you, the cold air biting at your skin as you stepped into the night.

You didn’t realize you were still wearing the house shoes Minho had bought for you months ago until you were halfway down the street, your steps uneven on the pavement. The absurdity of it made your throat tighten, but the tears came before the laughter could.

Your vision blurred as you walked aimlessly, the weight in your chest pressing down until it felt hard to breathe. You could still see her face, hear her laugh. It was seared into your mind.

There is no way he could have moved on in just two weeks...right?

Could he have...no. Never.

But had he?

You didn’t know either way. And you couldn’t bring yourself to stay long enough to find out.

Back at the house, Minho stood frozen by the door. Doongie let out a soft mew, as if speaking.

"I know..." Minho said to the cat.

His jaw clenched as he stared at the space where you’d been, staring at where your shoes were left, your sudden departure leaving a suffocating silence along with them.

“Minho?” the girl called hesitantly, her voice breaking through the tension.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“You should go.” he said finally, his tone flat.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t argue. She gathered her things quickly, giving Doongie a quick scratch, the sound of her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her.

Minho sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time, he noticed the trail of damp footprints leading to the door- proof of your hurried escape.

You hadn’t even waited to hear him out.

He wanted to chase after you, to get an explanation for why you’d come in the first place.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there in the silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on him; and he was stuck wondering how something you caused had now become a snowballed issue he needed to resolve.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You sat there frozen, the echo of his quiet, defeated tone playing on a loop in your mind. It wasn’t like him to leave like that- without a fight, without reassurance, without trying to smooth things over. He had always been one to want to ease conflict in the calmest manner.

Your eyes drifted to the coffee table where his phone sat, screen dark and mocking in the dim light. He must’ve forgotten it in his rush to leave, and the realization sent a pang of guilt straight to your chest. You couldn’t even call him to try and make things right.

With trembling hands, you picked up his phone, turning it over in your palm. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it felt like the only connection you still had to him.

The weight of Hyunjin’s text was heavier now, replaying in your mind like a cruel taunt.

He had planned to propose tonight.

And you had ruined it.

You pressed the phone to your chest, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stop picturing the way his face had fallen, the light in his eyes dimming with every word you’d said. The warmth he carried with him, the energy that filled every room he walked into, was gone. And it made you feel terrible.

Your hands tightened around his phone as you leaned back on the couch, your thoughts spiraling. Changbin wasn’t just a boyfriend- he was your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, the person who always knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And tonight, you had been the one to make him feel small.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. There was no way you could let things stay like this.

So, you got to work.

--

Changbin’s car coasted slowly down the street, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. His mind buzzed, replaying every moment of the evening- your harsh words, the hurt in his chest, and the sudden shift in the air between you two. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, and your frustration.

He had tried so hard.

Maybe it is my fault...

He wanted to make the night perfect, make it something to remember. A sweet cute, relaxed proposal. Soft and warm and everything that represented the love he had for you.

But now he was left uncertain, second-guessing everything. The familiar streets blurred as his thoughts swirled, mixing with the disappointment and confusion still lodged in his heart. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway, he killed the engine but didn’t immediately move. He sat there for a while, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was cold, but he didn’t feel it. Instead, his chest was heavy, a knot of frustration and sorrow gnawing at him.

I need to apologize. Maybe then-

Reaching for his phone, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

Is that the best thing to do though...what if Y/N-ie is still mad...

He spent the next couple minutes thinking about texting you- even though he hadn’t done anything inherintantly wrong.

But the thought of sending an apology and admitting to a fault he didn’t deserve seemed like the easiest way to get things back to normal.

He swiped the phone screen on, but his stomach dropped when he saw his empty hand. He reached to pat his pockets.

He didn’t have his phone with him.

He trailed his eyes at the empty seat next to him, hoping maybe it was there, as the realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

His phone was still on the couch at your place. He must’ve left it there in the rush to get away.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the frustration and anxiety rising again.

He shifted the car back into gear, pulling out of his driveway and heading back to your apartment. As he drove, he let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw you again. He didn’t even know what he wanted from the rest of this night.

Back at your place, you were busy, but not in the way you had planned. You paced the living room, biting your lip as you nervously looked over the decorations you had hastily thrown together. You had wanted everything to be perfect for him, the way he’d promised it would be tonight, but now… you were the one fixing things.

You were the one putting the final touches on a proposal- his proposal.

Your heart flipped over and over in your chest, as you adjusted things anxiously.

You had to scrounge through a ton of different leftover decorations from previous events and holidays; and it looked like the spirit of every celebratory occasion had thrown up over your living room.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to show him how sorry you were that your nerves and selfishness had ruined everything.

When you heard the distant rumble of his car approaching, your heart skipped a beat. You quickly fixed your hair and wiped your hands on your pants, as if trying to make up for everything all at once.

You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through how you were going to apologize. You just knew you couldn’t let him walk away- couldn’t let him leave the night without fixing at least a small part of it.

The doorbell rang, and you froze, your pulse quickening in your throat.

You opened it, and there he was. Changbin. Standing there with an unreadable expression, his eyes flicking over your face before he looked down at the phone in his hand.

You didn't know if you imagined his red rimmed eyes.

“I-” he started, but the words faltered. He opened his mouth again, as if trying to say something, but nothing came out. "I left my phone."

You handed it to him, and he stood there awkwardly turning it in his hands.

"Bin, come in," you whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

He hesitated for a long moment, his feet still on the other side of the threshold, as if he were debating whether to leave or stay. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his movements.

But then, with a deep sigh, he stepped inside.

You led him to the living room. His eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t sit down, didn’t speak, just stood there.

"Y/N, I'm sor-"

"You don’t need to apologize," you said, voice barely audible as you walked toward him. You didn’t know how else to start. "I’m the one who messed up tonight. It wasn't you. It was all me."

Changbin shook his head, though it seemed like he was trying to process what he was feeling. He opened his mouth again, his voice hoarse. "No, it wasn't you. I…I didn’t mean for-"

"Changbin, don't fool yourself." You said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You know it was all my fault-"

"Y/N I was the one who was-"

"-I ruined your proposal. Of course it's my fault." You finished.

Your words stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you.

"So you knew..." he murmured, his voice cracking just slightly.

"Hyunjin texted. I saw it on your screen."

Changbin sighed and then looked around, seeing the decorations.

"What..."

"Since I ruined your proposal I thought I could fix it. As an apology."

The air between you thickened suddenly.

"I-I know it's not the best or the prettiest, but I thought—"

His voice faltered as he looked up at you, eyes filled with something unreadable. Shock, confusion… and then something softer, something heavier.

"What…what did you do?"

You froze. Your heart pounded.

He was staring at everything—the decorations, the candles, the careful details meant for him to present to you.

"I thought… I'd throw something together," you repeated, your voice small. "To fix your proposal."

"Fix it?"

And in that moment, you realized just how wrong that had sounded.

"N-No! I meant fix the night. Not your proposal—nothing was wrong, I just—I ruined the moment, and—"

You were scrambling, desperate to explain.

"Binnie, I—"

"I understand, Y/N."

His quiet chuckle sent a chill through you. It wasn't warm, wasn't teasing. It was sad.

"You made another opportunity," he said, his voice steady but distant. "You set up a proposal."

"Yes! An opportunity, not-" But then you saw it. The rapid blinking, the slight shift in his expression. The way he swallowed hard, as if forcing down words he wouldn't let himself say.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He wasn't upset about your wording. He wasn't even upset that you'd tried to make things right. He was upset because you'd taken this from him. Because he had wanted to be the one to do this for you.

When you had called him clingy earlier, you had let your stressors guide you to insult what you loved most about him.

How he wanted to do everything for you.

His love language towards you always tended to be acts of service.

And while a proposal wasn't necessarily though, it made sense that he wanted to do this for you. One of the biggest acts of your two lives.

He wanted to gift it to you, and you took it away.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without another word, he stepped back. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. He exhaled, gaze flickering between you and the scene you'd set. And then he turned.

