#and Heart makes sure Mind rests and takes over when he's burnt out

[44-mr-midnight-44]

I just remembered that the main conflict between HMS is Heart and Mind hating each other and violent rejecting harmonisation bc I'm just so used to Soul being the problem and Heart and Mind being loving brothers who just like to play fight a lot

Like… Heart and Mind are extremely cruel to each other in canon

Heart literally attempts to murder Mind and Mind mocks Heart as he tortures him

That's so horrible, and yet in the la la land of AXYER world they're driving home from a party and buying Taco Bell and Heart's not wearing a shirt and Mind hasn't slept in four days

[killerpancakeburger]

Well-placed Trust

As soldiers unpromptedly walk in on a maskless Ghost and you, your solution to protect his face is to shove it in your chest.

Tags: f!reader (boobs involved), civilian!reader, protective!reader, fluff + smut, Praise, Ghost is a menace (positive), boobs worship, 1k words.

Gaining Simon Riley's trust was not something you ever planned to achieve. However, now that you've had it, you were fiercely protective of it.

This would explain why, when you heard the door to Ghost's room randomly opening, and your eyes flew to the skull mask laying on his desk— barely a meter away but it might as well have been on the other side of the ocean—, your first instinct was to launch yourself at him. Bluntly shoving his face into your chest without warning, in hopes to conceal it from the newly arrived trespassers, and wrapping your arms around his head in a desperate attempt to hide his hair as well.

Nevermind that he's trapped right between your breasts.

You throw a mildly accusatory stare at the entrance, and coarse laughs ring out, followed by a barely believable apology.

“Oops, sorry. Wrong door. Didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You let out a relieved sigh as the door closes. However said relief is quick to vanish as you realize Simon hasn’t reacted at all this whole time. Not a word, not even a grunt; not a move, not even to repel you. 

You let go of him like you've been burnt, even raising your hands in surrender.

“Sorry! Are you mad? I panicked, I was just trying to—”

Your waterfall of apologies brutally ceases when, after attempting to back away, you're stopped short by his embrace. You don’t know when he wrapped his arms around your waist. His expression still out of sight, anxiety nags at you, despite the logical part of your mind emphasizing that if he was actually angry, there's no way he'd demonstrate it by hugging you. 

So you insists.

“Ghost?”

“Mmh.”

The sound is raspy, unbothered. He idly rubs his face against your torso, and the motion is enough to make your crotch throbs with arousal. Inhaling sharply at the unexpected sensation, you clench your thighs together.

“Simon,” you call again, trying to sound severe this time.

You have absolutely zero reservation in granting all the hugs he might crave, but surely they could be performed in a less… compromising position. Lest you end this cuddle session squirming with want. And a burning face. And the imperative need to never cross the lieutenant ever again, for fear that you'd spontaneously combust with mortification otherwise.

“‘M not mad.“

The gruff, familiar voice appeases your tension a little— the emotional one, that is. Not the physical one.

“You're not? You have a right to b—”

“I trust you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the confession. You suspected it, hoped for it— but hearing it out loud is another matter entirely. Simon Riley is a man of few words, but the ones he does pronounce are always sincere, to the point of bluntness. For him to feel the need to spell it out loud, it has to be important.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You've put my comfort over yours, no questions asked. Couldn’t be more pleased, love.”

The gravel in his voice does funny things to your stomach— why, why, why? It never had that effect before.

You try to ignore the signals sent by your body, instead passing a hand behind your neck in self-consciousness. 

“Oh… well. It was nothing. I'd do it again in a heartbeat—”

“You've been so good to me, sweetheart. Don't ya think you deserve a reward?”

Your brain short-circuits. Your skin gets even warmer. Surely you misheard him.

He finally unsticks his face from your chest, resting his chin above your sternum, only to stare with the start of some impatience drowned out in warmth and fondness.

He's a vision, one that takes your breath away and causes heat to pool in your stomach.

Heavy-lidded eyes, disheveled hair, ardent stare, he's a languid, lascivious mess.

“I need an answer. Preferably in one word. Yes, no, fuck off…”

In other, normal circumstances, you would have stayed mute from the shock, or helplessly stuttered, but the imperative desire to not disappoint him, to preserve the contentment he displays, takes over.

“Fuck. Yes.”

The low chuckle that escapes him in reaction to the eagerness of your reply makes you bite back a moan. Your hands close into fists on the back of his shirt.

He lifts your shirt— "hold this for me, love"— and effortlessly frees your chest from your bra. The second your skin is bare, he presses his face back into it, nuzzling against it with a blissful sigh.

With one hand busy grasping your top, and the other clinging onto his shoulder for balance, there's nothing you can do but submit yourself to his ministrations.

It's your turn to sigh in pleasure as he proceeds to kiss an invisible line between the bottom and the top of your breast, fingers stroking the curve between your ribs and your nipple.

“Never dreamed you'd let me get my face on those, love.”

Groggy, it takes a conscious effort on your part to register what he's saying.

“Such a generous thing. It's only right you get payback.”

“You're very… talkative all of a sudden.”

“S'that a problem? Think I'm not putting my tongue to use enough?”

Right after that, said tongue swirl around your nipple and you can feel yourself clench around nothing.

“Or maybe that's just not your thing,” he adds, casually, as if he hadn’t been shamelessly gropping, kissing, licking and sucking your chest.

“I never said that.”

Your reply had been straight off, out of fear that he'd take offense and puts a stop to all this.

“You know what to do to shut me up, anyway.”

You don’t react to his provocative tone, but you’re tempted by the invitation nonetheless— to muffle that smart mouth with your bust…

Just as his focus on your breasts threatens to not suffice you anymore, his thumb insistantly rubbs the apex of your thighs, and you push back against it openly.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he soothes you, but you can see how pleased he is by your eagerness. “M just gettin’ started.”

Soon enough he disposed of your pants, and he's parting your knees to nuzzle against your inner thigh the way he was against your chest mere moments ago. You can’t help but close them partially, and instantly he's staring you down, eyes brimming with taunt.

“Gonna smother me with your thighs, sweetheart? Like you did with your tits, mh? Better be prepared in case we get ‘interrupted’ again.”

“Fucking hell, Ghost,” you groan, half exasperated, half even more aroused, as he finally steers his head towards your crotch.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ SKZ Members Who'd Love Sleeping On Your Belly ♡

♡ All of the love to @skz-story-request-always-open for asking me to do this adorably fluffy request ♡

While I'm sure any of our OT8 cuties would love cuddling up to a soft belly, these are the four who I think would be in absolute heaven if you let them do it.

♡ Felix ♡

You let him fall asleep on your belly once and he's refused to do anything else since. At this point, if you even joke about not letting him do it you'll break his heart

Seriously, you can offer him the fluffiest of pillows and he won't touch them because nothing's more comfy than dozing off on you with his favorite song or show in the background

It's never unexpected when he lays on you because he tends to come running at you full force with his arms open and his face lit up, making cute little noises that let you know it's time for cuddles

As much as he enjoys your softness, what really makes it special to him is the closeness and vulnerability he feels when he's curled up against you with your arm around his neck, fingers playing with his hair as sleep takes him

♡ Bang Chan ♡

His reputation as someone who rarely sleeps is unshakable at this point, insomnia's basically a part of his lore, but he's out like a light the second his cheek meets your belly

Something that always gets him is when you come up beside him while he's working and stroke his cheek, letting him lean his head on you. As someone who's responsible for taking care of so many people, it's nice when it's his turn to be cared for

He can, will, and has fallen asleep in the sitting position because you're so comfy, and having you in his presence is incredibly peaceful for him, quieting the thoughts swirling around in his mind

Nothing's cuter than the look on his face when you wake him up enough to make it to the bed or couch where he can truly settle in, interlocking his body with yours so that you can't go anywhere

♡ Binnie ♡

This man's obsession with sleeping on your belly is the precise reason why you wake up with random body aches some days

He doesn't care where you are, what you're doing, or what time of day it is. If he feels himself nodding off, he has to find a way to get you into any position necessary for him to get to it

Clearly, he's not particular about if you guys are bent sideways to make it happen but he does have preferences when it comes to what you wear. His favorite thing to see you in is a t-shirt because it means his hands get easier access to squishing your belly

There's nothing remotely sexual about his habit of slipping his hand under your shirt to play with your belly. It's relaxing for him. It also helps that you giggle when he does it a certain way. He could never get tired of that

♡ Han ♡

He never gets a better night's rest than when he's using your belly as a pillow but going to sleep's rarely, if ever, what he had in mind when he first laid down

It's a good thing though because, with all of the energy he has, he can start to feel burnt out at times and he always knows he can come to you as a safe space to restore his energy since you don't really want anything from him other than, well, him

Even though it's technically your stomach he goes feral if anyone tries to peel him away from you. You're his baby and he's gonna cling to you for dear life for as long as he can

His belly might not be as soft as yours but he constantly insists that you lay on him too so that he can hold you and sing you to sleep, watching over you to make sure you sleep as peacefully as he does

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (29/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Another glimpse of Charles' mind - and honey, that boy is down bad.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of dry humping, sex and oral sex), angst, but make it hot

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: LETS FUCKING GO LANDO!!! CHEERS BABE I LOVE YOU! feedback is appreciated!

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again. He can feel the individual springs through the thin fabric of the seat and the few cracks in the steering wheel feel wonderfully familiar in his calloused hands. As soon as you both arrive at his mother's house, he would text Andrea and thank him for picking up the car with him at the old apartment.

It takes immense willpower for him to let his hand rest either on the gear stick between you or on the steering wheel, because he'd love to slide his ringed fingers over the fabric of your jeans on your thigh. Or hold your hand. Touch you somehow. 

It's as if he's addicted to your touch. As if the warmth of your skin, the softness of your body were a drug that he couldn't get enough of after the first real contact. And all he can think about is how good your skin felt against his. 

He regrets a little that the first time was in a terrible situation that both he and you would like to forget. He remembers how your body shook as you lay on your bed in just your underwear and cried. How you didn't even realize Charles had entered the room because literally everything was out of control. And for sure, after what he did and the words he threw at you, Charles had no right to comfort you and hold you in his arms. 

And although his head warned him to stay away from you, his body fought back and, without hesitation, lay with you, pulled you close and held you while you cried yourself to sleep. And when you sobbed his name, with a broken voice and a deep-seated, audible pain, his brain had completely shut down, which is why he couldn't say anything other than "I'm here as long as you'll let me".  

But he had already realized beforehand that there would be no turning back. He already knew at dinner with his friends that all he would ever want would be you as soon as you touched him. When you pressed your leg against his to show him that you were there for him, when he was asked about Annika, and for a moment it felt as if he had caught a spark of fire and it had sunk through his jeans and burnt him. But it was just the warmth of your skin that he could feel despite the layers of fabric. And when he wasn't sure if it was actually you, he'd suggested sharing the tiramisu so he could be closer to you. 

And when he not-so-accidentally pressed his chest against your back to reach the tiramisu in your hand, he got so warm he thought he was going to have a heat stroke. 

He had a similar experience the night he woke up because you breathed his name in your sleep and pressed your butt against him. The morning when he had to flee from bed because he feared he would provoke a heart attack if he allowed you to rub against him and then had to suppress his urge to touch you. There's no question that he was only thinking about you in the shower when he touched himself. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. When he wrapped his arm around you and intertwined your fingers to show you that he was there for you. The warmth he'd felt earlier through the clothes you'd been wearing had been pleasant. Your skin on his felt more like a burn, as if he'd put his hand on a hotplate that was switched on, as if he'd been lying in the sun too long without sunscreen and got burnt. As if you were the sun he got too close to. You burned into his skin with your touch - and never in his life has he loved heat as much as he did at that moment. 

That night, he held you as tightly as if he could suck the pain from your body and absorb it into himself. True, Charles had struggled just as much after realizing that the man who hurt the woman in his arms was the very man his own girlfriend had cheated on him with, but he'd swallowed that and shrugged it off the moment he'd seen the fear in your eyes as he climbed the steps to the apartment and saw you both standing in the hallway. 

You had been his priority and he wanted to protect you as best he could, even if he couldn't undo any of what had happened. He can't change the fact that Raphael betrayed you and he can't take away the pain that this breach of trust caused you. He can't undo the fact that he said all those cruel things to you because he was jealous of Lando, because you took him to your heart so quickly - who you touched without hesitation - and he couldn't keep his feelings under control. Charles can't change any of that. 

But the night he held you while you cried all the tears you had inside you, he vowed to protect you from anything that could hurt you. He swore to take care of you as best he could and to make your life easier if he could. He swore that he would never be the cause of your pain again. 

And even though your touch feels like a warm sunburn to him, like a hot ray of sunshine and like happiness itself, he vowed to see you as none other than his girlfriend, his roommate, who deserves far better than a jealous Charles who can't give you what you need to be happy. 

He can't assure you that he'll always be there for you when you need him. His job doesn't allow that. There's no way he can always be with you to hold you when you're sad. It's so incredibly unfair to ask you to wait for him. He can't give you the time the both of you need to build an adult, good and above all healthy relationship. And it would be irresponsible to plunge you into this life where the public would run their mouths about the couple just because you were a couple. He would give you anything you asked of him, but never would he put you in a situation that would hurt you.

He would protect you. The girl who lay quietly in his arms and cried until she fell asleep. The girl who turned his whole world upside down in the space of a few days. The girl who his mother thought was his girlfriend, which he didn't want to correct because he secretly wished that was the reality. 

The girl who was gracious enough to forgive him for his actions and stayed by his side despite his name and the hurdles his friendship would bring, even insisting on staying there come what may. The girl who helped him move on from his toxic relationship with his ex by burning it all. 

The night had been cleansing. With each piece of the relationship you both threw into the flames, the weight on Charles' shoulders lightened until it disappeared completely with the last burnt petal. He thought it was only fair to tell you that Raphael was the guy who had destroyed both your relationship and his. And although Charles could tell you were more upset by this fact than you might like to admit, he felt closer to you than ever before. 

You promised him that there would be a soulmate for him in this world. Someone with whom he doesn't have to pretend and can be who he really is. And after his body once again asserted itself against his brain and pulled you on top of him so that you could cuddle - strictly as friends - you fell asleep on top of him. And while he scratched your head, felt your warm breath on his neck and enjoyed the weight of your body on his, he wondered why he got the feeling that he had already found this person when he looked at you.

"Is she asleep?" Joris asked quietly and stood in front of the fire bowl, his hands outstretched to get some warmth. Charles nodded barely perceptibly. He would never risk you waking up and pulling away from him because of one of his movements. His heart couldn't take that. 

"Yes," he breathes without sound. 

Joris looks into the fire. "She's good for you. And you seem to be good for her too." When Charles looks at him, a little confused, Joris shrugs. "She just said to me that you're her best friend."

Charles couldn't explain why his heart momentarily stopped working, only to break into many pieces on the next beat. Although he had decided for himself not to let your relationship go any further than a friendship would allow, and the constant closeness and constant touching was certainly not exactly conducive to that, somewhere deep inside Charles had had a small spark of hope that perhaps something else could become of you at some point. 

But that spark had gone out. 

Charles avoided his oldest friend's gaze, staring into the blazing flames. Why did it hurt him so much? Wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Charles?" Joris tried to catch the Monegasque's gaze, but he stubbornly refused to look away from the fire. "Do you love her?" 

Charles didn't know whether it was the hot fire in front of him that was making his eyes water. He felt the drops burn on his lash line before he blinked and they rolled painfully down his cheek like acid. 

He didn't look at Joris. 

Best friend. Two words and a bitter aftertaste that stuck so disgustingly to his tongue when he said them to your face. They made his stomach ache and he would have liked to break away from you so he wouldn't have to endure it anymore. But he is your best friend. And he swore to himself that he would never hurt you again. So he can't help but endure this burning closeness, this torture of being with you but not being able to do anything. 

He fell asleep with you, body pressed against body, and he would endure that heat for all time if it meant you were safe. And even though he was aware of the fact that he was nothing more to you than your best friend, that didn't stop his heart from doing a little skip when he tried to break away from you to go jogging and you wrapped yourself around his arm. 

He blamed it on your tiredness, that you wanted to keep him there. That you weren't in your right mind when you reminded him that it was his suggestion to share a bed because it would help you sleep better, and then you kissed his bare chest. Kissed. 

His brain, which must have had a bit of a lapse as a result, didn't seem to be working properly when he admitted that he'd even said he'd always hold her in his arms. And it wasn't working properly when you wrapped your leg around his waist to pull him closer to you. It seemed like a miracle that he had finally managed to pull away from you and get dressed after all.

First the left sock, then the right. The shirt is on the -

When you wrapped your arms around him and called him Sharl, it was over. Something inside him had short-circuited. He's not even sure what exactly he said to you anymore. The only thing he remembers is how he pulled you onto his lap. How he hoped you'd give him a sign so he could give you back some of what he'd stopped dreaming about. 

And you moaned his name as he rocked you over his erection. Clinging to him like he was all you would ever need. Charles would have loved to throw you back on the bed - the bed you share as friends - and kiss you. He would have undressed you and let his mouth roam over your body, hoping that his touch would burn on your skin as much as yours burns on his. He would have devoured you, latching his mouth onto your pussy and tasting you until you came on his tongue. You would have clawed your fingers in his hair, rubbed your pussy against his mouth and moaned his name. And then he would have taken you, slowly at first so you'd get used to him, and meanwhile he would have kissed you so you could taste yourself on his tongue before he ruined you for any men who might come after him who weren't your best friend. 

But the only thing he could do was cup your chin and make you look at him while you moved back and forth on his hard-on yourself. He would never forget the look in your eyes, that pleading look as his cock bumped against your clit and lightning flashed through his veins, electrifying him. 

You begged him and he vowed to give you anything that would make you happy. And if that meant splitting you in half and making you come on his tongue, his fingers and his cock so many times until you couldn't remember his name or your own, he would have given it to you without hesitation.

And then his fucking phone rang.

He would have loved to slam it against the wall and kill Andrea for interrupting that moment. But when you slipped off his lap, he dressed quickly and his blood rushed back into his brain, he was even a little grateful. What if you had slept together and you hadn't wanted to be friends with him afterwards?

He was so happy when you reassured him that everything was fine between you. And he would have loved to hug you, but somehow it didn't seem right for him to be so close to you after you dry humped. So he let it go and went for a jog, relieved that Andrea had so much to talk about with him. 

The more he talked about Ferrari, his training and the upcoming trip, the less he had to think about you while running. 

But when he walked into the apartment with full shopping bags and Andrea in tow and saw you standing in the hallway all dressed up, all his blood went south again. The jeans that accentuated your every curve to the extreme and the top with a slight neckline that he wanted to pull over your head. 

The fact that Andrea had to leave quickly played into his cards and the fact that he had to take a shower was also ideal, because he wouldn't have been able to hide his boner, which was certainly visible through the shorts, for much longer. In the shower he had sorted the situation out, biting his lower lip as his hand closed around his cock, imagining it was yours. 

"Charles, please," your voice echoed in his mind, and in circumstances where he'd actually slept with you, he would have been ashamed of himself for coming within two minutes. But he felt better and was ready to look you in the eye again after imagining you pressing your tongue flat against the tip of his cock. 

What also helped him keep his blood where it belonged - in his brain - was leaving the bathroom and hearing his British friend's voice. 

He also doesn't know what got into him when he rested his chin on your shoulder to make it clear that you belonged to him. Which, by the way, is not true either. Only a short time ago, he had decided not to let this go any further than a friendship - so why did he feel the need to behave so possessively towards Lando - especially Lando?

Lando, who gave him a hard time for treating you badly. Lando, who Charles knows is only approaching you in a friendly manner because he knows how much you mean to the Monegasque. Lando, who saved your friendship when it was about to shatter into a thousand splinters?

But Charles couldn't help himself. Jesus, he even put his hand on your hip to signal that Lando should please keep his hands off you. Like a horny dog, he had needed to show that you were his. 

And now, as you sit next to each other in your old Renault, he has to clutch the steering wheel so that he doesn't get any ideas about indulging his addiction to your touch. He misses the heat that burns through his skin when you touch him. He doesn't even dare to look in your direction. 

He takes his hand off the gear stick and stretches out his fingers, which have clenched painfully around the plastic, almost steering the car off the road as you place your hand under his to intertwine your fingers. 

His whole body burns as you place your hands in your lap and play with his fingers like it's the most natural thing in the world. As if you weren't just best friends sharing an apartment. As if you hadn't dry humped just a few hours ago. And it takes all his strength not to stop at the next corner and fuck you in the tiny back seat of the car until your lungs are hoarse from screaming.

He concentrates on steering the car properly. He concentrates on the springs he can feel through the thin fabric of the seat. He concentrates on the cracks in the steering wheel that he can feel in his calloused hand.

Charles is so glad to be sitting in the rickety Renault again.

[hanbinics]

!crybaby reader burns the cookies.

“baby, they’re so good.”

you watch through bleary eyes as your boyfriend takes another bite from one of the cookies you’ve just pulled from the oven, the gentle crunch from the charred treat causing your shoulders to slump.

“no they’re not, i ruined them!” you whine, more tears beginning to blur your vision as you throw your favorite ghost-printed oven mitt onto the counter, crossing your arms over your chest afterward.

since halloween is both yours and matt’s favorite holiday, you’d decided to carry on the tradition of baking cookies and watching movies together instead of going out. you were buzzing with excitement about baking the pumpkin-printed treats, but even more so when your boyfriend had informed you that you could pick out the movie you were going to watch tonight. unfortunately, your indecisiveness while scrolling through your options led you to forget all about your little project in the oven, leaving the edges and bottoms of each cookie with a less than appetizing black char.

matt had managed to hide his distaste for the state of the cookies; he even choked one down to ease your teary whines. but when he catches sight of your pretty eyes all shiny with unshed tears, he takes a step closer to you and rests his hands on your upper arms, a breathy chuckle falling from his mouth.

“aw, don’t cry, baby,” he coos, right hand reaching up to brush away a few tears rolling down your cheeks. he hates to see you cry, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find you to be incredibly fuckin’ adorable looking up at him with eyes the size of the moon and your lower lip wobbly with more whines he’s sure are to come.

before you can part your pretty lips to protest, matt reaches over for another cookie from the baking tray and looks down at you while taking a bite. you pause in your complaint, watching as your boyfriend makes a noise of approval deep in his throat before swallowing.

“see?” he prompts, raising an eyebrow. “didn’t ruin nothin’, sweet girl. best cookies i’ve ever had.” he shrugs his shoulders like it’s just a simple fact, but relief floods his chest when he notices the little sniffle you make, gaze focused carefully on him.

“really?” you mumble quietly, pathetically, and matt’s heart swells in his chest.

the brunette leans down then, cookie forgotten as he lowers it to the counter behind you. “yeah, baby. really,” he confirms just before pressing a gentle kiss to your pouty mouth, smiling against you when he feels the way you press up into his touch.

“oh shit, y’all made cookies?”

matt breaks from the kiss just as his brother walks into the kitchen. chris’s gaze is focused entirely on the tray resting on the counter, but upon seeing the burnt edges, his eyes widen slightly and his hand pauses in its reach for one of the treats.

he looks up then, about to ask what the fuck happened to them, but upon seeing the warning look on matt’s face and the tension in his jaw, chris purses his lips. he glances from his brother to you, taking note of the frown beginning to pull at your mouth, before he sucks in a sharp breath and forces a smile.

“these look great. mind if i have one?” he asks, waiting for your hesitant nod of approval before he offers you a tight smile.

his fingertips tap gently against the granite countertop before he finally takes one of the cookies from the tray, teeth scraping against the hard surface as he bites into the over-cooked sweet. he’s well aware of both yours and matt’s focus on him, one gaze hopeful and the other all but daring him to say something other than how good it is.

after a second or two of painful chewing, chris manages to shoot you a somewhat pained smile. “really good,” he finally says, offering a thumbs-up in your direction.

matt has to bite back a smile as he turns to you, one arm wrapping around your waist and pressing you against his front while the other hand reaches up to cup the soft curve of your jaw, thumb brushing against the corner of your lips before he leans down to press another sweet kiss to your soft mouth.

“see, baby? i told you.”

a/n. ignore the fact that it's only september rn. it's never too early for halloween drabbles :3

©hanbinics

ღ divider by @/strangergraphics ღ

[ma1dita]

Duddee, now you gotta write luke proposing to trouble, you simply cannot now IBHBHKK

the perfect weekend

a ‘partners in crime’ alternate universe installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

alternate universe masterpost

words: 1.2k (this was too cute the word count escaped me)

summary: alternate universe - the perfect weekend with your perfect boy, even if he thinks otherwise

a/n: happy luke happy luke happy luke FIANCE LUKE 

(posted 2/4/23 unbetad and written on caffeine)

—

This weekend felt like a dream.

Luke took you to your favorite spots that you’ve both carved memories out of in Westport, buying you and his mom gorgeous fresh flowers from the farmers’ market, and he let you drag him around his hometown, spending hours in tiny antique shops and the record store on Main Street. He couldn’t get over how you always found fun in the simple things— even going to the pharmacy to pick up his mom’s medication felt like going to Disney World with you. He couldn’t be more sure of his decision, it was almost inconceivable to spend another day without you being his fiancee.

But luck wasn’t known to be on his side, after all (yeah, thanks dad). Luke’s always had to work harder to get what he wants, and he’s spent the past few years trying to prove himself to your dad—though deep down, he thinks Mr. D doesn’t mind him as much as he makes it seem. (Asking him for his blessing last week over a bottle of wine and a bone-shaking hug scared the wits out of him. He pretended to not notice the god cry.)

Luke just wants to give you what you deserve. And if he needs to spend the rest of his life working on it to prove it, he ought to do it with you by his side.

But he couldn’t think of how.

He tried proposing over dinner last night, with the smell of burnt cookies in the air, but that wasn’t romantic at all, and his hands were shaking so hard he knocked a glass over, prompting you and his mom to fuss over the mess and giggle over his silliness. You both chatted deep into the night, Luke sitting quietly and nodding at two of his favorite women babbling about who knows what (Sometimes he’s still convinced you like his mom more than him, but the way you both take care of him makes him tear up if he thinks too hard about it).

When you went horseriding this afternoon, he set up a picnic for lunch, which was romantic. Chocolate-covered strawberries and sandwiches made by mom, sparkling cider twinkling in the sun. Luke was sure it was going to be great timing— until he realized the ring box fell out of his pocket again, and he slipped in manure trying to rush you back to the house (The sound of your laughter at clumsiness made his heart warm though, and it almost made up for the three hours he looked for the stupid box in the grass that night when you fell asleep with his tiny Star Wars-themed flashlight).

He woke you up early before the sun rose, carrying you out to the car still bundled up in his old Toy Story throw blanket that you wouldn’t let him toss out when he brought it to college (The faded pictures of Buzz and Woody kept a smile on your face, and the memories it brought make you feel connected to 9-year-old Luke). The drive to the beach was short, a sleepy smile on your face as you felt Luke grab onto your hand, sand getting between your toes before he laid out a blanket and the both of you sat down.

Cracking open a redbull for the both of you to sip on, you leaned against his muscled frame, legs hanging over his lap as he wiped the sand off your feet, holding you close as he smiled.

“Good morning, handsome,” you grinned, leaning up for a kiss. Luke obliged, savoring the taste of you mixed with sleep and artificial peach. Your noses nudge against each other before he mumbles a reply, “Good morning, pretty girl.”

“Y’know? I could die happy just like this. I can’t think of anything else that would make this weekend more perfect.”

Luke hummed in contemplation, “I could think of a few things,” he said, as a laugh bubbled from his lips. A noise of confusion rose from you as you reached up to dust lint off his shirt before your knee nudged something hard in his pocket, and your eyebrow raised in mischief.

“Dirty boy, you get me out of your mom’s house and you’re already excited?”

And he laughed the stress off until it freed itself from his bones, pure elation radiating off of him before Eos even had a chance to spread her first rays of light into the sky. 

He’s never needed perfect.

He just needs you.

His hands dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring box that’s caused him so much trouble this weekend. But a life with you should’ve already prepared him for that—and the shock on your face became funnier when you launched yourself on top of him, kicking up sand and taking the air out of his lungs.

You both hit the ground with a loud thud, your nose buried in his chest as he chuckles at your scream. Why was he even worried to begin with? 

“Wait, wait, I still have something to say trouble, don’t jump ahead of the script!”

His hand rubbed your back in gentle strokes as he popped the box open to reveal a delicate golden band with two diamonds juxtaposed against each other sitting pretty on top.

“It’s always been you and me. And I’ve spent hours thinking of what to say, days trying to figure out when the time would be right, months working for a pretty ring that’s perfect for you, years loving you… and well… I want more. I want this, you and me spending the rest of our lives together because I can’t comprehend a future without you. I’d do anything for you trouble, and I don’t believe in much, but I believe in you. Us.”

You’ve cried so hard by this point that you’re convinced it’s so goddamn ugly but Luke smiles at you like he’s been promised immortality. And perhaps he has, with the future you two will have scrolling through his mind like an old film, a house on a hill, kids, a dog, shit—whatever you want as long as he’s with you it’ll be the closest thing to forever he’d have.