You barely processed it as he walked past you, his presence fading with each step toward the door.

"Binnie, wait-"

But he didn't stop. The door opened, and before you could find the right words, the ones that wouldn't make everything worse—

It clicked shut.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

The moment Hyunjin you shut the door, you felt a wave of regret crash over you. You stewed in your regret for a while before you succumbed to it.

You couldn't stand it.

You rushed out the door, hoping to catch up; even if it had already a bit since his departure. But you knew him, and he probably hadn't made it far, taking his long legs for granted and dragging out his journey.

You wanted to stop him, to explain, to make him see what you couldn't say- but your pride had already built a wall too high. The words you had snapped at him stung, but there was a fear settling deep within you, too. Fear of rejection, fear of the misunderstanding spiraling out of control.

Fear of losing him from a quick yet grave mistake.

The street was quiet, and your footsteps echoed in the empty space. You turned the corner, but in your rush, you hadn't paid attention to where you were going.

It seemed you had taken one wrong turn after another, and suddenly the comforting glow of the familiar streetlights was replaced with unfamiliar darkness.

Panic rose in your chest. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you fumbled to pull it out, only for it to die before you could see.

You cursed under your breath. Of course, it died. Why wouldn't it? Your mind was foggy, and you could barely focus on anything, let alone figure out where you were. The tightness in your chest felt suffocating, but you pushed through it.

You wandered a little until you found a cute little convenience store, stepping inside, letting the warmth encapsulate you. You decided to grab a snack while you charged your phone, the clerk so graciously allowing you to charge it behind the desk.

You figured while you ate you could figure out what to say to Hyunjin, to mend whatever crack you had caused.

--

Meanwhile, Hyunjin still felt the sting of your words settled deep in his chest. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly down the street.

It wasn’t fair. He had done nothing wrong, yet you had pushed him away like he was too much. Like his affection- his need to be close to you- was suffocating.

Me? Too much- HAH. As if.

You were just being bratty because you were in a bad mood...right?

I'm not actually too much am I?

And maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was childish, but he wanted you to chase after him. To call out his name, to grab his sleeve, to do something to prove you cared as much as he did.

But the street behind him remained quiet.

His throat tightened. His steps slowed.

You weren’t coming.

Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. Fine. If you weren’t going to run after him, then you could suffer.

He would make you grovel, make you look at him with those wide, guilty eyes and apologize.

Beg a little. Then - only then - he’d pull you into his arms, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was okay.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

To make things okay again.

With a sigh, he turned back around, heading toward your apartment, already playing out how he’d drag this out just enough to make you squirm before giving in.

But when he got to your door, his smirk faltered.

The lights were off, but the door was cracked.

His brows knitted together as he stepped into a completely empty home.

You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be sitting inside, stewing in guilt, waiting for him to come back so you could apologize properly.

His fingers twitched as he opened your bedroom door. He went to the bathroom and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked, a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He pulled out his phone and called. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Hyunjin swallowed. His throat was dry.

His mind raced through every possibility. Maybe you just went out for air. Maybe you ran to the convenience store. Maybe-

But his gut told him otherwise.

His gut told him something was wrong.

His fingers curled around his phone, knuckles white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His frustration, his plan to make you beg, his need to be dramatic- all of it evaporated, replaced by one single, overwhelming thought.

He needed to find you.

Now.

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

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

taglist specific:

@darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling @

[nhlclover]

FALLING FOR YOU WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x marleau!daughter!reader

summary: a visit to the guest house, in an attempt to comfort will after a grueling loss, brings you two closer together than ever.

warnings: friends to lovers, pretty detailed make out scene, talks of being insecure

wc: 2.02k

notes: !!IMPORTANT!! i absolutely do not agree with the politics of the marleau family, they are simply being used as a plot device in this. pretend for the sake of this that the family are not bigots.

The house is silent except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old wood settling in the night. Shadows stretch long and languid across the hallway, cast by the dim glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. You move with practiced stealth, each step careful. Years of navigating this house have taught you exactly which floorboards creak under a footstep, which door hinges squeak in protest when nudged too far. Even still, your breath stills in your chest as you slip past your parent's bedroom door, past your brothers' rooms, your heart beating a steady rhythm of anticipation. The guest house isn’t far — just across the backyard — but trying to tiptoe in absolute silence past your parents' bedroom door and past your brothers' doors makes it feel like an eternity away.

Will had looked wrecked when he came home. The Sharks game had been brutal, a 7-2 loss to Florida, and not even his highlight-reel goal could shift the dejection that settled over him like a heavy coat. You saw it in his posture the moment he stepped off the rink: the slump of his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth, the way he avoided the gaze of everyone in the locker room. You had seen it in the post-game debrief he always did with your dad, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh. You didn’t have to ask to know what was running through his mind. You felt like you knew his thoughts as though they were your own.

It wasn’t always like this. When Will first moved in, things had been awkward. He was polite — too polite. He made his bed with military precision, thanked your mom after every meal, and practically sprinted out of the room whenever he sensed he might be intruding on family time. You weren’t sure if it was out of respect or if he was just trying to survive in an unfamiliar house. Either way, it took weeks before he loosened up, before the sharp edges of his formality softened into something more comfortable.

Somewhere along the way, he had become your closest friend. He was the person you whispered late-night confessions to, the one who could tell when you needed someone to listen rather than someone to talk. And it went both ways. You had spent hours sprawled across the couch in the guest house, talking about everything and nothing. You told him about school, about how you weren’t sure if biology was what you actually wanted to study. It was supposed to be the safe, responsible choice, the thing that made sense. But the more you immersed yourself in it, the more it felt like wearing a sweater that didn’t quite fit. He listened, really listened, in a way that made you feel like you weren’t overthinking things. And in return, he let you see the parts of himself he hid from the world.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he had admitted one night, voice rough with exhaustion. “I mean, I know what I should be doing. I know what’s expected of me. But every time we lose, every time I don’t produce, it feels like — I don’t know. Like I’m letting everyone down.”

You had seen the articles, heard the analysts questioning whether he was adjusting well enough to the NHL, whether he was living up to expectations. You knew he heard them, too, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Will knew he was living with Patrick Marleau so he could be moulded into a better player, something like what the Sharks legend once was. But some nights, it felt like you had done more for Will than your father ever had.

The guest house is dark except for the thin sliver of light spilling beneath the door. You knock, softly. A pause. Then the rustling of movement before the door swings open, revealing Will standing in the dim glow of the lamp inside. His hair is damp from a shower, curling at the edges, and he’s wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before he steps aside to let you in.

“You should be asleep,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion.

“So should you.” You cross the room, your socked feet near silent against the hardwood. “But we both know that’s not happening.”

He exhales, a ghost of a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He collapses onto the couch, the television murmuring in the background showing a post-game analysis droning on about the Sharks’ mistakes. He doesn’t mute it, but his focus is entirely on you as you settle beside him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

The room is heavy with unspoken words, the kind that settles in the air and refuses to dissipate. Will’s eyes flick to the television, then back to you, his jaw tight.

“Tough game,” you say softly.

Will’s jaw tightens. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know I played like shit.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “I don’t think you did.”

Will shakes his head, eyes dark with frustration. “We lost by five. Doesn’t matter if I scored, doesn’t matter if I had the best shift of my life. We still lost.”

Your heart clenches. “Will, the team is rebuilding. You knew that coming in.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be a part of the problem.”

“You’re not.”

He shakes his head, jaw tight. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans back, tilting his head against the couch cushions, eyes slipping shut. His breathing evens out, slow and measured, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade.

You shift slightly, resting your chin on your knees. “You’re a rookie in the NHL. You’re playing against the best in the world every night. No one expects you to carry this team, least of all yourself.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. “You’re getting better every game,” you continue, voice gentle but firm. “And the guys in that locker room? They know that. This season isn’t about wins, it’s about building something. And you’re a part of that foundation.”

Will lifts his head and shifts slightly, angling his body toward you. His eyes search yours, dark and unreadable. “How do you always know what to say?”

You shrug, offering a small smile. “I pay attention.”

A beat of silence. Then you notice it — the way his gaze lingers on your face, tracing over your features with something heavy and intent. You suddenly feel warm, hyper-aware of the fact that he’s shirtless, toned torso on full display, and the way his breathing has changed, now slightly uneven.

“What?” you ask, your own voice quieter now.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and his head tilts slightly. His gaze lingers, sweeping over your face with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. The air between you shifts, thickens, as if something unspoken has settled into the space, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Will,” you say softly, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “What?”

He exhales slowly, shaking his head with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Spell what out?”

His eyes darken, and his fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his thigh. He leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of clean soap and something undeniably him.

“You know I want you.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. He watches you, waiting, giving you a moment to react, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

Because you want him too.

The realization hits you with startling clarity, and before you can second-guess it, you close the space between you. It’s tentative at first, a brush of lips, a question unspoken. But the moment his mouth moves against yours, the hesitation dissolves. His hand comes up, cupping the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone as he deepens the kiss.

Your fingers settle against his bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch making your head spin. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it just as much as you have. There’s something desperate in the way he pulls you closer, something that tells you he’s afraid this might not be real.

You pull back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Will.”

His forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. “Yeah?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. “I want you too.”

His breath hitches, and then he’s kissing you again, slow and deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth against his. Will pulls away, but barely, his eyes searching yours.

“You sure about this?” Will’s voice is rough, barely more than a whisper, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you.

You nod, barely, but it’s enough. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes. He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, and then he’s kissing you again. This time, there’s nothing hesitant about it. It’s deep and slow and intoxicating, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s afraid to rush something he’s wanted for so long.

His hands find your waist, warm and firm, fingers flexing as if grounding himself in the moment. You shift instinctively, moving closer until your knees are brushing his solid thigh, until there’s no space left between you. Your hands slide over his shoulders, tracing down to his chest, resting on him as you lean closer. He shivers under your cold fingers, just barely, and the realization that you affect him just as much as he affects you sends a thrill through your veins.

Will’s hands move down to the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion, his strength effortless. You let out a surprised gasp, breaking the kiss for just a second, but his hands splayed against your back, holding you close. He grins, eyes dark with something wickedly fond.

“Better?” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement.

Your lips curl into a grin, but your heart is racing. “Shut up.”

His laughter is quiet, a vibration against your chest, but it fades as his gaze dips to your lips again. He kisses you like he means it, like he’s wanted to do this forever. His hands trace slow, soothing patterns against your back, anchoring you to him.

The television drones on in the background, forgotten, the post-game analysis long past. The only thing that exists at this moment is the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something precious. He kisses you with an aching sort of tenderness like he’s memorizing you, like he never wants to forget what this feels like.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you properly, his expression is unreadable — something caught between wonder and disbelief. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he admits, voice rough with emotion.

You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the damp curls away from his forehead. “I can.”

Will's lips curve into a slow, lopsided smile, something soft and unguarded. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, like he’s committing the moment to memory.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, brushing your nose against his. “Yeah.”

For the first time all night, the weight of the loss seems to ease off his shoulders. He exhales, a quiet, content sound, and lets his forehead rest against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “With me… tonight?”

You don’t hesitate. “Always.”

And as he pulls you closer, the Sharks' loss feels like a distant memory — because for once, in this tiny, quiet moment, Will Smith isn’t thinking about hockey at all.

[slut4sugu]

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓- spencer reid x fem!reader

including: two sweethearts inlove + early relationship cuteness

a/n: happy Friday my loves! + next is someone also highly requested <33

The fluorescent lights of the BAU conference room hummed quietly, casting long shadows as the team huddled around the large table. A particularly gruesome case had them all on edge, the details of the victims’ disappearances and subsequent discoveries weighing heavily in the air.

Spencer, as always, was meticulously reviewing the case files, his brow furrowed in concentration, muttering to himself as he pieced together the fragmented puzzle.

You, his girlfriend and fellow agent, sat beside him, your hand resting gently on his arm, a silent offering of comfort and support.

You knew how these cases affected Spencer. His brilliant mind, while a gift, also made him deeply empathetic to the suffering of others. He carried the weight of each victim, each lost soul, within him. You admired his strength, his unwavering dedication to justice, but you also worried about the toll it took on his sensitive heart.

As the meeting adjourned, the team dispersing to follow up on leads and analyze evidence, you lingered behind, watching as Spencer remained engrossed in his work. He was so focused, so completely absorbed in the details of the case, that he didn't even notice the others leaving. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection for the brilliant, quirky genius you loved.

You leaned closer, gently placing a hand on his cheek, drawing his attention away from the files. He looked up, his hazel eyes, usually filled with a whirlwind of thoughts, softened as they met yours. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips. That sweet cute tired ass smile. God, Come hell or high water he still looks so handsome.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice rough from exhaustion.

"Hey yourself," you replied, your thumb gently caressing his cheekbone. You knew he was running on empty, both physically and emotionally. You wanted to offer him some comfort, some reassurance, a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

"You okay, sweetheart?" The words slipped out before you could even think, you both hadn’t talked about pet names or anything like that yet however, Spencer was aware of your nicknames for the others. (And was slightly jealous that you’d only call him Spence.) Well, until now.

Spencer blinked, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. He paused for a moment, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before being replaced by a soft, almost shy smile. He wasn't used to such terms of endearment, especially not in a professional setting.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn't planned on calling him that, not here, not now. But the word felt right, natural, a perfect reflection of the deep seated love you had for him. You held your breath, waiting for his reaction.

A blush crept up his neck, coloring his pale skin a delicate pink. He looked down at his hands, a small, almost bashful smile playing on his lips. He didn't say anything for a moment. but the gentle squeeze of your hand in his spoke volumes.

“Yeah, I’m..I’m fine.”

You watched him, your heart overflowing with love. You realized that he wasn't embarrassed or uncomfortable. He was simply surprised, pleasantly so.

He finally looked up, his eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. He still didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes, the gentle curve of his lips, told you everything you needed to know. He liked it. He liked being your sweetheart.

You smiled, relief washing over you. You leaned in and kissed him softly, a tender, reassuring kiss that spoke of love and understanding. Your heart fluttering as you felt him smile into the kiss, the faint smell of slight cologne and old books.

As you pulled away, you whispered, "I love you, Spencer."

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. "I love you too, angel," he replied. His tone so soft and sugar sweet. A tone only ever used when talking to you.

It was your turn to swoon now <33

BONUS

still can’t used to you calling him sweetheart until like a week goes by

Derek over heard you calling him pretty boy after seeing him in glasses after a while, and after seeing Spencer’s flushed face he busted out laughing.

almost cried when you called him the most beautiful/prettiest guy you’ve ever seen.

Can’t go to sleep after this without hearing you say, “Love you g’night sweetheart.”

[runninriot]

The End Of Maybe

written for the @steddiebingo card prompt: proposal & @steddielovemonth day 1

rated: T | wc: 1.223 | tags: established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, self-doubt, declarations of love, marriage proposal | also on ao3

 

   “Do you ever regret it?” Eddie asks quietly, eyes locked on the ceiling while his fingers are tracing invisible patterns on the skin of Steve’s back.

   “Regret what?”

Steve’s head is resting on Eddie’s chest, basking in the comfort of their shared body heat, still on his come down from an overdose of love-infused ecstasy. Enjoying his boyfriend’s closeness while his mind is happily drifting. Was drifting, until now. Now he’s alert, can sense the shift in Eddie’s mood, the gloomy aura suddenly surrounding him.

Eddie still hasn’t turned his gaze away from where it is fixed on nothing but white paint, stays unmoving even when Steve lifts his head to look at him.

   “Baby? Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

For how talkative Eddie usually is, Steve has long since learned that his boyfriend can be eerily quiet when something is eating away at him. When he’s trying to come up with solutions on his own instead of sharing the burden. Over time, they’ve found a way to meet in the middle – with Steve giving Eddie the space and time he needs to sort through his thoughts and Eddie keeping his promise not to shut Steve out, to share what’s gnawing at him eventually.