“Are you sure?” you said sniffling, and your boyfriend wiped your tears away like he has countless times before, though happy tears are something he’ll have to get used to.

“I literally ruined your proposal, I just thought you were horny, oh my gods…” Whining loudly and laughing, you held your shaking hand out as he sat up to put the ring on your finger.

“Well, we can fix that later. I still have a question to ask, after all.”

Luke grinned when your head nodded rapidly, finally shutting up so you wouldn’t interrupt him again.

“Will you,” he says so surely now, saying your name before continuing, “let me have the honor of spending the rest of our lives together as your husband?”

“Gods, yes. Fucking hell angelface, did you really think I’d say no?”

The both of you laughed through tears and snot as he placed the ring on your left hand, and still, it couldn’t be more perfect.

“A life with trouble is the life for me,” he mused, laughing as you covered his face in kisses before the both of you fell back into the sand a tangle of lips and lust and love.

You jolted up from your fiance’s embrace just as he thought he was going to get lucky, almost emptying your entire wallet of drachmas into the sand-covered blanket to Iris message your friends.

---

(pics are not representative of reader's appearance or gender just a lil visual for funsies)

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (struck out won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun

[beenbaanbuun]

chevrolet w/ mechanic!Jongho

words - 3.1 k (i’m planning a part 2)

genre - smut

warnings - smoking, bff!yunho, pining, dom!jongho, sub!reader, begging, boot riding, light clit play, nicknames, light degradation, insecurity, making out, kneeling (i’m a slut for kneeling…) and i think that’s it

——————————————————————————

By the door to the garage stands a tall man with a cigarette between his lips. Handsome is too light of a descriptor for this man. Sure, it was accurate, but it does him no justice. Because not only is he hot as fuck, but he is also huge. Wide shoulders lead to thick arms that carry strong, veiny hands and long, lithe fingers. His honey skin is completely clear except for a single mole on his neck that serves to remind you that he is an actual human and not just a daydream that you’ve thought up within your romance-deprived mind.

You sigh loudly as you drop your head into your palm, elbow resting on your knee as you sit cross-legged on the hood of one of Yunho’s cars. No doubt he was silently seething about you using his precious 1967 Chevy Impala as nothing more than somewhere to perch, but he’d learned a long time ago that scolding you for it is futile. Besides, where else was going to give you such a perfect view of Jongho?

“Stop staring at him,” Yunho grumbles to you, breaking out of your trance as he pushes a tyre past you, “you’re being weird.”

You watch him as he leans it against the body of one of his customers’ cars before bobbing down to take a closer look at the wheel of the car. If you were listening to him just a few moments prior, you’d know exactly what was wrong with the car. It's just that as Yunho was monologuing about the wheel rims, Jongho was also unzipping his overalls and pulling them free from his top half. How could you focus on anything else when the man of your dreams was practically undressing himself in front of you?

“I’m not being weird,” you say as you go back to watching Jongho just in time to see him flick the ash away from the tip of the cigarette. The sleeve of his black t-shirt constricts around his bicep as he lifts the almost burnt-out cig back to his lips to take another puff. You swallow down a wad of drool that had gathered upon your tongue. It's a shame you can’t so easily get rid of the moisture that had gathered uncomfortably between your thighs.

“You know, just because you do something every day, it doesn't mean it isn't weird?” He sends a sarcastic smile in your direction, but you miss it, too focused on the way Jongho’s lips purse to exhale a plume of white smoke into the air. You lick your lips just as he takes one final drag and you feel your heart skip a beat as he tosses the butt to the floor and stomps it out with one giant combat boot. Oh, to be that cigarette, you think to yourself before shaking yourself out of your dizzy stupor.

Your eyes flicker away from him as he pushes himself away from the garage door frame and turns to walk back inside. The thud of his heavy boots against the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down your spine because even though you’re not watching him, you can hear him growing closer to you. Slow, careful footsteps grow louder and louder as his soles thud against the floor. Over and over they ring through your head like a metronome until at last they come to a stop right in front of the Chevy.

Carefully, you lift your gaze, letting it scan every inch of him until you reach his face. Thick thighs hidden by his tight denim overalls that you’d just love to rip open and see what's underneath. You bet they're soft; perfect to dig your teeth into as you sit between them. Stomach that you just know is toned to the point where it looks like it's been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself. Arms folded over his chest, muscular and ready to slip around your throat and choke you until you're gasping for breath. Jaw set in stone as he stares down at you with a steely gaze and a taunting smirk playing on his lips.

You suck in a sharp breath as he looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your cleavage for just a moment or two before making their way up to your face. Behind the initial iciness you see in them, there's something else. A hint of playfulness, perhaps, although it looks a little more sinister. You shudder underneath it, pulling your eyes from his to study your fingers instead.

“Hey, Yun?” He calls out to the other man, yet never once takes his eyes off of you. All pretty, sitting there in those jersey shorts that sit flush against the bulge of your pretty thighs, and that low-cut top that shows too much for him not to sneak a glance every once in a while. The way your nipples peek through the thin material lets him know that you forewent a bra when you were getting dressed this morning. They pebble up as the cool afternoon brushes against them. Jongho can barely pull his eyes away from them.

“What?” Yunho grunts as he uses a cloth to wipe a grease stain from the chrome spokes of the wheel he was messing with.

“Do you want to take the afternoon off?” You don't need to look at Yunho to see his excitement at the suggestion. The clattering of metal tools against the cement was enough for you to understand that yes, Yunho definitely wants to take the afternoon off. “I’ll finish up here and take the Princess home when I’m done. I’m sure she can be patient and sit on her little throne until I’m finished, can't you?”

No. You absolutely cannot be alone in a room with Jongho. It takes a lot for you to be in a room with him when Yunho is there too. Being with him alone would break your sanity in two. Absolutely not.

“I can walk,” you say, voice wavering so much it's practically a whimper. God, you sound pathetic.

“Don’t be silly,” Jongho purrs, from where he stands above you, “I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say it’ll make us feel better if one of us sees you get home safe.”

“Then Yuyu can take me,” you spit out a little too quickly. Yunho lets out a snicker, and if Jongho’s imposing form wasn't blocking you from his view, you'd shoot him a middle finger in payment.

“I was going to visit Mingi,” his boyfriend that he insists isn't actually his boyfriend, “and his cafe is in the opposite direction to your house...”

Despite him not saying the word, you know it's a no. Whether he just wants to see you suffer as you try and keep your desperation for Jongho under lock whilst you're alone together is an entirely different question; you wouldn’t be surprised if that really was the case. He seems to find the way you squirm whenever the other man is near amusing.

“I’ll take care of you, Princess,” a finger gently brushes against your chin, tilting your head up until you lock eyes with Jongho’s once more. His tongue darts out to wet his lips - those plush pink lips - before disappearing once more, leaving nothing but a trail of spit in its wake. That pool between your legs only grows, “I’ll treat you even better than Yuyu does.”

You hear the condescending use of the nickname you have for Yunho; it goes hand in hand with the way he slurs the word, Princess. All of it makes you feel tiny beneath him and you just know that you won't make it out of this garage alive.

“So I’m good to go, yeah?” Jongho calls out a reply that you hardly register, and before you know it, Yunho is hopping into his regular car and driving off into the distance. The rumbling of his engine covers the sound of blood rushing through your ears until it doesn't. Until everything is silent and it's just you and him.

Jongho.

The man you’d been thirsting after from the very moment you spotted him. Always avoiding talking with him in favour of watching him. The way he smiles as he talks with Yunho, or furrows his brow when he’s studying an engine. The way he bites his lip as he lifts heavy metal pieces into his arms and sighs long and hard whenever he gets to put them down. The way he laughs whenever he’s told a joke and frowns when he’s made a mistake. Watching all that has just added to your fixation on him.

And now you are alone together.

You're alone with him. Alone and you don't know how to act. Yunho has always been a buffer to lead the conversation but now he isn't there and your mind has just gone blank. You hope Jongho says something first since you can't think of anything to say, but you also hope he doesn't say anything at all. What would you even reply? Something completely idiotic, more than likely. Something that makes you look like an absolute fool in front of the man you’d been silently wishing would pay you even a modicum of attention for the past year.

Well, his attention is finally on you so you need to be perfect. Desirable, but not to the point where you seem desperate. Intelligent, but not to the point where you seem like a smart-ass. Agreeable, but not to the point of being a pushover. You just need to be perfect.

How the fuck do you be perfect?

Jongho finally slips his finger away from your chin, but you darent look away. Are you supposed to? Is that what he wants? Oh god, what if he thinks you’re being weird by holding eye contact for so long?

“You can relax, Princess,” he chuckles, eyes crinkling up at the corners as he smiles. So pretty, you think. “Untense those shoulders and take a deep breath for me, hm? Can't have you feeling overwhelmed before we even start, now can we?

You do as he asks, for him.

Your shoulders drop a few inches and your chest rises and falls dramatically.

Relax… for him.

“That's a good girl,” he utters, voice low and breathy in a way that goes straight to your pussy. “Sit tight while I go and lock up, okay?”

You nod blindly before your brain kicks in just a second later. Lock up? You thought Jongho was supposed to be driving you home, yet his car sits on the far side of the garage, very much inside. If he locks up then…

“I thought you were going to drive me back to mine?” you finally say as Jongho pushes the door shut and locks it with a key he slips from his pocket. You hear the lock click and as soon as it does, he is on his way back to you, heavy boots thudding against the floor. They remind you of a clock, this time, counting down the seconds as he stalks closer to you; the seconds until you reach your demise.

“I mean if you want me to, I will,” he shrugs as he passes the car Yunho had been working on, “but I was hoping you’d want me to do… other things for you.”

Tick tock, tick tock.

His feet taunt you as he takes the longer route to get to you. They drag out your torture, the stickiness of your pussy growing as your thoughts seem to race through your brain at a speed too fast for you to comprehend. Thoughts about what you should be doing to appear perfect simply come and go, much too fast for you to dwell on them. You don't have the brain power to try and slow them down, so you just sit there dumbly as Jongho finally comes to a stop in front of you.

His footsteps come to a stop, the clock that counts down to your doom falling silent.

“I mean, you spend all that time staring at me and you think I don't notice, but I do,” he lays his hands down on the hood, pressing his weight down onto them as he leans over you. Your eyes go wide as his face comes to rest mere inches from your own, hot breath fanning over your face. From this distance you can smell the cigarette smoke that permeates his clothes, mixing deliciously with the gasoline and car oil that swims through the air of the garage. It's intoxicating. “I saw the way you stared at me during my cig break; eyes all glossed over as you sat and fidgeted and pretended that you weren't already dripping for me. God, I bet it's like a fucking ocean down there, Princess, all slick and ready for me.”

With two fingers, he walks his hand closer to you until it catches on your knee. You break eye contact to stare it at as it slithers its way up your thigh, rising higher and higher until his fingers catch on the seam of your shorts. He hums your name to bring your attention back to him. You obey.

“Can I?” he whispers as he pushes his face even closer. His lips are millimetres from your own; you’d barely have to move to take a kiss from him, “Or do you still want me to drive you home?”

You do it.

You close the gap.

All caution flies out of the window as you dive right in, pressing your lips hard against his own. No more thoughts of whether or not you’re perfect enough as you take what you want from him. He tastes of mint and smoke and it makes you dizzy. He kisses you back almost immediately, lips sloppily dancing over yours as if he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him. You moan into his mouth. He reciprocates it with one of his own, and the sound is just as beautiful as you imagined. Soft and musical and just as pretty as he is. It just makes you dive in deeper, arms swinging up until they're wrapped around his neck to hold him close. He takes that as a green light and dips his fingers into your shorts.

They travel up the inner seam, heading straight to your aching pussy. You’re sure he can already feel just how wet you are, just from feeling your inner thighs. When he smiles against your lips, you know you're right. They linger there for a few seconds, playing with the stickiness for just a moment or two before continuing their journey to the apex of your thighs.

When they reach it, Jongho stills his movements for just a moment or two. His lips pull away from yours so he can let out a soft chuckle. “No panties and no bra?” He tilts a brow as he flicks a finger against your clit, drawing another sound from your lips. “I didn't realise I was dealing such a slut,” he growls as he lunges forward to attack your lips once more. His tongue immediately darts out to brush against your lips and demand entry. You give it to him, bottom jaw going slack as you let him lick into your mouth.

His finger begins to tap at your clit with the same metronomic pace as his footsteps from earlier. Each hit sends a shiver down your spine as a jolt of pleasure lurches through you. But it's not enough, and as soon as it's there, it's gone again. It's torturous in the best way possible, and it leaves you wanting more.

“More,” you whine as you pull away for breath, “Jongho, I want more.”

“More?” he teases, stopping his finger in place against your clit, “you’re a greedy little thing, aren't you?” He slips his fingers completely free from your shorts and takes a step back from the car. “How about you get on your knees and beg? If you prove that you can be the good little slut I know you are, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It's a deal too good to pass up, so as quickly as you can you slide off the bonnet and drop to your knees. The bare concrete scuffs your skin, but you barely give a wince, too lost in the lust that clouds your brain that you don't even register the pain. It's a small price to pay to get what you want, anyway.

“Hands behind your back,” he says as he stares you down. You do as he says within mere milliseconds. It makes him smile to see you obey so quickly, “legs spread, too.”

Again, you do it, shuffling your knees against the concrete until they sit shoulder-width. You're sure there's a wet patch on the material, but you don't blush. In fact, you're rather happy to show him just how much of an effect he has on you. It only feels right after pining over him for a year; he deserves to know just how much you need him.

He studies your form, his annoyingly cocky gaze brushing up and down your body like he has all the time in the world; like you're not at his feet desperately wanting more. He huffs out a breath before using one of his boots to kick your knees even wider, spreading your thighs until they ache due to the stretch. You whine up at him, only getting a sly smile in response. “What?” he coos, “I told you to spread your legs, didn’t I?”

And you suppose he's right; he did ask you to spread your legs. You just didn't know that meant for you to spread them until you couldn't anymore. Until you could feel the chill of the room brush against your wet thighs, the gusset of your shorts barely covering your pussy, never mind anything else. You shiver at a particularly cold draught, and Jongho laughs.

And then something colder hits your core. Icy and hard, just like the steel toe cap of a boot. You glance down to make sure you're not going insane; the big black tip of Jongho’s shoe pressing up against your clothes pussy is enough evidence that you're not. You swallow hard as he moves it back and forth against your slit, dragging the inner seam of your shorts against you. You inhale a shuddery breath as your gaze travels back up to his face.

His stupidly handsome face.

“You like that?” you nod, “then be a good girl. Do what I told you to, and I’ll let you cum on my boot. Beg, Princess.”