   “I mean,” Eddie starts, finally looking down to find Steve’s eyes, shifting so that they’re lying side by side, face to face. Still close despite the emotional distance Steve can feel like a physical wall between them.

   “Do you sometimes regret choosing this over- something else?”

He’s being vague on purpose, not even trying to elaborate what he means and Steve knows why, understands what he’s saying either way. They had this conversation before, once, and ended up in a big fight, maybe their biggest one yet. Because at the time, it had felt like Eddie was trying to push him away, trying to talk him into something he didn’t want out of unfounded fear of Steve changing his mind one day. Having a hard time believing that he chose this life, not despite but because of what it would mean for his future.

For Steve, this has never been temporary; he’s always been all in. Wants to spend the rest of his days with Eddie, through the good and the bad and everything.

   “Never,” Steve finally says, keeping his voice soft but making sure the message is clear, “I want this and nothing else. I love our life with everything we have. I love you. You know that, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, Steve leans in for a kiss, a firm press of lips to emphasise his words.

He knows it’s just a little bump in the road, just Eddie being in his head – it happens every now and then, it’s okay, nothing to really worry about. But still, Steve hates to see Eddie sad.

   “I know you do, I just- I don’t know.”

Eddie sighs, buys himself time by stealing another tender kiss from his boyfriend, and Steve lets him get away with it.

   “Where’s this coming from, baby? Did I do or say something that made you think I’ve changed my mind?”

   “No! No, you did nothing, I- I guess I’m just scared.”

With one hand, Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face, thumb gently stroking over his cheekbone, not saying anything but patiently waiting for him to go on.

   “I know you love me, that’s not what I’m worried about. I just sometimes wonder if it’s truly worth giving up so many of your dreams for this. For me.”

Steve knows what Eddie is referring to, even without him having to spell it out. It is true, there had been a time where Steve’s biggest dream was to have a wife and kids, a whole bunch of them, living a quiet small-town life with his picture-perfect family.

But that was before Eddie came along. Before he fell heart over head in love with a wonderful young man, with the prettiest smile and dark brown eyes that make him weak, still, after all those years. Sure, he’d be lying if he said he never asked himself that same question, wondering if being with Eddie was worth facing all the battles they had to fight. If loving Eddie was worth letting go of the future he’d always thought he wanted for himself.

But the answer is still the same as it has been for over 6 years now – yes. A thousand times yes. Because the truth is, he didn’t give up a dream, he created a new one. With Eddie at the centre of everything, he’s built a life that is better than anything he could’ve imagined.

Nothing compares to being loved by Eddie, and nothing could ever make this relationship any more perfect. Except maybe…

He shoots up so sudden it startles Eddie, who reluctantly obeys when Steve beckons him to sit.

   “What-”

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, presses the tip of his finger against Eddie’s lips to shut him up – not to be rude; he just needs him to listen to what he has to say before he loses his courage.

   “You’re it for me, okay? You are everything I need to be happy and I- I want to grow old with you, want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are all I want, now and forever.”

Steve swallows roughly, has to take a few deep breaths, can already feel the burning of tears in his eyes.

Robin will lose her mind. Will probably also give him a lot of shit for doing it like this, here, in the isolated cocoon of their bedroom rather than making it the big, pompous surprise they always joked about in secret. When they talked about the hypothetical maybe of Steve proposing one day.

Truth is, Steve has been thinking about it a lot in the past, about asking Eddie to take this next big step with him. Not for the sake of making at least one of his younger self’s dreams a reality, but because he wants to be Eddie’s in every way possible. Is more than willing to give up a name that means nothing to him for one that means love and trust and family.

   “Eddie, baby, will you marry me?”

He waits for the words to sink in, anxiously watching Eddie go through all the stages of understanding what Steve is asking him.

   “Are you-” Realisation.

   “Do you really-” Disbelief.

   “You want to-” Reassurance.

   “Oh my God, yes! YES!” Eddie finally answers with a trembling voice and eyes full of tears.

They’re both shedding tears of joy now, arms wrapped around each other, kissing, and smiling and kissing some more until just kissing is no longer enough. When the need to be closer overcomes them and whispered declarations of love and devotion turn into something a lot more obscene. When their bodies demand to become one in heated passion, euphoric and wild and sweet.

And when they come undone for the second time this night, it feels different in a way, new. Because it’s their first time as soon-to-be husbands. Falling apart together, with all their love carved into a promise to mark the end of maybe and the beginning of forever – no after – just them ‘til the end.

[hellsslibrary]

Mean! Rin bullying reader for their bad performance + pet play, reader has a collar on

You are absolutely disgusting. And people like you deserve absolutely nothing. At least until men start getting pregnant (quotes from God knows where day 2).

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : This was FUCKING awesome to write. What can I say... I love my bottoms cunty, you know.

!!Warnings: sub!gn!reader(because 'their'), reader's genitals and gender not specified so you can be anyone, dom!Rin (obvi), pet play, sex toys, blowjob, hair pulling, leash, kind of dacryphilia in your direction idk, humiliation from Rin, orgasm denial about eight unspoken times, foot humping......

"No. Don't you dare."

How many fucking times have you heard that come out of his mouth? How many times have you whined against his thigh when he stopped pressing his foot into where you needed it most? It was getting fucking unbearable every time he did it.

"R-rin... But it wasn't that bad, was it?" you ask with a slightly shaky voice and he just chuckles and grabs your hair, pushing his cock back down your throat, making you gag but obediently start swallowing it.

"It wasn't bad. It was horrible. And you need to learn your lesson about not doing that," Rin breathes out, looking at your pathetic face sucking on his cock and slightly tightens the leash on your neck, making you look up at him.

"Keep going, slut, maybe it'll get your brain back in place and make the rest of the grey matter work."

What the hell is he talking about? This is more likely to make you explode. Not only did he not let you cum, he didn't do it himself. And considering you've been sitting here for clearly more than half an hour, he clearly wants something from you, but what the hell? Besides the pleasure of you choking on tears and his cock, of course.

You carefully grab his hips, and when he doesn't show a negative reaction, you squeeze them, taking his cock all the way into your throat, trying to do it rhythmically, but it was obviously bad. Just disgusting. But you were enthusiastic, so it's forgivable, I guess.

"This isn't even half-baked. What the hell are you doing? Your melted brain doesn't even remember how to suck a dick?" Rin asks, pulling your leash incredibly hard, making you freeze with his cock in your throat, trying your best to breathe through your nose.

And then he pushes you away, making you gasp and look at him with half-open eyes, afraid of what else he might do, but he just raises his eyebrow and sits more comfortably on the edge of the bed.

You look at him confused, but then you look down at your underwear and well... You're just soaking wet. Not surprisingly, but still. Your cheeks flush and you whine as his foot presses there again, running up and down your crotch.

Your lips wrap around his cock again, causing him to gasp and grip the hair on your head. Your tongue slides along the length of it, tasting the salty pre-cum on its receptors. Your cheeks sink almost instinctively, adding to the stimulation, causing your own hips to move faster.

"Keep going. Make me come and I beg you," Itoshi whispers, seeming to take pity on you when he sees how disheveled you are. You sit back on your knees, sighing as his leg settles flat beneath you, allowing you to move as you please, rubbing your arousal against him.

Your hand reaches for his balls, twisting them between your fingers, eliciting a soft moan from Rin's lips. His hips buck, wanting to bury themselves even deeper into your mouth, and his back falls back onto the bed as he feels himself cumming in your mouth...

And you slowly pull away from his cock, realizing that you've been robbed of your orgasm. Again. You swallow some of his cum and spit the rest out, wiping your palm with a napkin and hovering over Rin.

"Are you okay?" you ask, running your hand down his cheek, and he slowly opens his eyes, looking at you and nodding after a few seconds, becoming aware of the world around him again.