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Can’t stop thinking about despite playing two of the most similar games (in that they are the two winners who had no allies throughout their season and were consistently shut out every time they tried to make a friend), Scar and Pearl had completely opposite wins. Warning long post ahead.

Pearl didn’t have a second to bask in her win. Grian sat for a second before jumping off that cliff. He had a moment to feel the weight of winning, even if it felt bad. For Scott it was relief. “We finally did it!” Said like a man who is beaten and bloodied but just about alive. Yes he is struck down, but there was a moment of victory. But then we get to Pearl. By the nature of the game, there is no second where she gets to just be the winner.

She doesn’t get to stand in blood stained snow, staring over the body of her opponent. She doesn’t get to feel Grian’s grief or Scott’s relief or Martyn’s euphoria. She is dead a millisecond after the crown touched her head. Torn to shred by heat, an irony to how she has been tearing herself apart with cold the whole time. A game spent alone and suffering, maybe it is merciful that she didn’t have a moment to be properly alone but maybe it is cruel to not even allow her the small moment of joy in her victory. Her episode fades out as she speaks in death, not words about herself or her win, but about the only person who she really wanted by her side.

She gets back to Hermitcraft and desperately tries to remember what it felt like to wear a crown. It was so fast. Of all the ironies, there is still a signal tower to be built at her base, still a king to overthrow. She stares at Ren’s crown and wonders if hers looked like that. She tries it on after they’ve killed him. Not quite. Too opulent, too bejeweled. Hers was sleeker, she knows. They all go to the Empires server and she stares at all the crowns around her. Some are more like hats or headdresses, some wear nothing at all. None are anything like what she thinks hers was like, not that she would ask to try them on. There was something more etherial, less handmade than those the emperors wear. Tango crowns her Queen of Decked Out 2 and places a massive and intimidating thing on her head. Her winner’s crown wasn’t nearly as heavy as the one she wears around the rest of season 9. It was small, a circlet more than anything. And it was freezing cold in the second it touched her, likely because the metal didn’t have any time to absorb her body heat in that snowy forest. She still doesn’t know what it looked like. No one ever will.

Scar is the opposite. Grian got to cut his celebration short when it felt more like dancing on graves than a win. Scott and Martyn are both struck down by unseen forces, forces that know that this kind of world isn’t meant to last. But Scar is the only winner to leave his episode alive. He can keep turning in his task over and over and over, but surely the dopamine hit of extra hearts must wear off at some point. Maybe by the time it did, he had too many to die in any efficient manner. Maybe he trapped himself like that.

He is properly alone any how. He has all the time in the world to celebrate. All the time in the world to clutch Pearl’s body, the one person who actually fought for him even against one of her own allies. All the time in the world to stare at blood soaked fields, at bases burnt and torn apart by explosions. Listening to nothing but the wind where there was once banter and laughs and screams. His crown is too heavy but he finds he cannot take it off. He stares at his reflection for hours sometimes. The memory of it will imprint in his mind forever.

He finds Mailbox and Matchbox, still tucked underground. He fends them off as he makes graves for Bdubs and Pearl. Mumbo’s been gone a few days, his body already moved. He buries Joel by Lizzie’s pumpkin house rather than his own helter-skelter. Theres no body for Lizzie, no one to bury Joel next to. He finds the Roomies’ base relatively untouched and moves Cleo, Etho and Grian there. Cleo had said she wanted to die at home. Jimmy is already buried near the doghouse, and Scar lays Martyn next to him. The Heart Foundation base is destroyed, so he takes pains to rebuild it before burying BigB, Skizz, and Tango among the cherry blossom leaves. He even manages to fix up the lottery system, not that there’s much use for it now. Sometimes he just pulls a name to look at it, grateful that the papers with Skizz’s handwriting and nicknames survived. He saves Gem and the Scott’s for last. He tells himself that it’s because their base is all the way up in the mountain, that it may be trapped. Really it’s because he can’t help but feel some guilt looking at Scott, who died for Gem, only for Scar to strike her down anyways. He doesn’t know which cottage belongs to who, he was never up here long enough to ask, so he buries the three of them all in a row out front. He explores and rebuilds all the places he was not welcome.

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @steddielovemonth Day 7 prompt: Love is: Silently passing them a pickle because you know it’s their favorite. Rating: T (for suggestive language) | no cw

Eddie wouldn’t call Steve a push over, he’s witnessed him annihilate the kids with a bitchy retort and a pointed stare too many times for it to be true, but there are times when Steve’s soft center oozes out, allowing the ones he loves to walk all over him. 

Like when it comes to food. 

Eddie’s always known Steve’s willing to share his food with his friends. He witnessed it enough times in the Hawkins High cafeteria — Steve wordlessly passing Tommy his unopened applesauce seconds after he finished his own or scooting his tray closer to Carol when she opted for a salad and looked at her choice with regret. 

It’s only gotten worse though. 

Now, Steve’s plate barely gets set in front of him before there are hands making passes at it. Dustin’s grubby paws snatching the pickle spear from the plate, Max and Erica harvesting his fries until all that’s left are the burnt and wonky ones, Mike and Lucas occasionally shoveling spoonfuls of Mac and cheese into their mouths before it’s even had a chance to cool. Even Robin gets in on it, swiping a slice of garlic toast from his plate like some feral bird. 

And Steve never says anything. 

Well, most of the time. 

If anyone ever takes something he really wants — like the time Dustin tried to get a sip of his Neapolitan shakes a few weeks back — bitchy Steve comes out in force, defending his food with the same ferocity he used to rip a demobat apart with his bare hands in the Upside Down. 

With that knowledge in mind, Eddie comes to the conclusion that pickles, fries, Mac and cheese, and occasionally thick slices of garlic toast are low on Steve’s favorite food list. 

So, one can imagine Eddie’s surprise when he excuses himself from the movie marathon going on in the living room of Steve’s place in search of a beer refill to find Steve chomping on a pickle spear in the bright light of the fridge. 

The sight is something, sure. Especially the way Steve’s sweatpants strain against his ass as he squats to put the jar back. But Eddie doesn’t want to get caught intruding on Steve’s secret pickle whims so he quietly retreats to the living room — beerless, sure, but with a lot on his mind that he doesn’t even care. 

If Steve liked pickles all this time, why hasn’t he told Dustin off for always stealing his? And if he’s secretly harboring a love of pickles, what else is he selflessly giving up without anyone knowing? Does Robin know about his pickle love affair? 

Eddie spends the rest of the night rethinking everything he’s thought he’s ever known about Steve until he’s so worked up he makes up some lame excuse about needing to help Wayne with some yard work in the morning and leaves right in the middle of the third movie of the night. 

On his drive home, he comes to the conclusion that he’s not going to let Steve miss out on pickles anymore. Not if he can help it. 

Operation Save Steve’s Pickle gets put in motion the following day when Eddie is summoned via Dustin’s booming voice over the walkie-talkie to lunch to make up for his abrupt departure last night. 

It’s business as usual so far in the diner, just with fewer faces. Steve, Robin, and Dustin are the only ones in attendance today, making the corner booth more spacious than it has ever been. 

Eddie feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins as the waiter approaches with their food. He might not be running for his life this time around, but his heart sure hasn’t gotten the memo practically beating out of his chest in anticipation of what he’s about to do. 

Like clockwork, Steve’s plate is set in front of him and Dustin’s hand snatches the pickle without a second thought. The little shit even has the audacity to take a bite, juices pouring down his chin, as he lets them all know that it’s the best pickle yet. 

Eddie wants to strangle him, but he refrains and sticks to the plan. When Steve’s preoccupied lathering his burger in more ketchup than one person should consume, he picks up his untouched pickle spear and slides it onto Steve’s plate. 

“Are you giving Steve your pickle right now?” Dustin screeches, drawing the attention of everyone in the crowded diner. 

“Maybe don’t phrase it like that, please,” Robin chimes in, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. 

Eddie can’t help but bark out a laugh before glancing at Steve who hasn’t broken eye contact with the pickle on his plate. He’s pretty sure he sees the smallest twitch of his lips, threatening to pull into a real smile but gets interrupted from watching the sight by Dustin’s hand. Eddie swats it away. 

“What the hell!” Dustin groans, massaging the back of his reddening hand. “If you’re going to share your pickle, you should give it to me, not Steve. He doesn’t even like them” 

“Except he does.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

“Steve,” Eddie huffs, turning in the booth to face him. “Can you please tell this insufferable know-it-all that you do like pickles? Like them so much you have a secret jar in your fridge?” 

“I mean, yeah I do—wait how do you know about the secret jar?” 

“I caught you eating one last night.”

“You have a secret jar of pickles in your fridge that you’ve never told me about?”

“That is what secret means,” Steve deadpans, rolling his eyes. “You get my pickle every time we come here. Why should I share them at home too?” 

“This is a betrayal of epic proportions!” Dustin whines. 

“Oh can it, Henderson. Go back to eating your lunch and let Stevie here enjoy a pickle from Sue’s for once in his life!” 

Surprisingly, the kid actually listens to Eddie and the table launches into silence except for the crunching of fries and pickles in Dustin’s case because Steve still hasn’t touched his. 

Eddie nudges Steve’s forearm, “Better get to it before Henderson makes another pass for it.” 

“We could share?”

“No need. This one’s all you.” 

Steve gives Eddie one of his uncharacteristically soft smiles before taking a heaping bite out of the pickle. Juice dribbles down Steve’s chin but he doesn’t seem to mind judging by the pure bliss on his face. Eyes closed and head tipped back as if he…

Jesus H. Christ 

Maybe giving Steve his pickle wasn’t a good idea after all. 

“Holy shit,” Steve moans, taking another bite. “This is the best pickle I’ve ever tasted. Thanks, Eddie.” 

Eddie's stunned for a moment, eyes locked on Steve's throat, watching as he swallows before he comes to his senses.

“You can have my pickle anytime, Stevie,” he says without thinking, high off Steve's pickle-drunk expression.

It is not until Robin groans and they all erupt into a fit of laughter does the euphemism lands on Eddie. He didn’t mean it like that, not in the slightest. But hey, if Steve wants that pickle too, Eddie’s sure as hell not going to say no. 

[mncxbe]

Hi! Your acc is so awesome honestly and so cute it makes my heart do the smiley emote :)

My request is chuuya x reader, where reader isn't feeling well but doesn't wanna bother chuuya (not feeling well as in mentally) but reader really wants to cuddle with chuuya, so eventually they cave and call chuuya to ask if they can come over just to cuddle and watch a movie and chuuya is worried if they're ok. Reader reaches and kinda falls into chuuyas arms and they chill and cuddle for the rest of the night <3

Have a heavenly day!

tysm nonnie you're really sweet♡♡ and I absolutely love this idea. I changed it up a slight bit so I hope it's alright and you like it♡

°☆○

I'll bring the coffee if you bring the wine♡

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ barely proofread sorry in advance for any mistakes

You stared down at the glowing screen, thumb lingering just above the arrow shaped button. Should you actually send the text?

Your boyfriend was probably at home by now so it's not like you'd bother him at work, but you still didn't see it fit to text him so late in the evening. After all, you've only been together for two months and asking him to come over at 10 p.m seemed a little strange; and what if he was out with some friends and you'd mess up his plans?

You took in a deep breath, trying to push these thoughts in the back of your mind. Your day has been more than miserable and all you wanted was to spend some time with your partner. Finally pressing the send button, you set the phone down beside you and turned on the tv, switching from channel to channel in attempt to keep your mind occupied.

Chuuya's reply came through almost instantly. 'Sure, I'll be over in a few. Is everything alright?'. You texted back a quick 'Yea. Just feeling a bit down' before returning your gaze to the tv screen.

Around half an hour later, the light buzz of the electric lock announced Chuuya's arrival. Gathering your remaining strength you got off the couch and tip-toed to the hall to find him taking off his coat.

"Hey baby. You feeling alright?" he asked in his usual gentle voice but you just nodded in response.

You were too mentally exhausted to give him an actual reply, to tell him how burnt out and miserable you felt so you simply reached out your arms and wrapped them around his waist, pressing yourself flush against his chest.

Chuuya immediately returned the hug, one of his gloved hands resting atop your hair as he pulled you closer to him. You closed your eyes, feeling your mind slowly quieting down; the dark thoughts that've been bothering you for days now evaporating into thin air.

You couldn't bring yourself to pull away, not even when he removed his hand from your head and gently cupped your jaw, tilting it up so he could get a glimpse of your face.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you sweetie, or shall I let you be?"

"I don't really wanna talk about it. I've just had some shitty days and I missed you." you confessed, voice carrying a slight edge that Chuuya didn't miss.

"Alright, how about we go watch a movie then? Sure it's gonna make you feel better."

You made your way to the couch and nestled yourself beside Chuuya, arms wrapped loosely around his waist; his own arm draped over your shoulder, bringing you closer to his chest as he took off his gloves to run his fingers through your hair. Sighing softly, you leaned into his touch, allowing him to coax the summertime sadness out of you with each gentle caress.

You could feel his hot breath against your temple, his lips peppering your face with feathery kisses and you couldn't help but smile; you were melting into his arms like candle wax.

"Feeling better babe?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Way better. Thank you Chuu" you beamed, briefly pressing your lips to his. He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before returning his attention to the movie you ended up watching, and old picture film about a girl in New York City.

The warmth and comfort of his embrace lulled you into a dreamy langour, eyes heavy with sweet, powdery stardust. Chuuya felt you slowly relax into his arms and smiled, heat blooming in his chest. He watched you slowly close your eyes and remained motionless until the end of the movie when he slowly reached for the remote.

Feeling the sudden motion you groaned, eyes fluttering open as you tugged lightly at his shirt.

"Don't leave yet" you mumbled and he couldn't help but chuckle; your sleepy face was the prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes upon.

He switched off the tv and pulled your head back on his chest, savouring your presence and the quietude of your apartment, dimly lit only by the glow of the city.

"Don't worry dear. I'm not going anywhere"

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Metal Moths: Bigby Wolf x Reader

Oh babe, I feel it. My messages are always open if you need to talk to someone, I'm always available to help out anyone I can.

Contains: Self-Depreciation, depressing thoughts

Something was off.

It didn’t hit him until he was gnawing on yet another cigarette bud that was burnt down to the filter did it suddenly click in his mind. It had been bugging him for the past few days but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t unpaid bills or reports he had neglected to file, nothing like that of the sort. It felt… social? That kind of thing always stumped Bigby as he wasn’t really the social type, always avoiding the Remembrance Day bullshit and shying away from whatever events King Cole puts on to raise even more money for Fabletown.