"Yeah... Let's go shower," Rin replies, taking your collar off, letting it fall onto the bed with a loud thud, and then pushing you back and standing on the floor, looking at your disappointed face. "I'll finish you there, stop sulking."

Your eyes immediately brightened and you followed Rin, who was stroking his still slightly twitching thighs.

"You're acting like a dog," he whispers and rolls his eyes with a small smirk when he hears the fake and very exaggerated barking from you.

If I ever write a fanfic without something stupid, it won't be me, honestly.

[laswells-ashtray]

Soo uhm... autistic ghost if you do that? I mean that man is autism creature. And I love him. And need him being a silly little autistic guy. Like headcannons, and how it'd be in his relationships with people. Like romantic sexual or platonic? Please and thank you.

Ghost doesn't think he shows many symptoms of having autism because he's commonly told "I'd never have guessed", however, that's typically because the people telling him that haven't spent enough time with him to pick up on anything.

Eventually, the people he's closest to notice things but they never bring it up. Notable but not worth making him self-conscious about. That's what John calls it.

Simon doesn't like the texture of some of his clothes, he'll brush up against John and then automatically reach away to wipe his hand on his own t-shirt or his cargos. John stops wearing certain shirts around him, and sticks to the softer, worn fabrics that Simon doesn't mind touching when it's reasonable for him to do so.

He notices that his lieutenant stocks up on certain foods that he likes, always the same ones before they spontaneously switch up after almost a year and he doesn't tend to go back to them. He tries to keep whatever snack or drink it is in his office so that on the days that Simon wants to crawl out of his skin, he can offer the other man something and maybe somewhere quiet to sit in away from everyone else.

Gaz thinks for a while that maybe Ghost just doesn't like him, but that's alright, they're coworkers and they don't have to be friends. He doesn't seem to like Soap either. That's until he picks up on something, Soap and he can get loud after missions. The adrenaline is still pulsing through their system and they joke around, getting rowdy like two lads in the back of a classroom. Ghost tends to stay quiet, only speaking if spoken to and even then it's a faint mutter. He gets twitchy the louder Gaz and Soap get, his breathing becomes consciously slow and his eyes narrow until he's glaring daggers into whatever is opposite him.

Then it clicks, the man is overstimulated. Overstimulated and unwilling to say so despite his own blatant discomfort. And all it takes is keeping quiet after missions, the conversations between him and Soap become soft whispers and the stabbing tension in Ghost's shoulders lessens noticeably. It's after that, that Ghost starts talking to him more, friendlier and willing to joke around. Gaz knows they aren't exactly the closest of friends, Simon Riley is a puzzle he doesn't have the decades of solving like Price does but it's something and that's good enough.

John and Nikolai have to adapt certain aspects of their relationship when it opens up to include Simon, something that both of them are more than willing to do to ensure the comfort of everyone involved.

Simon is open to touch in varying ways. If he's the one to initiate contact then he could end up sandwiched between the captain and the pilot without complaint. He'll grumble and bat at them half-heartedly, all for show but all it takes is Nikolai kissing his cheek and John nuzzling his jaw to shut him up.

Some days a simple hand on his shoulder is too much, Simon will tense up and he won't say a word about it but they can hear how his breath hitches. Those days they won't touch him, if they sit down together on the couch tne he'll sit down on the tattered, ancient swivel chair by the window. Sometimes he'll brave sticking his legs out and poking John's thighs with his toes, other times he won't. It's up to him and they see no reason to push.

It can be a mix other days, a kiss on the cheek might be fine but when Nikolai plasters himself over Simon's back it's just too much at once. He'll retreat tactically and brush a thumb over his cheek instead.

Sex is different than they're used to but it's a welcome change. There's no more lying around and falling asleep disgusting, leaving it a mess to be dealt with the next day. They become adept at clean-up, and Simon prefers to shower after they're done. Sometimes he'll drag one of them in alongside him, other days he needs the moment alone. Make no mistake, Simon is usually the filthiest out of the three of them. he does things with this tongue that have left John's ears ringing and he can haul Nikolai around without thinking twice. But he needs time to decompress and he'll take it as a moment in the shower or a post-shower cigarette.

[fuctacles]

<< twelve | 😺 | fourteen >>

"I'm gonna grab another." Steph shakes the empty bottle in her hand. "You want one too?"

Why isn't she kicking him out?

"I'll do it," Eddie offers quickly, jumping off the couch. "I know where everything is."

She's a bit surprised by the offer, but lets him take away the bottle without protest.

The kitchen isn't exactly hidden away in the layout of the apartment, but it shields him enough to have a silent freak out. He's not sure what's the end goal here. If she knows he's into her but isn't interested in anything herself, why let him stay? Are they supposed to sit in the acknowledged attraction as friends? It just might cost Eddie the last shreds of his sanity. 

He presses the cold beers to his cheeks before uncapping them and heading back to the couch. 

"Thank you." Steph takes the offered bottle. There's a remote in her other hand. "You wanna watch something? Family Feud should be starting soon."

A tactical change of topic, but what else could there be to talk about?

"Sure," he nods. When he sits back down, it feels like they've gotten closer, but it might be his mind simply playing trick on him.

They exchange small commentary, drinking and snacking on popcorn, a relaxing evening not dissimilar to what he could have with Wayne. But then, his hand scrapes against the bottom of the bowl. After they pick a couple of edible strays from between unpopped kernels, Steph leans forward to put the empty bowl on the table. When she falls back against the couch, she's definitely closer than before. 

Eddie jumps when she pats his knee.

"Relax, I don't bite," she says, eyes glued to the screen. Only then does he realize how tense he's gotten and forces his muscles to loosen up. He sits more comfortably, their shoulders brushing when one of them raises the beer to their lips. 

That distance also seems to be shortening, until Steph is leaning against him.

"Hey," he ducks his head down to take a look at her face. "You falling asleep on me?"

"No," she protests weakly. "'m watchin'."

Her eyes are indeed stubbornly half-open. He chuckles. 

"Okay, but if you need me to go, just tell me. I'll even tuck you in," he offers.

She giggles, pressing herself firmer against his side, and it takes all of his willpower not to wrap his arm around her. It would be a step too far. 

"What's so funny?" he asks instead, gently nudging her shoulder. 

"Nothing," she says innocently. "Just, Robin gives me a good night's kiss when she tucks me in."

Eddie twists his head again to look at her face. She's biting at her bottom lip and her eyes are glued to the screen.

"Well, whatever you need for a good night's sleep," he reassures her. And, realizing some hearts might end up broken no matter what he does, he raises his arm to rest it on the couch. He doesn't dare wrap it around Steph's shoulders, but at least it's not stuck uncomfortably between their bodies. 

With the show on screen slowly coming to an end, and the beer running through his system, he could happily fall asleep where he's sitting. But the overhead lights are still on, and he knows, deep in his gut, that it was a precaution to keep their hang out friendly. Gods only know what would happen if they were covered in the intimacy of a movie night's semi-darkness. 

When the TV host says his goodbyes, Steph blinks her heavy eyelids unhappily.

"I have work tomorrow," she grumbles with disdain, like the mere thought leaves a nasty taste in her mouth. 

Eddie huffs out a laugh.

"You do." He pats her shoulder sympathetically. "But you're also the boss, and you're not gonna fire yourself for being late, are you?" He cocks his head. 

Steph hums thoughtfully, before turning her head towards him, eyes narrowed. 

'You're a bad influence, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he grins, before disentangling himself from her warmth, because they've gotten way too close, and her mouth was right there for him to do something enormously stupid. "Let's clean up and I'll tuck you to bed like I've promised."

"I have to close up behind you," she reminds him with a twist of her mouth.

He looks up at her, empty bottles in hands. 

"You really should invest in a spare key, you know?"

"Very thoughtful, thanks," she looks at him flatly, before swatting at him playfully. 

"I mean, what if something happens?" he continues, gathering everything before she can grab it herself, and ignoring her protests. "Like, there's a fire and we have to save your cats?"

"Then, by all means, you're welcome to axe my door."

"I don't own an axe!" he points out with wide eyes. 

"I'm pretty sure Wayne does."

Eddie huffs, dumping the greasy bowl from their popcorn in the sink. 

"Yeah, probably."

He insists on cleaning the bowl, swatting away Steph's hands when she tries to take it away from him. But eventually, he's drying his hands and it's time to leave. 

"Well, thank you for having me, I had a great time," he smiles, stalling. 

"Me too." Steph smiles back. "Come over any time."

"Same time tomorrow?" he picks up the offer immediately, grinning as he slowly backs up towards the door.

"Sure, why not," Stephanie shrugs, and he didn't expect her to agree so easily. But then, she crosses her arms. "You know, just so I won't go insane talking to my cats."

"Not my words!" he reminds her with his hands raised placatingly. He stumbles into his discarded shoes, and it's probably high time to stop pushing his luck anyway. With less grace than he'd like while the woman of his dreams is watching, he steps into them, and springs back up, ready to say goodbye. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Wait, wait wait!" 

He cocks his head curiously, and is a bit disappointed when Steph presses conditioner into his hands. 

"Ah, right. I totally forgot." He laughs awkwardly. But then, she's not letting go, so he looks up at her with a questioning sound. 

Her eyes are glued to his mouth.

"You want your good night kiss?" he asks without thinking.

Thankfully, neither of them might be doing it right now.

"How else am I supposed to fall asleep?" Steph counters with a slight pout, briefly raising her gaze to meet his eyes. 

This time, they lean in together. 

It's soft and hesitant like they are each a delicate, porcelain statue. Like it is a good night kiss, one of many, closing the day with tenderness and care, with no plans to start anything more. It still leaves Eddie short on oxygen, too focused on the woman in front of him to think about something as trivial as breathing. 

"Goodnight." Steph breaks away first with a soft smile.

Eddie nods stupidly, hands still clutching the bottle in his grasp. 

"Goodnight."

tags:

@wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94

@tartarusknight  @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman

@madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system @hiei-harringtonmunson

@hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @dreamercec @manliest-of-muppets @bookbinderbitch @marklee-blackmore 

@icecat @rootbeerandmusic

[hyuniemyunie]

plsss write a cho hyun ju x reader where the reader has sleep apnea (the reader's breathing pauses sometimes when sleeping)

cho hyun-ju x reader with sleep apnea☆ミ

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): gn reader

i hope i did this riiighttt😞😞🙏

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. The world outside was quiet, but Hyun-ju wasn’t asleep. She lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, her gaze fixed on you.

You were curled up beside her, your breathing soft and steady—for now. Hyun-ju’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the subtle hitch in your rhythm, the moment when your chest stilled longer than it should. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of worry passing over her face.

She’d noticed it before. The way your breathing would pause, how you’d stir just enough to catch your breath again. It was a quiet struggle, one you didn’t always talk about, but Hyun-ju had made it her mission to be there for you—even when you didn’t know it.

The silence stretched as she listened, her heart skipping a beat every time the pauses lasted just a little too long. When it happened again, her hand instinctively reached out, brushing lightly against your arm.

“Hey,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe, okay?”

You stirred slightly at her touch, your body responding before your mind fully woke. A deep breath finally escaped you, and Hyun-ju felt a quiet relief wash over her. She stayed close, her fingers ghosting over your shoulder, grounding you even in your sleep. It wasn’t long before your breathing evened out again, the rhythm steady and reassuring. Still, Hyun-ju didn’t relax completely. She stayed awake, her eyes fixed on you, her mind running through everything she’d read about sleep apnea.

She didn’t want to hover, didn’t want to make you feel self-conscious, but the thought of you struggling alone kept her from looking away. When you stirred again, this time more awake, your eyes fluttered open to find her watching you.

“Hyun-ju..?” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, love.” she said gently, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You blinked up at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “Were you... staying up for me?”

Hyun-ju hesitated, her expression unreadable for a moment before she sighed softly. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, and despite your sleepiness, you reached out to take her hand. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Maybe not,” she replied, her tone calm but firm. “But I want to.”

The way she said it left no room for argument, her quiet determination shining through. She shifted closer, pulling the blanket over you both as her arm wrapped around your waist.

“Just sleep,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “I’ve got you.”

And as you drifted off again, Hyun-ju stayed awake a little longer, her presence steady and comforting. For her, watching over you wasn’t a burden—it was simply part of loving you.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju notices something is off before you tell her about your sleep apnea. She’s hyper-aware of her surroundings and immediately picks up on the irregularity of your breathing while you sleep.

ᯓ★ At first, she doesn’t want to alarm you, so she quietly watches over you during the night, making mental notes of how often your breathing pauses. The more she notices, the more concerned she becomes.

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju isn’t the type to sit idly by. Once you tell her about your condition, she dives into researching sleep apnea, learning everything she can about it—from causes to treatments. She doesn’t overwhelm you with information, but she’s ready to offer solutions or suggestions if you need them.

ᯓ★ When you sleep, she often stays up a little longer, pretending to read or scroll through her phone, but she’s really keeping an ear out for your breathing. She doesn’t say anything about it, not wanting to make you feel self-conscious.

ᯓ★ If your breathing pauses for too long, Hyun-ju is incredibly gentle when waking you up. She softly calls your name or places a hand on your shoulder, never startling you. Her calm demeanor helps you relax when you’re disoriented.

ᯓ★ Hyun-ju subtly encourages you to use a CPAP machine or other treatments if you need them. She’ll never push, but her quiet support makes you feel less alone in dealing with your condition.

ᯓ★ She makes little changes to your shared sleeping arrangements, like propping up extra pillows or adjusting the mattress angle, to help with your breathing. She does it so casually you might not even notice at first.

ᯓ★ On nights when you’re anxious about your sleep apnea, Hyun-ju stays up with you, her calm presence reassuring. She’ll hold your hand, stroke your hair, or talk to you in her quiet, soothing voice until you feel ready to rest.

ᯓ★ If you ever need to bring equipment when traveling, Hyun-ju takes it upon herself to ensure it’s packed and set up properly. She wants to make sure you’re comfortable wherever you go.

ᯓ★ On nights when your apnea feels particularly bad, Hyun-ju is there to hold you afterward. She wraps you in her arms, her presence grounding you as she whispers that everything will be okay.

[readychilledwine]

Call My Name

Nightmare Prompt Drabble -“How long have you been having nightmares like this?”

Summary - War leaves a last mark on all who see it.

Warnings - Mentions of loss and death, mentions of war, reader is spiraling in secret.

A/N - My heart is so sad because I got bumped while drafting this and accidentally deleted the anon 🥺

So, if this is familiar to you and you sent me this, losing someone you lose to cancer is one of the hardest things to live through. I am so sorry, Anon. I wanted this to be perfect and warm. I wanted it to be filled with comfort. I held onto it for a while because I was worried about it not filling that need, but as someone who can sympathize with that loss, it hits where I think it needs to in a very short and sweet way.

🦊Lucien Masterlist🦊Master Masterlist🦊

The feel and scent of blood was still so real as you calmed yourself and strong hands helped you sit up. It felt as if a weight was on your chest, closing in and seizing the very breath from your lungs.

“You're alright,” a voice deep with sleep stated. “Breathe. Take a deep breath. Breathe.” Lucien sat in front of you, his normally perfect hair a mess, his pajama pants wrinkled from moving as he slept.

“Lu?”

“You were screaming,” even in his sleepy state, his voice was like a silk that soothed your fears. “I could hear you from my room. I think we could all hear you, actually.”

Shame filled you. You normally could contain your nightmares to your own space, warding and shielding out the world from the visions that haunted your mind. “I apologize. I try to keep it in here,” you motioned to your room. “Rhysand taught me to shield, and it appears they failed me tonight.”

He shook his head. “Never apologize to me for being afraid. You are young and have already lived through so much. You have seen far too many things,” his voice was soft with sympathy as he settled down in your bed, pulling you to lay beside him. “How long have you been having nightmares like this?”