He dropped his pen when he suddenly realized what exactly was missing, back straightening up quickly, his knees smacking against his desk that was too big for his comically small office that almost caused the piles of papers and folders filled to the brim to scatter across the semi-clean floors.

When was the last time he saw you?

Regret pinched at a nerve between his shoulders as he tossed the cigarette bud into the nearby trash. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at his neck, leaning back in his chair as he ran through what he could in his mind of the past few days. He knows he saw you this week, that was for sure. He hadn’t seen much of you the past few days thanks to some fucked up case that practically pushed him down the rabbit hole, but he knew you had called the Business Office only for Bufkin to answer and take your message. You were asking for Bigby to come to your apartment, but he couldn’t make it.

He really wanted to. Honestly, he did. He would rather take the brunt of another silver bullet than do anything to hurt you, but unfortunately, this slipped through the cracks of his fingers like fine sand.

He stood up, wincing when a few folders slipped from their place on his desk and scattered the contents across the floor. He’d deal with it later.

He slipped out of his office door and trekked through the oddly empty halls. He strained his ears and sniffed at the stale air of the Woodlands, scoffing at the horrible air fresheners Snow had installed to raise the appeal of the damn place. It didn’t do much, the barely there floral scent did nothing to cover the decades of cigarettes, blood, sweat and tears these hallowed halls carried. It only distracted his nose from catching your scent to see if you were even home, the voice in the back of his head scolded him, asking him why he didn’t just call you from the old rotary he still had in his office.

But he caught your scent when he turned down the hall that contained your apartment.

Something was wrong.

Your scent wasn’t the usual ambrosia to his nose, the one thing he would always somehow find in the crowded city of Manhattan like a needle in a haystack. No. It wasn’t sweet like caramel or warm like coffee, but… dull? He didn’t know how to describe it, but he knew how it made him feel.

And he felt bad. He felt something bad looming over him and he felt something bad bubbling in the deepest pits of his guts.

He slowly approached your apartment and strained his ears. No sound came from inside, but he could hear the faintness of your heart beating away deep inside. It was slow, kept to an odd rhythm of neither rest nor active.

He knocked, knuckles lightly rapping at your chamber door. The key to your apartment was on his keyring, but he didn’t want to use it. He wanted you to get up, he wanted you to walk over to the door and open it, he wanted to see you upright and standing before his eyes to quell the worry that made the beast inside of him start to prickle with life. There was silence on the other end of the door yet again besides your heart beating, but it picked up upon him knocking. He even heard you take a quick breath in.

He knocked again, the worry about to bubble over into slight panic as he sniffed again. He couldn’t smell any blood whether it would be dry or fresh, but he could smell something else. Something salty. Were you crying?

He heard the sheets rustle, you had to have been tucked into your bed, curled in the sheets. His heart yearned for you to open the damn door so he can take care of you.

“(Y/n),” Bigby called. No answer. The silence was deafening to him as he heard his blood roaring through his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, he felt the beast clawing at his spine for control he would never relinquish. He knocked again, a little louder this time. “(Y/n), are you in there?”

He heard your feet meet the floor inside, the covers being thrown away from your person as the bed creaked under your shifting weight. He took a step away from the door, eyes pinned on the doorknob as he heard the wooden floorboards of your apartment creaking as you slowly padded over. Were you… stumbling? It sounded as though you were, steps uneven and a little heavy for your usual gait.

Ironically, he waited for you at the door like a dog.

And when you opened the door finally with a heavy click of the lock turning, Bigby felt the panic snuff out inside of him when he saw that you were actually standing before him.

You looked like you had been dragged through hell and then some. Dark circles around your eyes, your irises were barely focusing on him and your under eyes were so puffy from crying. How long have you been crying for? Your cheeks were tacky with dried tear tracks and your lips were a little swollen from worrying at them with your teeth, your bottom lip even had a split in it from where you bit a little too hard. You were wrapped up in clothes that needed a good wash, the collar of the baggy sweater you were wearing was soaked from you probably wiping your tears away not too long ago.

Seeing you like this made the knife twist even harder in his gut.

“Hey Bigby,” your voice was so soft and so hoarse, it almost didn’t belong to you.

Your words were trembling, vocal chords strained from crying for so long. How long had you been like this? How long had he failed to realize something was wrong?

“Can I… come in?” Bigby found himself hesitating.

He had to. If he didn’t he didn’t know what would’ve come out of his mouth, and he’s a walking trap for accidents to happen as a lot of people would put it.

It was your turn to hesitate. You glanced tiredly over your shoulder back into your pitch black apartment before stepping away, giving him just enough room to allow him to squeeze past you before you closed the door behind him.

“Mind the mess,” you murmured as you sank down onto your couch.

Your curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the evening sun and the rows of neon lights that were slowly turning on for the night. There was the scent of something stale and bitter lingering in the air, it had Bigby wincing just a bit. It wasn’t pungent like cigarettes or food left out a little too long, but it was something else he couldn’t quite place.

He eyed you warily, stepping close to you as you stared mindlessly at some little spot on your rug that overall needed to be vacuumed. Something was haunting your mind and Bigby would be damned if you kept suffering alone in silence. You never let him be affected by this kind of stuff since you both had started seeing each other, and he’d rather be shot up with silver than let you pull a Bigby move.

“(Y/n),” he crooned softly, “what happened?” You didn’t answer at first, you just sat on the edge of your couch with your head in your hands and rubbed at your exhausted face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come see-”

“It’s not your fault,” you pulled away to look up at him. “You’re the sheriff, you’re busy. I shouldn’t have been calling and bothering you, especially with that fucked up case that got slapped on your desk.”

“(Y/n), sweetheart, you’re not a bother to me.” He walked in front of you and crouched down, taking your soft hands in his calloused ones. He ran the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles and made direct eye contact with you. Fuck, seeing you like this, it really made him want to tell Snow and Cole to fuck off for a few days so he can stay here and help you. “You’re never a bother to me.”

“I just,” you hesitated as you pulled your hands away from his warm ones, “I feel like I’m… too much,” your gaze fell to your lap.

“Too much?”

Bigby placed one hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing little patterns at the bend. Your skin was a little cold, he could feel it through the heat that radiated off of him constantly.

“I just- I don’t know. I… I feel awful that I called and I’m sorry that I did. It’s not fair to you. I really didn’t help with that and you-”

“Let me stop you right there.” His voice never rose in volume, it never got harsh. It was deep and rumbling like rolling thunder in the distance. He squeezed your knee to get you to look back up into his big brown eyes. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. I know I suck with words and all, but I really do care.” He could see your eyes getting all watery in the corners. “You’re never gonna be too much for me to love you.”

And with that, the tears finally shed as you collapsed into Bigby’s awaiting arms.

[cumikering]

Possessive bf Soap x reader 5 (end)

2.2k | angst, comfort Soap didn’t know he could cry (Part 1)

Johnny froze at the faint click of the door. His heart leapt out of his chest, but he knew better than to let his mind play tricks on him again.

“W- who’s that?”

“I’m sorry,” came your weak reply.

He ran right to you, dropping to his knees. “No, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.” He wrapped his arms around you, face pressed hard against your stomach, muffling his words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted, his tears falling.

You stoked his hair, your nails grazing his scalp how he loved it.

He looked up to you, eyes wide.

“I love you, Johnny. Always.” You smiled down at him, wiping his tears away with your thumb.

It sent him sobbing all over again, clutching even tighter at you.

Johnny stayed with you for a moment longer before once again waking up, alone in his bed with wet streaks down his face. He curled up, breaking down as reality dawned on him, bitter, ugly tears soaking his pillow.

He couldn’t decide which one hurt more – that you never came back or that he couldn’t even be with you in a fucking dream. He had never experienced such anguish before, so numb on that cold night. This was miserable. He was miserable. Life was a huge prank relentlessly played on him and it wasn’t funny at all.

He knew nothing else than to head to the tech department on base first thing in the morning. He knew you’d hate him for doing this – he’d promised to not abuse this power anymore, but he had to make sure you were okay. The torture had gone on too long.

I’m sorry I had to look you up, but you’re still in town. It’s been 4 months. Let me see you. Please. I can’t take this anymore, he texted, adding to the hundreds of other texts you never replied to.

Johnny was still in a grave mood that night - dreaming of you always messed him up for days. He sighed as the chucked his leftovers in the fridge. It was yet another dinner alone in silence and he couldn’t even palate more than half of it. Instead, he poured himself the fancy scotch you got him for your anniversary the year before - the one he only drank with you that evening and never touched again until you left.

Each sip burnt as it cascaded down his throat. But at least he could allow his mind to drift back to that night as he stared out, his temple pressing against the window. His eyes shut as he inhaled, reminiscing the smell on you as you danced together in the living room, your eyes bright as you giggled.

He almost didn’t hear the door closing. His head whipped to the noise to find you standing in the hallway. His eyes widened, breath in his throat, unsure if he was hallucinating.

“Johnny,” you called, your small voice regretful.

He practically leapt to you, pulling you into his arms before you slipped away again.

“Love-“ It was all he could muster before breaking down, pulling you flush to him. “I can’t- You-“ he choked on his words.

Johnny didn’t realise he had so many tears to cry. Maybe it was the alcohol too, but seeing you amplified the pain. He was supposed to be relieved, lighter, but instead he sobbed into your hair. Seeing you in person reminded him again of how he’d truly messed up, what he wasted. Now that you flooded his senses, the weight of everything all at once crushed him.

“Hush, hush. It’s okay, Johnny.” You stroked the back of his head.

The simple gesture meant world to him. It transported him back to the good times, the simpler times when there was no pain, when all you did was look at each other in bed, your fingers playing with his hair.

He missed your body, of course, but what he really missed was you. The whispers of your sweet nothings, the stolen kisses, the hand-holding and the giggles in the dark. He yearned for the way you set his spirit ablaze.

Fuck, he lost them all. He wasted it all.

You pulled away to sit on the floor, tugging him to follow. His head rested on your lap as his body curled.

He couldn’t care less if he looked appalling. His wrecked face couldn’t have done him favours in his attempt to win you back, but it was too painful to care. But you let him cry, for hours if he needed to, soothing him how you could. There was no part of him you didn’t already love.

With a slight hiccup remaining, he muttered against your shirt, “I’m sorry, love. I really am. I’m so sorry.” He was too ashamed to look at you.

You hummed, still caressing his face.

He didn’t want to say anything else in fear of ruining this. He wanted to be stuck in the moment, hoarding any fragment of you before you left again – this was all he got. You had stolen his soul and he was at your mercy. But still, his heart raced as the words forced themselves out of him.

“Did you… Did you find somebody else?” He pressed his face closer against you, bracing for your answer to yank him out of yet another dream.

“You look like shit, Johnny,” you smiled through the tears.

“I am. I am shite for what I did to you, and I’m shite without you. It was my fault.”

Under the dim lights, the bags under his eyes looked more prominent. His mohawk long gone, his hair and facial hair unkempt. He’d lost some weight too, his arms didn’t bulge like they used to.

“I love you anyway.”

He turned to you, near tears again when his blue eyes met your tender gaze. He sat up to hug you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “I love you. I never said it enough. Fuck, I love you so much.” He couldn’t hold the new tear off.

You exhaled. “I need to apologise, for ignoring you for so long. I have no excuse. That wasn’t right of me to do.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I don’t care what happened. I just want you, love. We’ll put it all behind.”

You forced a smile, but your heart shattered at his tear-stained face. “I’m here to say goodbye, Johnny,” you whispered, voice cracked.

“Sweetheart, no. Please.” He grabbed your wrists. “Please…”

“It’s the least I can do. After all we’ve been through, I owe you this. I owe this to the corpse of our love.”

He shook his head.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you admitted. “I know it’s not one partner’s fault when a relationship fails, but I keep thinking maybe things would have been different had I been different. Maybe I should have pestered you to talk even when you didn’t want to. Maybe I shouldn’t have let things slide, or forgiven without an apology. But whatever it is, I’ve been unhappy and I don’t want to be anymore.”

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

“I do. I think I love you too much to ask for you to change, to make me happier. That should be my own responsibility.”

“But I want to make you happy. I know it was my fault. I will change for you.”

“I don’t want you to,” you said, before continuing in a smaller voice. “I don’t think you can.”

He straightened up and he let out a deep breath. “I… I need to tell you this. What happened at Las Almas really fucked me up, but I refused to believe it. They sent me to therapy, but I didn’t cooperate until after you left.”

“Oh, Johnny... I had no idea.”

It made sense now. He was always a little different after every mission, but after a few days the tense, distrustful personality would fade away. But it never did after that October.

He couldn’t tell you much about that night, and probably didn’t want to. But it wasn’t hard to piece the puzzle together with the gunshot wound on his arm delivered point blank. Thinking of how long he had to suffer with his demons made your gut wrench.

“It was my fault. I was too ashamed to admit it messed me up. I didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t as tough as I thought.” He combed through his hair. “My ego got in the way and hurt you. I hurt you, for months, and that was unbelievably selfish of me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

“But I know having you come back to the same rubbish would be stupid, so I got my shite together. Well, trying anyway…” He laughed a little to himself, shaking his head. “I wish it was that fucking easy, because if I’m honest, I don’t even think it’s doing much at all.

“But I was the one who started all this. I brought dirt to this home and refused to clean it up, and that’s my fault. You were nothing but an angel to me, and I treated you like shite.” He looked up at you. “I’m trying to be better. I’m just asking you for a chance to prove myself, please.”

You reached for his face and he leaned in, savouring your touch. It could very well be the last. He sighed, closing his eyes as another tear slipped.

“I’m beating each and every one of my demons up, and I’m getting them to dress up and behave to welcome you home. I’ll get them in line, just to have you back.” He opened his eyes, looking right at you. “I don’t care what it takes. I swear I will have to die to let you go again.”

You came with your mind made up, yet your heart was mush in his hands again. Your tears poured as you gazed at the blue eyes you never got tired of. Why did love have to hurt this much?

“Why now, Johnny? Why do you only care now? Why did I have to be in so much pain, for so long, for you to only say all these things now?” you choked.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot. I took you for granted and I’ve been regretting it every single day. Please, give me a week, a day or just a few hours would do. Let me show you how much you mean to me, love.”

You wrapped your arms around him, your tears streaking his shoulder as your body shook.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, that I hurt you so much.” He patted your head. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

He removed your shoes and coat before scooping you up, your body limp in his arms. You were wordless for the rest of the night while Johnny whispered his apologises for everything he could recall. Every so often, he’d wipe away your tears with the softest touch, but you couldn’t help that they continued to flow. The pain didn’t dissolve.

He told you all the things he loved about you – your sweet voice, the way you laughed, the kindness in your forgiving spirit. His sweet nothings didn’t cease even well until you fell asleep in his arms where you belonged.

The caresses on your cheek, the strokes on your hair and the whisper of kisses on your face were a taste of heaven. It all felt like a distant dream, the sweetest memory of being safe and adored.

He was hopelessly, unapologetically yours - the other half of you. Your souls disarmed with a content sigh, curling up into each other. The hands of time rewind to a spell of bliss.

It was the best sleep the both of you had in a long time.

The following months, you saw the best version of Johnny you could ever imagine. Therapy worked for him only if he was willing to be vulnerable, and you couldn’t be prouder of the effort he put in to be better for the relationship.

He stopped internalising when it came to you, someone he trusted to never hurt him on purpose. He expressed his gratitude more often, using words the way they were meant to – to bring souls together, not push apart. When there was friction, he took his time to process his feelings before addressing the issue with sense and carefully chosen words. You supported him through his tough times, even if you could only offer your embrace and kisses to his forehead, yet they were all he needed from you.

You both took your time learning to love again. With fresh eyes, the company was as exciting as when you first dated. But this time, he wouldn’t let any moment pass without appreciating it. He journaled more so he could look back at the memories, especially when he was away.

The night was unusually quiet at the hour, no rowdy chatter on the streets, cars in the distance almost inaudible. The light from afar, softened by the curtains into a faint glow, barely outlined your figures in the bed you never wanted to leave. Tangled with Johnny in the soft sheets, there was nothing better in the world. You caressed his cheek, wishing for something beyond endless.

“Why did it have to take so long to get good?”

He brought your joint hands to his lips.

“Remember, on your birthday exactly two years ago? We lay here, just like this.” A tear escaped as your voice shook. “I thought I’d die without you.”

“Did you?” he whispered.

“I did.”

“I’d have followed you to the graveyard.”

Taglist: @sofasoap @thewizardarson @liyanahelena @kenma-izhu @devcica @ohlawdthebirds @capuccino192 @perseusdreams @9irly9irl @jklkverr

[lightsofthe-living-gvf]

Can You Feel My Love

18+ Minors DNI

Jake Kiszka/Reader

Summary: Jake reads some negative media comments, so you love on him to cheer him up.

Warnings: smut, a little bit of angst and even more fluff, pet names, mentions of negative media comments, begging, body worship (m rec.), hickies and biting, rimming (m rec.), Jake is a bit of a masochist, there’s not really a dom/sub theme, but reader does take the lead.

Word Count: 2.8k.

A/N: This is a litttlleee self-indulgent, but the thought of worshipping Jake’s body is ✨. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

You weren't quite sure what it was, but something was off about Jake. You had noticed it a little bit after lunch, while you were cleaning up, and he had looked at you with eyes that just weren't as bright as usual and matched your attempt at making conversation with short sentences. When you had finished, he retreated to the back of the house and every once in a while, you could faintly hear whatever somber notes he was plucking out on his acoustic guitar.

You made yourself busy--regardless of how badly you wanted to know what was bothering your sweet Jake--tidying up around the house and doing things that needed to be done, like your laundry from the weekend trip you two recently took, and finally replacing the burnt-out lightbulb on the patio. Of course, you had your speculations about what was on his mind, but you forced yourself to push those thoughts aside. You knew that he would come to you when he was ready to.

And he did come to you, a few hours later, after you'd finished all the housework you'd been wanting to get done. You were relaxing in the living room, curled up comfortably against the arm of the couch, laptop balancing on the tops of your thighs. You couldn't hear him padding softly down the hallway over the rapid clacking of your computer keys, so you startled a little when you felt the couch dip besides you.

"Jake," you giggled. "You scared me."

He hummed in reply as he shifted position, pressing his body against your side and maneuvering his arm beneath both of yours to wrap around your waist. You closed your laptop and set it on the side table, bringing your own hand across your body to stroke at Jake's silky hair. He leaned into your touch, head falling to the side to rest on your shoulder.

You don't really know how long you stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms and resting in a comfortable silence. Moments like this made your heart swell, even if the air was drooping with a certain melancholy, as it currently was. You always enjoyed being close to him, of course, but you also enjoyed listening to his even breathing when he was totally at ease, and the way he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb up and down whatever part of you he had his hands on.

You break the silence with a careful whisper, turning your head just slightly to meet his eyes, "Is something on your mind, baby?"

"It's nothing, really... Just- been spending too much time on the internet, I guess."

The softly spoken revelation had your heart clenching so painfully tight. You knew what people said about him, what they said about his band and their music, you'd read some of the comments yourself. The majority of it was praise, but the rest of it... you could hardly imagine how someone could say such things about a person they'd never met.

"Jake..." you trailed off. There was so much you could say, but you couldn't put all the words together, not yet. So, for the time being, you pulled him closer, as close as you two could possibly get.

He mumbled, his voice muffled from where his face had been buried against the crook of your neck, "It's really hard not to get caught up in it all."

"... None of it's true, you know? Not anything they say about you, or the guys." You take a deep breath before continuing, "You are so, so wonderful, inside and out. And you're so loved, honey, by everyone around you."

Jake didn't reply with his words. Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, then tilted his head upwards and captured your lips. You returned the kiss with as much affection as you could muster, praying that he'd understand that what you felt for him was stronger than words could ever convey. He seemed to have felt it, because you could feel the corners of his lips turn upwards in the smallest grin as he moved his hands to delicately cup your cheeks.

You broke away from the kiss, trying to even out your quick breathing and taking in his features for the umpteenth time. Everything about him was so delightful; from his mellow, umber eyes, to his scattered beauty marks, to his relaxed shoulders, and to his plush thighs. You found yourself--just like every other time you'd admired his beauty--wanting to kiss him all over.

And then, you had an idea.

"Jakey, I wanna make you feel good."

His brows knit together, "What?"

"I wanna make you feel good," you repeated. "I wanna love on you, wanna kiss every inch of that pretty body of yours, make you feel loved. Would you let me do that?"

Jake's pupils blew just a little wider at your admission and he swallowed, nodding, "Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart."

You pecked his lips and pulled away with a grin, untangling yourself from his arms and standing up from the couch. He took the open hand you'd offered to him and let you guide him through the house and to your bedroom. Then, there it was again; he was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along the ridges of your knuckles. The action never failed to stir butterflies around in your stomach. Once you'd reached the bedroom, you stopped him in his place, then ran your free hand down his chest and to the hem of his shirt.

"Can I take this off?"

Jake nodded and you quickly pulled his shirt over his head. You admired his exposed chest for only a few moments, before your fingertips were grazing his belt buckle, and you were glancing up at him for permission. Once you'd gotten the go-ahead, you undid the latch and worked the leather from his belt loops, next tackling his button and his zipper. You pulled his bands down to his knees and he kicked them off his legs. Finally, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his blue boxer that, admittedly, you liked to see him wearing just as much as not, and rid him of those, as well.

You hummed in appreciation at the sight of him, beautifully bare before you and trusting. You took special notice of his pretty cock, that already happened to be hardening. When you caught his eyes, again, you could see the ever-growing heat in his eyes, and the pink flush in his cheeks. It was all so wonderfully endearing.

"Lay on the bed for me, beautiful boy. On your back."

Jake did as you said, resting his head in the little crevice between your respective pillows and making himself comfortable. You were on him almost immediately, straddling his waist and holding his jaw in your hands. His fingers found your wrists, not trying to move or guide you, but to simply touch you. With a smile, you peppered feather-light kisses all over his face.

"Y/N," he squeaked out between honest-to-goodness giggles. "That kinda tickles."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help myself." You punctuated your sentence with one last kiss pressed to his lips. '

You shuffled downwards, tilting his head to the side and baring his throat to you. You attached your lips to the bottom of his chin and moved sideways, kissing all along his jawline. You started sucking underneath the bony curve of his jaw, just long enough to raise some color and to hear his sharp intake of breath. You turned his head in the opposite direction and repeated your actions, moving further down his neck and kissing, licking, biting, and sucking.

By the time you had made your way across his chest, leaving bite marks an violet-colored bruises in your wake, he was trembling just slightly, taking in quick, uneven breaths and making soft noises here and there. He had grabbed your hand sometime in the middle of your little journey and was now squeezing whenever you bit or sucked particularly hard. One thing you'd learned to appreciate about your sweet Jake in the time you'd been with him was his masochistic streak. It was often that you explored it; so much so that the gentlest tug on his hair or the lightest nibble on his skin would turn him into a moldable clay, so needy and willing beneath your hands. As much as you enjoyed when he took charge, you appreciated when you could get him like this, too.

You left one last, sloppy kiss against the bottom of his sternum, before moving further downwards to the heavenly expanse of skin that was his stomach. You licked your lips at the sight of it, just begging to be worshipped. He let out a yip when you first sank your teeth into the delicate flesh beneath his ribcage, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. His little noise of pain morphed quickly into a pleased gasp, as his lovely, weeping cock came into contact with the material of your shirt, his back arching just slightly from the bed. He couldn't stop himself, then, from grinding against your stomach and leaving little wet patches on your shirt.

You contemplated teasing him, pulling away and telling him he wasn't to move until you were finished with him. However, as soon as the thought had crossed your mind, he let out a sweet, breathy moan. The noise--so deliciously needy and addicting--was enough to sway you into letting him grind against your torso to his heart's content.

You continued your pleasurable assault across his stomach, sinking your teeth into whatever patch of skin that looked like it needed a good bite, and then soothing the pain with soft kisses and praising words whispered against his skin. Next, you had your way with his v-line, dragging your tongue and teeth over everywhere but the spot he needed you the most. You made your way further down and he spread his thighs wider for you; the simple action nearly had a moan falling from your own lips.

You bit into the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and it had him whimpering, "Fuck, Y/N... Do it again, please, feels so good." You obliged, of course, moving your head inwards and biting closer to the crease of his thigh, just to hear the sound he would make. It was pitchy and strained, and he followed it up with mindless utterings, "Baby, baby, please- oh, God- more, please."

You could always tell that Jake was getting desperate when he lost control of his tongue and started babbling out whatever thought came to his head. You found it so incredibly hot, listening to him beg for you in that whiny, desperate tone of voice. So, you switched over to his other thigh and babied it, only kissing and licking until he was squeezing your hand and pleading with you to mark him up.

Painstakingly, you pulled away when you were finished, sitting back on your heels and drinking up the sight of him. He looked absolutely ruined laid before you, cheeks dark with color, bottom lip plump and red from being repeatedly bitten, hickies and bite marks as far as they eye could see, and his cock leaking desperately against his stomach. You leaned forwards, balancing yourself on one hand and brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead with the other.

"My sweet boy," you murmured. "You're so beautiful like this."

"Kiss me? Please?"

You kissed him, long and good, fingers moving gently against his scalp as you did. Within seconds, Jake was opening his mouth up to you and you gladly took the invitation, slipping your tongue in his mouth and letting his suck on it until all you could taste was him. It was heady, making your breathing pick up in a way that it hadn't all night.

"Wanna taste you. Is that okay?" you tugged yourself away to speak softly against his lips.

"Yeah- please, baby. You don't have to ask, never."

You chuckled at his neediness, "Okay, turn over for me, sweet thing."

Jake complied almost instantly, turning onto his hands and knees as fast as he could with his already fucked-out limbs. He lowered his front half against the mattress, resting his head on his forearms and the spreading his legs wider, arching his back deeper. You cursed under your breath at the sight of him, and pretty and on-display and absolutely yours for the taking.

"Y/N," his voice--both quiet and wrecked--snapped you out of your lust-filled brain fog.

"Yeah, Jakey? Is everything okay?"

You couldn't see him nod, but you heard the rustle of his hair moving against the sheets before he spoke his again, "Yeah, yeah... Hold my hand?"

Without another word or thought given, you slid your hand up the mattress and tangled your fingers with his. He gave your hand a grateful squeeze and pulled it as close to himself as you current position allowed. The simple display sent a new wave of the all-encompassing love you felt for him crashing over your heart.

With a totally dopey grin on your face, you used your free hand to massage one of his cheeks before spreading him open and catching a glimpse at his pretty, pink hole, fluttering around nothing. Your lust went straight back to your head, then, and without another second to spare, you licked a fat stripe all the way across his rim. He let out a broken, breathy mewl, and it spurred only one thought deep inside: give him more. You started around his rim in fast little laps, occasionally pointing your tongue ad letting it dip inside.

"You taste so sweet, baby," you praised against his skin.

Jake paid no mind to your words and instead whined at the loss of your tongue against his needy hole. He wiggled his hips so enticingly in front of you--trying to urge you back towards him again--that you had no choice but to comply, diving back in with a renewed vigor. You pressed your tongue all the way inside and let it wriggle around, before pulling back with the wettest, filthiest slurp you'd ever heard. He moaned so prettily, so ruined, that you could hardly stand it.

"Please, make me cum," he pleaded. "Baby, please, it feels so good, so good..."

You brought your hand down to his dripping cock, gathering up a few beads of pre-cum in your palm and using the fluid to slick the way as you began to pump. His hips jerked, grinding forward into the relief of your hand around him, gasping so prettily at the sensation. You fell into with your tongue, pushing and pulling against his rim, perfectly in tandem with the movement of your hand and his hips.

As you worked him into a debauched bliss, his noises grew near-constant, and he was trembling with every slide of your skilled fingers, with every thumb stroking deliberately over the head of his cock. He was digging his nails into the back of your hand, but you barely processed the sensation, too caught up in the way his rim clenched so deliciously against your tongue.

"I'm close," Jake sounded. "I'm so close. Don't stop, please."

You redoubled your efforts, pumping him that much faster, tonguing him that much harder.

"Fuck, Y/N- ah, f-fuck," he whined, and with one last of your fingers, he was coming with a whimpering cry. You worked him through it with both your hand and your tongue, until you were sure that you'd milked every drop of his release onto the sheets. You pulled away from him before the overstimulation could set it and sat back on your haunches, smoothing a comforting hand up and down his trembling back as he forced uneven breaths into his lungs.

Jake pushed himself into a sitting position with shaky arms, then shuffled over to lean into your side. He set his chin atop your shoulder, turning his head just far enough to press a kiss to the side of your face. You pecked his lips, pulling away and giving him a gentle smile.

"I love you," he whispered, eyes still a little moony, but full of adoration. "You always know what to say... what to do."

"I love you, too, Jakey. Let's get you all cleaned up now, yeah? How's a nice shower sound?"

"Sounds amazing, but what about you?" His brows furrowed adorably and he reached for your thigh, pulling you closer to his side.

"Don't worry about me, honey, I'll be alright."

"Fuck- Sweetheart, you sure? I can make you cum, if you want. Just tell--"

"Jake," You cut him off with an endeared giggle. "It's okay. I wanna focus on you, for right now."