That sentence, one no one else had bothered to ask, opened the floodgates. “Since the war. Since-” You could finish, couldn't allow your mind to slip into that haunted place.

“I understand,” he stopped you as if he did not want you to bear that pain. Soft hands moved to your face, stroking your cheek bones. “I know that feeling. That piece of you leaving this world yet lingering in your nightmares and dreams. It makes you feel trapped. Like you can't move on no matter how desperately you try, and the hardest thing is no one has real advice.” He made sure his eyes found yours, the soft moon highlighting his own jawline and cheeks. “Other fae will tell you time heals all wounds, but I've learned that isn't always true.”

“Wounds like this fester, my spark. They infect and slowly kill. They rob you of your joy, your safety and security, your light,” his voice broke. “I cannot stand the idea of you losing your light. Not so young. Not so fresh to the magic of our world."

He waited for you to breathe before he spoke again, "I know it is hard, but you need to talk to someone. Me, Rhysand, Nesta. Any of us. We may not be able to replace them, but we can help you as you reshape your world around this loss. We can help you find another kindling to keep your flame alive."

You could only give a whimper as tears began to fall freely. You had not felt so seen, so safe, in months. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his warmth and scent. “You don't have to decide now, but we will speak again in the morning. Sleep, my dear, I'll keep you safe tonight.”

[lilylushes]

Luigi x Pregnant Reader Headcanons

-Your sex life with Luigi had always been active, but once you two decided to see what happens in terms of getting pregnant, he got baby fever BAD and it turned into a whole baby making season for him. 

-You had sex almost every day before, but now it was constantly - on the countertop, in the shower, in the pool/ocean, etc. Even when you were tired, he’d happily make love to you with gentle strokes, humming how much he loved you and wanted a baby. He’d also lay on the praise even more during baby making season. “Mmm, going to give you a baby, beautiful.” “So good for me, taking all my cum, my good girl.” 

-He was SO excited when you both found out. The two of you both suspected you might be pregnant, so you took a test and decided to look at it at the same time. When you flipped it over and the two lines were clear as day, he was elated. He hugged you so tightly and even though he’s not an overly emotional guy, he cried tears of joy, and gave you so much praise. “You’re going to be the best mother.” “I love you.” “I can’t wait to do this with you.” Oh, and he’s thinking about how hot you’ll look pregnant.

-He immediately ordered a shit ton of books about pregnancy, fatherhood, babies, and everything.

-He thinks about different names all the time, too. He’d ask, “baby, what do you think of x as a name?”

-He goes to literally every appointment, ultrasound, and signs you up for a birthing class.

-NEEDS to find out the gender because he can’t not know. You’d do a little private thing, just the two of you. I picture one of those ones on the beach with a little cake and the wine glasses. No matter what you’d have, his reaction would be so precious. More hugs and tears, probably.

-He’s also kinda panicking because now he’s gonna be a literal father in charge of keeping another human alive. He is reading the books that he ordered religiously. He worries deep down that he’s not cut out to be a father.

-He proudly assembles all of the nursery furniture and makes sure it’s all safe.

-He takes up crocheting/knitting so that he can make socks, hats, a blanket, etc. for the baby. He goes kinda crazy with it, lol.

-He just wants to be a part of it all in any way that he can. He reads up on what you’re experiencing, is always asking how you’re feeling, wants to make sure you take all the vitamins you need, and takes part in your birthing class to ensure that he’ll be a supportive partner.

-He talks to your baby at night. “You have the best mom. She’s so pretty and so smart, you’ll see. You’re giving her kind of a hard time, though. It’s hard for her to sleep. Just keep still in there for a few hours, hm?”

-He is always encouraging you to try things out to make everything more comfortable for you, especially at the end.

-He talks about what the baby will look like and be like. You both agree on your eyes with his smile. You two take the opportunity to look at your own baby pictures. He’s a bit embarrassed at his, but he can’t get over how cute you were.

-Pregnancy sex, especially towards the end, is wild and constant. “I know you’re uncomfortable, baby. I read how we can induce labour, wanna give it a try?”

-He totally panics when you go into labour. He did pack your hospital bags long ago, but he gets all blushing and flustered.

-While you’re in labour, he gives you distance when you need it and is nearby when you need it.

-When your baby is born, he’d be crying so hard. Between your baby being here and how proud he is of you for going through labour, he’d be extremely emotional.

-He can’t believe how tiny the baby is, being totally in awe of their little hands and feet. He’s just in disbelief that you two made this sweet little baby.

-Afterwards, when you’re holding the baby, he says, “thank you for giving me him/her.”

-Even though he’s running on no sleep, he’d watch you sleep afterwards and come over to kiss your cheeks and forehead.

-He’s so proud to bring your visitors in. He’d by hyping you up to them, like, “she did such a good job, I’m so proud of her. She was so strong the whole time.”

-When you’re leaving the hospital, he’s beaming with pride to be able to look beside him and see you and your baby. 

-When you’re in the car, he’d look in the mirror at you and your baby in the backseat, and say, “There’s nobody else I’d rather do this with, y/n. love you, baby.”

[holylulusworld]

Bucky & Ducky (4) - The new family member

Summary: Bucky Barnes. Ruthless mafia boss. Soft only for his wife and…well, Ducky.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Side pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Ducky the duck

Warnings: mafia business, fluff, unusual friendship

A/N: Thanks to @buck-star for the idea and brainstorming with me. I did it…😅

Catch up here: Bucky & Ducky (3) - Growing friendship

Bucky & Ducky Masterlist

“Bucky, this is not a catwalk," you giggle as Bucky walks out of the bathroom like a male model. He strides toward you and Alpine, smirking as you watch him.

Ducky is not far behind. The duckling waddles toward the bed, quacking loudly.

"What? This is how I walk!" Bucky grins because your eyes are glued to him like most of the time he’s around. “Ducky, tell her hot men walk like that.”

Bucky picks the duckling up to place it into the soft cat bed you got for Ducky.

"You are striking a pose, Mr. Barnes. This is not walking!" You look at Alpine for confirmation. “Right, Alpine? Daddy tries to impress someone. I wonder who it is?”

“Only you, doll.” He purrs before cupping your face to steal a kiss. “You know that there never was someone else since we met.”

“I will keep you up on that promise, pretty man.” He laughs against your lips. “I mean it, Mr. Barnes. I won’t let you stray.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of looking at some other woman.” Bucky kisses you again, slow and sensual. “Or man.”

“Bucky,” you giggle and playfully slap his chest. “Not in front of the…” Bucky laughs as you whisper duckling. “Ducky is still a baby. We cannot get naughty in front of the kids.”

“Kids,” Bucky purrs. He tugs at your bathrobe, smirking cockily. “We don’t have kids yet, but we could change that right now.”

“Oh, Mr. Barnes gets cocky, huh.” You grab his bathrobe to drag him on top of you. “How about we see if you can keep up with your cocky attitude?”

“Baby doll, if you keep talking like this, you’ll end up round and swollen in no time,” Bucky playfully threatens. He nips at your neck, hands already roaming your body. “Do you want me to ruin you?”

You smirk. “You’re playing with fire, sir.” Bucky groans at your words. “If you offer a woman to knock her up, you should follow your plan.”

Alpine flees the moment Bucky rips your bathrobe open. The white furball knows what’s coming and doesn’t want to get chased away when things get heated.

“Ducky, this is not how a duckling behaves,” Bucky tuts as the duckling poops on his white dress shirt. “I thought we were past this, punk. No pooping onto my clothes.”

“Bucky.” You try not to laugh but fail epically. “I don’t think you can teach a duckling to not poop on your clothes, shoes, or the floor.”

“We could get diapers,” Bucky immediately says. “Right? Ducky is a baby, and babies wear diapers.” He nods thoughtfully before getting his phone out. “Let me look for more things we’ll need for Ducky.”

“I don’t think Ducky will like wearing diapers.” You try to stop Bucky from buying random stuff for the duckling. He did the same with Alpine, and now you own three cat trees, several cat beds, and a huge number of toys.