After a few moments of silence, he conceded, "Okay."

You stood from the bed, tugging him along with you with a hand on his wrist.

"You want me to wash your hair for you?" You ask as you enter the bathroom.

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I do."

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 8 - Is this the famous honeymoon phase?!

Summary: Mina breaks Bakugou. Bakugou does his best not to break her neck as a Thank You. Kirishima goes overboard. The Menace enjoys every single minute of the drama. Katsuki has “weird” thoughts. It must be the weather.

Warnings: Swear words, Katsuki using the word “bitch, Mina brings Y/N some questionable underwear.

FIRST CHAPTER MASTER LIST

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Kats, do you mind helping me into a sitting position? This is getting kinda awkward.” You mumble quietly.

“Oh, sorry.” Katsuki jumps off the floor and he’s next to you in a matter of seconds.

“Did Katsuki just say the word sorry?” Mina stares at the two of you as Katsuki tries his best to put you down in the most comfortable position.

“His mom said the same when he first heard it.” You smile at your boyfriend proudly. He only rolls his eyes. “So let’s see what you got, entertain me.” You grin at the pink girl.

“Katsuki, I love her. I can take her if you ever get bored. I ain’t picky, you know.” Mina winks at you, while Katsuki sends daggers with his eyes towards his old friend. It really shouldn’t be so endearing to see your partner like this, but man, seeing him being so protective over you just makes your heart flip. Is it too soon to tell him to marry you?

“You touch my woman with one fucking finger and I’ll make sure no one will be able to look at your ugly, burnt face for the rest of your life.” Katsuki spits, clearly aggravated.

Yup. One day, you’ll marry this man.

“Kats, calm the fuck down, I wanna see my presents!” You whine in a high-pitched voice, just to take a piss out of Katsuki.

“Stop being so cute, it’s really fucking irritating.” He mumbles, but he finally sits down next to you. Mina comes closer with her backpack and plops down on the floor in front of you two, acting like a YouTuber filming an actual HAUL video.

“Ladies and gents and everyone in between, welcome to my haul video! I’m pro hero Pinky and I love shopping!” Mina grins; you are already in love with this weird pink woman.

“Yay!” You yell with your head on Katsuki’s shoulders. He acts like your loud voice just annoyed the shit out of him but he’s also smiling, so it can’t be that bad.

“First of all… I got you the brand new skincare range made by Creati!” Mina yells happily, clearly proud of her old classmate. Pro Hero Creati is a big name in the industry; not just in the hero world but also in retail; as Creati needs a lot of knowledge to be able to create her own weapons and support items, she decided to use that knowledge to come up with brand new products for the common folk - there isn’t a single thing in the stores that doesn’t have a Creati version of it and you usually get luxurious quality for really cheap prices. There are a few things she doesn’t do cheap though; jewelry and skincare products.

“That’s half of my monthly salary there.” You gawk at the pink girl but she waves you off.

“I got it for free. No worries. I’ll show Katsuki how to use them properly later.” She winks at the blonde who only rolls his eyes at that. “Speaking about merch… tada!” Mina takes out an absolutely adorable pajama set, all pink like the girl herself; there is an abstract pro hero Pinky logo on the top and the small shorts have the pattern of her hero costume.

“She’s not wearing that in my bed.” Katsuki retorts angrily but there is a tiny smile on his face behind that ugly scowl.

“Well, this is the best I could do on such a short notice so I kindly ask you to shut the fuck up and enjoy the show.” Mina gives Katsuki a scornful look.

“Tch…”

“So then! Underwear!” She perks up, ignoring Katsuki’s annoyed grumbling. ”I managed to get you some really cute ones! Some are my own designs but I got you some really sexy ones as well, just in case!”

Well, maybe drinking water right now wasn’t Katsuki’s greatest idea as he sprays it all over the coffee table as he sees the absolutely gorgeous lace underwear that barely hides anything. It also doesn’t help that it’s black with an orange hem.

“Please tell me it comes with a bra.” You sigh and it doesn’t take the pink girl long to find the matching bra in her backpack; if you can even call that transparent thing a bra, really.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou yells with a red face. “I’ll murder you and no one will find your body I swear to fuckin All Might.”

“Don’t worry darling, I brought some condoms as well because safety first, you know.” Mina fucking winks and you can literally see the steam coming out of Katsuki’s ears at this point.

If the situation wasn’t hilarious enough, Kirishima decides to barge in through the door right at this moment and the first thing he sees is Mina holding sexy underwear in the air while Katsuki is having a brain fart moment.

“Do I want to know?”

“Honestly, babe? No.” Mina grins at the redhead who takes a deep breath and makes his way towards you.

“Hey, lovely, how are you feeling?” He kneels in front of you, completely ignoring the awkwardness in the room. If Katsuki haven’t had enough reasons to murder the whole city, now he does; Kirishima goes all protective over you as he takes in the view in front of him and strokes your cheeks lovingly, his eyes full of worry.

“The fuck are you touching my woman for? Honestly, get a fucking grip!” Katsuki yells again and by the look of it, he’s about to reach his limits.

“You know I can’t stop touching people when I worry!” Kirishima yells back with teary eyes; Mina only sighs in the background, probably knowing how true that statement is.

“Yeah, I realized it when you almost fucking kissed me a few months ago, you fucking weirdo.” Katsuki retorts, sitting down on the floor, out of energy.

“Well, at least I’m not kissing her. Right?” Kirishima says it like that’s an appropriate answer and you can see Katsuki’s anger coming back with full blast (no pun intended).

“That will be the last fucking thing you do alive, best friend or not.”

If someone could die from a death stare, Kirishima would be nothing but ground beef. Ahh, you love your boyfriend so much.

“I got you some cute socks too.” Mina mumbles sadly as all the attention went to Kirishima in the last few minutes.

“I love cute socks, show me!” You ignore the two bickering men completely to keep your eyes on the grumpy pink lady.

Eventually, Bakugou runs out of swear words and Mina runs out of random stuff; there were hoodies, shirts, joggers, obviously all of them some kind of merch; even Deku decided to send some fluffy Deku socks over with Mina when he heard about her getting a little “survivor pack” ready. Obviously, Katsuki wasn’t too happy about his girlfriend having so much pro hero merch that’s not his but Mina made sure Katsuki understands that her options were quite limited at 8PM.

“Ahh, I forgot, I bought you ear plugs in case Mr. Grumpy gets annoying.” Mina hands you the last thing from the bag; needless to say you have a really hard time restraining yourself to not put them in when the explosive blonde starts yelling again.

~•💥•~

“Stop eating my leftovers and get the fuck out! My woman needs to rest!” Katsuki yells out of the blue. The two idiots quickly stuff their mouths with the leftover snacks you two left on the coffee table then they run towards the main entrance, like eating Katsuki’s food is a sin; and to be fair, it is, because he made that shitty food for his woman, not for these two bozos. He kinda hoped there will be some left in case she gets hungry again. Oh well, Katsuki can just make another batch if that happens, even at 11PM.

Okay, what the fuck is going on in his stupid head, this is domestic and lovey-dovey as fuck.

He loves it - Hates it, he means. Absolutely hates it. Yeah. Fuck this shit.

Katsuki is so deep in his own head he doesn’t even react when Eijirou runs back into the living room to leave a kiss on Y/N’s forehead to “get well quicker.”

That guy needs to get a grip. Or get a girlfriend. Or both. A guy like him should be surrounded by women; he is kind, affectionate and even though Katsuki doesn’t think he swings “that way” he’s certainly sure his best friend is really fucking hot.

To be fair, chicks like bad boys. Or at least Katsuki thinks so. Maybe Eijirou is too good for them. It also doesn’t help the situation that Katsuki chases away every single woman who comes close to his best friend if they don’t fit Katsuki’s criteria and one of the criteria is for them to be able to get along with him, but most women just start crying when he gets moody around them for the first time; and no, he is not being sexist, he also made men cry before. It’s just who he is, what can he do?

“You know you just did “the Deku” and blabbed all of that out loud?” Y/N giggles adorably from her spot on the sofa.

Adorably? Okay what the actual fuck is wrong with him today?

“Shut the fuck up and keep flapping around like a dying fish.” Katsuki mutters under his nose which only makes his woman laugh even louder; is she even sick? Honestly, she might be just faking it to force Katsuki to be an affectionate, worrying boyfriend. Not like he is… worried. Or anything like that. Fuck no.

“Hey! You can’t just say that to a sick person!” Y/N does her best to act offended, but it all goes to shit when her lips move upwards. Oh, how much he fucking loves this shitty woman.

“Act more sick, then.” He grumbles back while he rolls his eyes aggressively.

“These… are my last… words… to… you…” Y/N stutters dramatically, her arm flapping on the side as she tries to hold them out for Katsuki. “Find someone else, when I go… I want you to be happy, honey bun.” She stutters, barely concealing her laughter. Katsuki takes her hand and for his surprise, he doesn’t mind playing along for a bit.

“Fuck that, bitch, if you die I’m going after you, you can’t get rid of me that easily. We will haunt all our enemies until we get bored then have ghost-sex on Deku’s bed.”

“Fuck, that was so romantic and hot Katsuki, I love you so fucking much.” Y/N mumbles with teary eyes and a shit rating grin; funny combination that is, but Katsuki swears he fell in love all over again with that stupid face. Katsuki’s own face becomes a mess of emotions; fondness, love, lust, probably a bit of anger for no reason at all; all obvious and easy to read as he pulls Y/N up from the sofa without a single word and makes his way towards the bathroom with her in his arms.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Y/N giggles, but doesn’t try to wiggle her way out of his hold.

“I’ll brush your teeth and then we are going to bed. You are clearly delirious.” Katsuki fucking giggles as he puts Y/N down on the toilet seat. Maybe he’s the delirious one. Who knows.

“Says the guy who wanted to have ghost-sex on his best friend’s bed.”

“He ain’t my best friend!” Katsuki yells defensively. “Deku is… Deku.”

“Yeah. Deku is Deku. And I am me. And we all love you.” She giggles again, clearly too tired to even think about her words anymore. Katsuki is concerned.

“You sure you don’t need medical attention?” He mumbles, crouching right in front of his loved one like a worried mother. Y/N only smiles, her hand coming up to put a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The motion is slow and Y/N needs to use a lot of strength to be able to finish her task, but she manages.

“I’m just happy to be here with you. I hated the fact that I won’t see you for a whole week, feel free to call me a clingy fuck but I’m speaking my truth.” She giggles and oh my god, Katsuki uses all his willpower to not kiss her senseless right now.

“My clingy fucking woman.” Bakugou grins and leaves a kiss on her forehead before moving towards the sink to put toothpaste on Y/N’s new, glittery pink toothbrush. It’s an abomination. “Try to hold it.” Katsuki mutters and stares at Y/N for a minute as she tries to brush her teeth with zero strength but he gets way to impatient and snags the toothbrush back to finish the job.

“To shtrooong!” Y/N tries to tell him, but Katsuki is on a mission; the germs needs to fucking die.

Y/N looks traumatized.

~•💥•~

Okay, so… now what?!

Katsuki is utterly confused by what to do with himself. He’s standing by the bed, Y/N already hogged all the covers to herself and Katsuki… well, Katsuki is not sure where to sleep, to be honest.

Here’s the thing; yes, they’ve slept in the same bed before but… they were kinda forced to do that except when he was quirked, but again, that was a special occasion. This time, they have all the rights to sleep in separate beds.

He can just take the couch. He certainly can. Katsuki moves towards the door but then he changes his mind and comes back to stand awkwardly by the leg of the bed.

He can. But he doesn’t want to.

He should be around if something goes wrong during the night, right?

What if she needs to use the toilet? What if she gets thirsty? What is she chokes on her own saliva because her body forgets how to swallow?!

Katsuki makes another steps towards the bed, but then…

He changes his mind.

Again.

Maybe she wants to be alone right now. It needs to be really fucking embarrassing for her to be in this situation and maybe she needs some space. Katsuki might want to stay with her but maybe he would do more harm than good; she might need to force her body to do stuff for her to get better. Maybe if he does everything for her she won’t be able to get better.

Katsuki makes his way towards the door again, now with more confidence, but his confidence wavers as he stares at Y/N from so far away; she looks heartbroken and sad as he puts his hands on the doorknob… ahh, fuck.

“Where are you going?” She mumbles in between two sniffles. Fucking sniffles. What the fuck.

“Why you snifflin’.” Katsuki grumbles under his nose; needless to say there is no fucking way he leaves this room today after this shit. Call him weak and manipulable, he doesn’t give a flying fuck.

“It’s a bit cold, Katsuki.” She says, large puppy eyes staring into his soul.

“Want me to put the heating on?”

“No…” she mumbles with an offended pout.

“Want a hot water bottle then? An electric blanket? Wanna go to Malibu?”

Yes, Katsuki is absolutely taking the piss right now, but man, it’s so much fun to see her struggle. Y/N pouts even harder.

“I want my own hot water bottle.” Y/N murmurs and points at him angrily. “That one there runs hot all the time, I’m quite sure it will do a good enough job.” Oh, Katsuki can see how much she struggles to keep her face neutral. Oh, there it is, the small smile in the corner of her mouth. Oh damn, Katsuki is so whipped.

“I am not a fucking furnace, you fuck!” Katsuki yells, fake-offended.

“No, you are a hot water bottle, silly.” She doesn’t even try to hide her grin anymore and Katsuki is really proud to see his own shit eating grin on his girlfriend’s pretty face. He never understood the whole “other half” thing before, but it makes so much more sense now.

“If this is supposed to be a sexy role play or something, it’s not working, princess.” Katsuki raises a single eyebrow and he gets an annoyed eye roll in exchange.

“I would prefer to be able to move my limbs for that action, thank you very much.” Y/N answers with a straight face and needless to say, Katsuki’s face is as red as a ripe tomato.

“Fuck you, you human-sized burrito.” Katsuki yells but makes his way to the other side of the bed, albeit begrudgingly.

“Not today, sir.” The shit eating grin is back and Katsuki is not a big fan of this one specifically.

“You are such a menace.” Katsuki pulls the covers off her with an angry grab and Y/N yells profanities as the cold air hits her stomach. “Stop yelling and let me in!” Katsuki laughs, the sound loud and so disgustingly happy it makes him want to vomit.

“Hurry up, it’s freezing! … hey, don’t go away from me! That’s not where the hot water bottle goes, sir!” She whines and while it’s certainly a little bit annoying, Katsuki can’t help but feel butterflies in his stomach. This is the first time Bakugou Katsuki feels needed and loved and it’s absolutely exhilarating.

“Stop being so needy, what’s wrong with you!” He grumbles anyway, faking annoyance just cuz why not.

“Just cuddle me, you angry Pomeranian!” Y/N whines again, her weak arms trying their best to pull him closer.

“What did you just call me?!” Katsuki rolls to his side to face Y/N head on; what he didn’t expect is the sudden urge that comes over him from the sudden closeness; he wants to bury his face into her hair so fucking much, kiss her neck until it leaves a mark, kiss every single crevice and scar until they’re pink and sensitive… “This calls for a punishment.” Bakugou mumbles but instead of a punishment he just does everything he wanted to do in the first place.

If Bakugou Katsuki says kisses are a punishment, then they are. Fuck everyone who says it otherwise.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- I’m so sorry for being away for so long. There is one, personal post right before this one if you want to read it, where I tell you about some of my struggles, but only read it if you really want to know. It’s all good now (almost.)

- I absolutely love how Katsuki acts in this one. It’s still his edgy self but he feels safe enough to actually act upon his real feelings and AHHHHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH! 😭

- Btw I swear I’m not plotting some weird polyamory thing in this ficc, Kirishima is just affectionate like that. He will have his own reader in a few weeks who works in the coffee shop next door so don’t worry I won’t make this story weird! (Not like there is a problem with those kind of stories, while I’m not a big fan of them, I did read a few and some of them were really good! I believe we should all write about whatever we want anyway. 😂)

- The next part will have some non-sexual (or sexual? Dunno yet.) nakedness in it. I’ll probably need to say it’s 18+ because of it. FYI 😂

- I think that’s it for today! I’m on my way to London to go and see Harry Potter World! Yay! I brought my Kirishima plushie over with me so I’ll post a little “Kirishima in London” montage when I have some time haha 😂

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always!💥

TL:

@sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs

If I left anyone out, let me know pls!

[inexplicablepeas]

The Surface of the Abyss

Drabble written for Marius/Daniel Week (@maridaniweek).

Day 5: typewritten notes / deep waters

Marius holds in a breath he never needed to take as he reads the typewritten page. With an exhale of some small relief and a hum of consideration he places it back on the pile of typed paper next to the typewriter. It sits on it's own little desk in the corner of this chaotic room. This is where Daniel has taken to spending his nights obsessively working on his little miniature towns and cities. The space is dominated by a huge dining table, a little too big for the room really, which is two thirds covered in a growing cityscape. Models in progress and all kinds of other crafting materials and tools litter the rest of the table and every other available surface in the room.

He's certain this is a good sign, this page imprinted with the uniform, boldly inked markings of a typewriter. He had placed the (already rather outdated) device here in this room a number of weeks ago. He was uncertain that Daniel would take any interest in it, so single minded is he about his models these days. Most nights, the good nights, he gets up and makes his way straight to this room, silently starts his work. Marius isn't sure what it means, this obsession. He cannot deny that his mind seems a bit more... ordered while he works on this little world. So he has encouraged it.

It is surely an improvement on how he spent his nights before, staring into the space in front of him, or gazing blankly, and seemingly uncomprehendingly, at the huge television in the lounge, on the occasions he allowed Marius to sit him in front of it. Marius has tried reading to him sometimes, it was clear that he wasn't really following any story he read though, just contentedly absorbing the sound of his voice if anything.

And still, on the nights he does not go straight to work on this project of his, he may not move at all, he can just lie for hours in the dark in in his below-ground room well after the sun has set. On those nights, despite his stillness, his mind is often a chaotic whirl of images, his heart sometimes races at a concerning pace... As he works on the models, on the other hand, sometimes memories surface all the same, but his mind seems in a calmer state, the memories have a little more context... it's almost a narrative. And he thinks that may be just what he needs - narrative. After all, Daniel is a story teller. That was his vocation before knowledge of their kind consumed his mortal life.

And for Marius narrative has always been something that has kept him grounded when the weight of time presses down on him, when he feels he may be swept up in it's unrelenting currents, might lose himself entirely in a bewildering new century. The exercise of recording has always calmed him, helped him to put things in order. Countless thousands of pages he's written over the years, most lost or burnt...

He saw the typewriter in Daniel's mind one night as he worked away – that's what had given him the idea, the image of his long, elegant fingers clacking away on a typewriter in a motel room, absorbed in transcribing from a tape, the memory continued on and suddenly he froze, a spike of panic going through him. He had the sense that he was being watched, staring at the empty blackness of the room's window for a beat, hitting stop on the tape player and forcing himself shakily to get up and close the curtains, staring distractedly for a little too long at the quiet parking lot before pulling the thin curtains shut. Sat back in front of the typewriter, lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. The thought cut off there as Daniel put the model in his hands down to search the cluttered table for a particular tube of paint.

For the next few nights, after making sure that Daniel was fed and settled with his models, Marius went out alone to hunt the second hand stores of the surrounding area for the right machine. Marius himself had used a number of typewriters off and on throughout the years, he always liked the satisfying clack of the keys. The staccato press of his fingers on the machine so different from the flow of a stylus or quill, for a time he had been enchanted with them. He didn't bring any of those machines with him to this dwelling, now he has a rather cutting edge word processor in a humming little plastic box of a computer in the study upstairs, and pen paper of course, when a more individual touch feels appropriate. But he thought that it might be best for Daniel to try using what he's most familiar with, so he went looking for an electronic typewriter like the one he saw in his memories.

After three nights of searching the cluttered little second hand shops in nearby towns he spotted just what he was looking for, an old Selectric typewriter. A similar model to one he had himself some years ago - sitting on a low shelf surrounded by colorful board games in battered boxes. It even had a couple of ink ribbons with it. He made the purchase, insistently overpaid for it, and spirited the little machine back home.

He wasn't sure how to approach it, how to get Daniel's attention. He brought a little desk down from upstairs and set the machine on it in a corner of the room, without saying a word. Daniel was undisturbed by the activity. He was on the floor, working away at gluing the parts of a minute little house together. Marius crouched down in front of him, studying him gravely, this spare, pallid boy-man, surrounded by crafting detritus as he was, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on his work, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat, which did not draw his attention in any noticeable way. He started talking to him anyway. He knows some part of him hears him, he just chooses what he pays attention to.

"Daniel, I found this in town – this older model of typewriter, from your time. Quite a lovely machine. I thought you might like to put down some of your thoughts," done gluing the house, he turned his back to him, went up on his knees to set it down on the empty part of the table to dry, "I'll leave it in here, by the door, if you feel like using it. It might help you... make sense of things... put them in order perhaps," Marius continued to study him intensely. Daniel had turned his head, so that Marius saw a side profile, as he stared off into space for a moment. His mouth momentarily quirked into a cynical little smile before he went back to assembling another building.

He had tried this with Amadeo too. Of course, his mind was locked to him after he turned him, and he went through those periods of awful, withdrawn silence. Those silences frightened him so, not knowing what troubled him or how he could help him. Marius tried forcing him to record his thoughts in ink on paper, in the hope that it would ease his solitary suffering, in the hope that in reading what he wrote that he would know how to help him. And he thinks it did help him, even just the exercise of it, at least for a short while...

It helps that he can see the content of Daniel's mind, but the lack of order disturbs him, flashes of faces, swirling colors, noise rising into a cacophony before dying away. Often Armand is there: clad in denim like a youth of this time and looming over him in some dim, ruined place, staring at him with those huge, steady and ever mysterious eyes through a crowd, just flashes of images, and fragments of thought and sound, all a jumble. Marius has rarely seen anything surface from before the boy's fateful interview with Louis, that gentle and thoughtful creature who put his world to ruin in a single night. But here on this page – he has gone back and written of his youth, in fact of that first spark that ignited in him that lost passion to record the stories of others. And he has written it with such clarity! Clarity the likes of which he has scarce seen this young immortal capable of. He's sure that this is the key to restoring him to some kind of lucidity of mind - putting some order to the events of his life. Connecting this child on the page with the powerful yet confused creature he has become. This is perhaps a start.

[thotsofadepravedwoman]

Serpentine Nights Ch. 2

Live and Let Die

Pairing: Benny Cross x Fem!Biker!OC

Fandom/Universe: The Bikeriders

Summary: Azzie brings Benny back home, getting him settled before Johnny and the others arive.

Trigger Warnings: Smoking, Drunk people, This chapter is also pretty tame compared to the rest of the series,

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

___

The ride to Indiana wasn't long, maybe 2 hours of occasionally glancing behind her on the highway to make sure Benny was still there. Azzie had always loved the feeling of hitting 80 on the highway and cruising, her parents had always enjoyed the feeling of the open road and the wind behind their exhaust pipe. She remembers her brother's shouts of glee whenever he got to join in on his own bike instead of sitting behind their father as they raced down streets and highways, through seemingly endless miles of farmland. 

When she had finally pulled up to the makeshift trailer park, the sun was just starting to peak above the horizon, many of her brethren were strewn about near burnt out fires with too many beer bottles and cigarette butts to count. She had smiled as she stepped off her bike, pulling her gloves off and shoving them haphazardly into her back pocket, the familiar sight of her favorite idiots in their natural places, unharmed, untouched, and unbothered by police had settled her beating heart. 

“Follow me.” Azzie turned to look at the man that still sat on his bike, a fresh cigarette placed between his plush lips as he surveyed the scene before him. He had seen mornings like this before, oftentimes being the one laying down himself, but something was different about it, something he couldn't quite place was off, unlike anything he'd ever seen or experienced before. 

Benny had followed without complaint, gently stepping off his bike to follow the women in front of him. He carefully navigated around an array of other bikes, some stock, others chopped to hell and back, but one thing stood out. All of them were some shade of green or other. Many bikes parked next to each other had the same shade, but the bikes generally had no rhyme or reason to the way they were parked. He flicked his gaze back to the woman who he didn't know at all, yet followed through the night as Johnny had asked him too. He scanned his eye over her figure, taking in the slightly baggy jeans, the apparent cowboy boots on her feet, and the leather jacket she wore. 

Now that it was daybreak, he could see her jacket more clearly. A snake coiled around itself, fangs bared and tongue flicking out, saturated greens, reds, and black, coloring the design, and around it sat three words, North Side Vipers. He’d seen those colors before, sported by an old man with graying hair and a prominent nose. When he saw him, the man was talking to Johnny, a serious conversation he could tell, but both men seemed friendly enough with each other. Johnny had been squinting at the man, saying something indecipherable between drags off his cigarette and sips of his beer, yet when Johnny had noticed Benny walking through the doors, he had nodded to the man who sat with his back turned. 

The man had shifted to get a good look at Benny, raking his eyes over the man, his gaze catching at the bandages around Benny’s knuckles. He had turned around and mumbled something to Johnny, placing a 2 dollar bill down on the table before getting up. Benny watched as the unfamiliar man ahead of him grabbed his riding gloves off the table and began to walk towards him, towards the entrance. As the man passed, he offered Benny a curt nod, before walking past him and out the door. Benny had remembered the encounter so clearly, the strange interaction that was never brought up staying in his mind. 

Azzie was walking through the sea of passed out, drunken men, her eyes surveilling each and every one of them as she passed, and when her gaze landed upon a shirtless man, built and muscular, the same snake design of her jacket tattooed onto the skin of his neck, she had stopped. A gentle kick to the man's boot was all it took for him to crack his eyes open, a sigh closer to a grunt coming out of his mouth. Benny watched as she smiled down at the man who smiled up at her, a cheeky grin playing across the man's mouth as he spoke. 

“Where’d you go last night?” he said, rolling his shoulders back. 

“Went and saw your little pinky girlfriend for a bit.” Benny was caught off guard by the crass comment, Azzie had begun to smile as she bit back a teasing laugh. 

“Uh-huh.” The man sounded unimpressed yet released a little chuckle before he spoke again. “Then who's tall, blond and handsome over there behind ya?” 

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she kicked the man's dark black boot once again, “You'll all find out later.” The man grumbled as he closed his eyes again, promptly returning to his snoring as he used what looked to be his jacket as a pillow. 

Azzie continued on her path, navigating her way through the rest of the sleeping men around her, walking up the stairs and unlocking the door to a trailer in front of what Benny could only assume was a meeting pit of some sort. She had walked through the door, leaving Benny to stand outside, leaning against the railing of the small porch. He watched as she disappeared to the side, the sound of a fridge opening and shutting accompanied by the unmistakable pop and fizz of opening a soda bottle floated out of the doorway. 

“Well, come in.” 

Benny didn’t hesitate to listen as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The trailer was decorated with a plethora of browns and greens, a very earthy ambiance overtaking him as he looked around. Azzie was now sitting at a small dining table with a bottle of coke in her hand, a second bottle unopened sitting across from her. She made eye contact with the boy, motioning for him to sit in the open chair across from her. 

“Sit.” she took another drink of her soda, relaxing in her chair. 

Benny took a second, looking around once again, eying the rows of photos lining the walls, photos of everything ranging from bikes to family photos, to individual portraits. Only one stood out though, a photo of the very man he had seen with Johnny all those years ago hugging a woman next to him as two children, a boy and a girl, hugged what he assumed was their parents. 

“Im guessin’ thats your folks?” Benny said hodding towards the photo before sitting down in the chair, cracking the cap off of the bottle of coke, placing his cigarette in the ashtray on the table before taking a drink. 

“Yep.” Azzie replied, leaning her head against the wall as she flicked her gaze over to the photo, a solemn smile crossing her face before she turned back to look at the man sitting next to her. 

Benny took a second before speaking, picking his cigarette up off the tray and taking a drag. “I'm sorry about your pops.” 

“We all knew this day was gonna come sooner or later.” She said, her words saddened but purposeful. She took another swig of her coke before setting it down, raking a hand through her hair. “I just hope Luci got the message.”

“Luci?” 

“My brother.” She says. “He's been gone for a couple months now. Tryna track down a good doc to take care of dad.”

“Ah.” Bennt sighs, leaning his head back against the wall to watch Azzie as she takes another drink. 

Azzie looks over, her gaze intense as she keeps eye contact with the man in front of her. His sandy blond hair, disheveled from their ride, now almost glowing from the rising sun beaming through the window. His sky blue eyes mirror the intensity in her own, his stubble poking through his skin giving Benny an almost gruff look to him, one she hadn't seen much around in the serpents. She could almost come to like it. 

It takes a moment or two for either of them to move, both nearly entranced in each other's intense gaze. Azzie takes the first move, standing to put her now empty bottle next to the sink, turning to face him once again. He was undeniably handsome, she surmised, the way he carried himself must have had women throwing themselves onto his lap. 

“Second door on your right. Shower, get some rest.” She walked to the other side of the trailer down a hallway with only two doors, entering the first one and closing the door. 

Benny sighed. His eyes drooped slightly as he stood, stubbing out his cigarette and making his way towards the second door. He hoped that by the time he woke up, Johnny was here.