“Maybe we can get Ducky a cat toilet,” Bucky tries. “Wait, let me check this on Google.” He hums while scrolling through his phone. “Wait, there’s a forum for people with ducks.”

“Bucky,” you giggle as he tries to sign up for the forum. “We don’t need a forum.”

Bucky dips his head to look at you. “Do you have a book for me? We need to know more about ducks and how to take care of a duckling, right?”

“I know how to feed, bathe, and care for Ducky. Bucky, we don’t need a forum, alright?”

He nods. “I only want to make sure Ducky feels comfortable and that the punk won’t get sick. I mean…uh—I don’t want them to poop into the bathtub.”

“Or on your shoes,” you snort as Bucky looks down at his body. Ducky not only ruined his shirt but also pooped onto his favorite shoes.

“Ducky, you dirty punk,” he laughs. “We talked about pooping on my shoes. What did I tell you yesterday after you napped in my slippers only to leave a little surprise in them?”

“It was an accident,” you softly reply and pat Ducky’s head. “Ducky is still a baby.”

Bucky lifts the small duckling to bring Ducky face to face with him. “Punk, you’re lucky that you’re damn cute. If not, you’d never get away with pooping on me and my shoes.”

Steve, Sam, and Clint hold back a chuckle as Bucky carefully places a box on his desk. Ducky sits inside the box, quacking loudly. They know how much Alpine and the duckling mean to you and Bucky.

“So, you kept it?” Steve asks, glancing at the duckling sitting in the box, on top of one of Bucky’s old shirts. “How many pets do you have now?”

“Not too many,” Bucky grunts. He pats Ducky’s head, smiling as the duckling nuzzles his hand. “Ducky is a member of my family now. Live with it.”

“It’s damn cute,” Sam says. “I wonder if Alpine gets along with the duckling. Cats usually like to chase birds.”

“Alpine is well-behaved. They know not to hurt Ducky or chase the duckling. No problem,” Bucky points out. “Now back to business. I need to get some more things for Ducky later…”

Tags in reblog.

[garez19]

isekai’d! yandere x reader

I think we’ve talked about isekai’d reader already… but what do you think about a yandere who just got isekaid into a silly little world?

notes: mention of an injury (not descibed), no pronouns used for the reader, no use of y/n

when he finds himself in a completely different place, he mutters a curse word as he tries to get up.

huh?

huh?

and when he finally realizes this is the bedroom he has seen in that one webtoon, he runs to the bathroom. he takes a look in the mirror and he curses under his breath again as he sees the image of the main character. he touches his blond hair, and he looks himself with pure confusion.

“I can’t believe I just turned blonde,” he sighs. “man, fuck my life.”

but good thing he is the main character, right? well, there was no other character who were as charismatic as him apart from the protagonist, right? moreover, he quite likes the main character too, and relates to him on a deeper as the story processes. they have similar personalities and a similar way of approaching the situations. he rarely enjoys webtoons but well, good thing he found a cool one, no? however, when he figures out there are more to be upset over being blonde, he curses again. because hell, this was not a romance story.

this was a fantasy. a very descriptive and terrifying one too.

yet, he is at an advantage, he repeats, because he has read it multiple times, and very much knows about the ending.

he knows what to do, he knows who he should team up with, he knows who to stay away from, and he most certainly knows how he needs to handle anything that’ll ever happen.

he does handle it well. and he knows the ending will be priceless. he is sure it’s going to be alright. and he knows you too, the side-character with little to no role, but quite loved by the readers, he recalls. you help him out once or twice, and have your iconic moments too.

well, a shame you were going to die, huh? because you truly feel real, you make him feel like he’s not completely alone in this world. he finds you creepy in the sense that he is reminded the real world by you. he finds you relatable. and he finds your creepiness comforting in its own way, coming from the familiarity.

so he keeps you close. he doesn’t want to be all alone in a completely different world. he doesn’t want to face all this all by himself with all these puppets around them.

he asks you to join his adventures. and you accept it. you two become as close as you can, and he knows the chapter that you die in is soon to come.

and he most certainly isn’t ready.

so when you come along with him to do your duty respectfully, knowing you were going to pass away right there, he calls out your name.

“you’re not coming.” he says. you look up at him with an obvious confusion.

“why not?” you ask.

“because you aren’t needed. you just stay here.” he adds. and you frown, still confused. you definitely are needed there. everyone is needed there. and you are going to go. another thing that made you liked by the audience, brave and willing to take action.

“well, you aren’t coming, end of discussion. I can just lock you up if you want to keep talking.” he says. and although you think he just wanted to half-joke and assert some kind of dominance, he is definitely serious about it.

and you don’t need to know.

or you do. because fuck, you leave him little to no thing to do when you don’t listen and follow him around. there’s a different expression on his face, one that you hadn’t seen until now. it’s almost like he’s panicked, and you can’t understand why he panics when he sees you—considering there are way more scary things around the area.

he calls out to his best friend, and the horrifying creature they fight with seems wrathful. he needs to get you out of here. he needs to do it quickly.

“cairos will escort you, and we will talk about it once i come back, okay?” you’ve never seen him so upset, and you’re not sure why he acts so crazy about the whole situation. you look at cairos, and he seem shocked too, yet he accepts quickly and takes the lead. you’re sure if you’re supposed to do anything but obey now. and you follow him to the place.

“you’re fucked up, I must say,” cairos jokes.

“what did I even do anyway?” you huff. and to be fair, he doesn’t understand either, but there’s no way he’d get so mad if there wasn’t a reason, right?

“well, uh, beats me, but you shouldn’t do that again, you know.” he adds. and the rest of the path is quiet, with this uneasiness around you.

this was your last duty. one last one and you were going to be done and go back to your own life. at least according to what the wizard has told you anyway. and he has just messed it all up.

fuck

so what are you supposed to do know? wait for the beasts to hunt you down so you can go back? cairos tells you he needs to go back when you arrive, and that both he and you will be in big trouble if you decide to do that again.

so you wait quietly, and think of a new solution as you do so.

***

“luka’s injured, fuck,” cairos curses. and as you take him to his bed and bandage him up, you can’t help but think that none of these would happen if you were there. if things had gone as planned, maybe you’d have even waken up and drink a cup of tea in your room as you re-read the whole story once again.

“I mean, it takes two to tango,” you mock. cairos frowns.

“shut up.”

cairos has no serious injuries, but you tell him that he also needs to go and take a rest instead of waiting for him to wake up. although he tries to protest, the tiredness takes over his body, and he leaves as he keeps repeating to keep him updated.

and then you hear him shouting your name. you panic as you think he needs something, or is in pain.

“you okay?” you ask. he seems relaxed for a second.

“I really should have locked you up, right?” he smiles. after seeing him in such anger, you don’t know if you should be laughing at his “jokes”.

“it’s not my fault you can’t decide whether someone is needed or not.” you sneer.

“you are very much needed, just not there.” he says. you can see how tired he is, and you can’t help but cringe whenever you see his bandaged wound.

“I think you should rest now,” you say, “we can talk it out when you’re better.”

he nods. “but you’ll stay here, right?” he asks. “I mean, in case something happens. I have lost so much blood, you see.” he adds quickly. like he’s a silly kid ashamed of thunders and wants to sleep with his parents.

“of course.” you smiled.

***

luka truly has been enjoying the past week. the story is not supposed to go this way because well, you should be dead by now, but the author should’ve written that part better, no?

but he likes the fact that you’re always around to take care of him, as he makes it obvious you are the reason he’s got hurt when cairos had to leave him for more than half an hour.

and you truly feel guilty, not because of going there, but because of coming back. now the main character is badly injured, and you are still alive. you are still not in your own world. so you do whatever he needs, and you even treat him so nicely that he honestly considers getting injured more often.

yet, when he is finally all recovered, and the next chapters are even more dangerous for you, for him, for everyone; he decides he doesn’t give a damn about completing the story correctly, nor does he care about going back.

you can’t leave. you physically can’t.

and he’ll make sure of it.