#and the fact half of the body is missing is just chef kiss

[mimiloveseatingworms]

Beta design(?) Of my undertale oc, Alicia !! And a sketch of the brothers yaya

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hal congrats on the 5k you absolutely deserve it.

I have a request for the 5k event so here it is

The reader is John's wife who's 9 months pregnant and basically about to burst. Reader goes into Labour while John is out on the field.

Again congratulations on 5k you absolutely deserve every single follower since your Storys are just chefs kiss. I'm very glad i found your blog when i did!

—Here Now

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He nearly misses one of the most important moments of your lives together.] ❞

You had told him you would be fine, and, of course, John knew he could take your word—even if over these nine months he’d been more worried than he had been in his entire life. It would have been difficult for you to say how you were truly feeling about being home alone two days past your due date with no one but the birds outside to give you company. 

He had been up at arms about being with you through this, and the man’s stubbornness about that fact had made your face go soft with love. John was the most loyal man you’d ever met; add in a child on the way and he became no better than a hound baying at the scent of a fox. But this had apparently been so important that he’d asked you about the idea of being away for a day—a single day, the man had emphasized, even if the others had to stay wherever they were going for longer. He’d take the red-eye back the second after the time was up, a whole military Heli and all.

One day was far better than one week—far better than one month. So, you’d agreed albeit a bit reluctantly as the man reassured you he’d be back safe and whole. He’d be back for the birth. 

Yeah, that was a load of bullshit. 

You lay in the hospital room, panting and trying to keep your eyes open as the contractions hit once more; a whimper hidden as you bend your neck forward to let your chin hit your chest. 

“Shit,” you breathe, the nurse moving out of the room quickly to grab more water and the doctor for you. 

This had been going on for a good four hours—levels of shaking pain that lasted upwards of a minute and had been increasing in frequency more so in the last sixty minutes. They’d finally had you lay back on the bed only a little bit ago, and you knew at that point that John would be unable to make it for the birth of your first child.

The thought terrified you. 

You place a hand on your stomach and blink down at it, the raised half of the bed behind you and the chill of the room making you shiver. The buzz of the lights—the closed windows. Your heart is running not only from the thought of this, of all that could go wrong, but also because you now lacked the most steady rock you’d had in your entire life: John. He’d know what to tell you to make you calm down, to make your mind stop with all the panic. 

But he’s not here, and that alone makes you want to—

The door opens so quickly it nearly busts off of its hinges.

Your heart sputters, head jerking back as you wince from another contraction, this one far more painful and promising to stay for longer. Closer now. But your eyes blink on something more important. 

“I’m here, Love.” As if a phantom, John hurries through, a gaggle of wide-eyed nurses behind him before the door to your room is shut by firm hands. “Fuckin’ hell, Sweetheart, I’m ‘ere, it’s alright.”

He’s still in his gear—lacking weapons as those had probably been tossed away on Base—but vest and hat are present; the large boots with tucked pants and that compression shirt. You watch in shock as he speeds up to the side of your bed, taking your hand in his large one and squeezing. His other grabs the motion-less chair and drags it over with a grunt. 

“Now,” John says, shaking his head at you as you simply stare. “You squeeze my hand as hard as you well please then, yeah? Don’t care if you break a few fingers, Love, I’ve been through worse.” 

“How…” You mutter, tears welling in your eyes. “How did you…?”

He blinks those tiny blues at you, twitching his nose as his gaze darts down your body. 

“Had a feeling,” is all he says. 

You laugh through a sob and he presses his forehead into yours, hand on the base of your skull. 

“I’m here right now,” he utters. “Gonna have to have a few words with the little Muppet when they’re out about timing. Nearly made me bloody miss it.” 

“John Price,” you scolded lightly, laughing. 

He only hums and tries to hide his wide grin, eyes shimmering. 

By the time it’s all over, he holds the both of you to his vest-less top as he leans back beside your bare dewy skin, the small bundle kept to your chest with its gripping hands. John’s arm was around your shoulders, drawing you to him. You had fallen asleep not minutes prior, and the soldier kept watch as he always had when his girl was needing him. 

Well, girls now. 

He watches, not speaking, barely breathing, only pulling you closer to him as you sigh and shift. The baby, his and yours baby, gargles and kicks her little feet until he shifts a hand to assist your own in cupping her higher. His smile is uncontainable, just like the sudden glossiness to his eyes at such a tiny weight in his grip.

John watches, and he comes to a conclusion as he presses a deep kiss into your scalp, his thumb taken into the smallest grip that has ever held it. 

There was never a more beautiful sight than the one right in front of him. 

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

[respectthepetty]

The people at Idol Factory earn their paychecks AND deserve raises!

Who else is giving me great shots like above or of Kim not being seen as an actual person in the first half of episode four?

She doesn't even see herself!

She never takes a second to focus on herself.

Because even as she leaves, all her focus is on Wan, which is where her focus has always been!

Even homeboy's drone didn't see Kim, but it was great that he was introduced much MUCH higher than her since it seems like he owns the resort, the bar, the gallery, and who even knows what else.

Even when Kim is confronted with some hard truths about Wan never being able to follow through with her promises, KIM STILL DOESN'T LOOK IN THE MIRROR! She is not having a Hot Girl Summer, yet refuses to *reflect* on the reasons why she is not living her best life.

Thanks to her buddy, she getS some clarity, but per usual, Idol Factory puts the focus back on funky sex, and I love that for us.

But while Kim refuses to have a Come to Jesus moment, Wan is being confronted with some hard truths of her own, like her mama gotta a drinking problem.

But her mother is quick to slap people in her defense, so she gets my approval. Sidenote: They go to IDF = Idol Factory School where the the motto is "Knowledge Make Dream Come True" and once they realize they love each other, their dreams will come true . . . literally. *gasp*

Back to the drinking problems! Kim choosing a blue drink when that is one of Wan's colors as she was missing her girl was *chef's kiss*

But the fact that she went from blue light to pink light as she decided to drink the red strawberry margarita instead of her original drink when one of her colors is pink WAS EVEN BETTER since she is starting to pick herself over Wan! This is how you get nominated for a Colors Award.

Also, I do not care how many times Heng plays the disruptor, I will always enjoy him, and I especially like him as Mawin because he immediately appreciates Kim the way she deserves with her tiny lies about not being drunk.

But back to the ladies and colors! As I thought, in the dream world, Wan is in black.

And Kim shows up in white.

But I liked the fireworks showing "Sorry" yet Kim not taking the apology like she usually does.

Because even though they have been through a lot, and Wan used to show up for her, now Wan is all about herself.

I did enjoy the flashback scenes in general since they are wearing crowns with blue and pink jewels.

I'm making no comment about the Pink Box though.

But I am going to state that this blue candy cane dress is fugly just like Wan's wild ass decision to tell Mawin to NOT hire Kim.

However, Kim is in a floral print and they're standing next to Anastasia Balabina's painting of the Redhead Girl and Butterflies, so Kim is ready to spring from her cocoon and be the beautiful butterfly she was meant to be.

So the only butterflies Wan will be left with are the ones on her ears.

And her body

Because the color-coded girl she loves is about to spread her wings and FLY AWAY!

Alexa, play Mariah Carey's "Butterfly"!

[touyasdoll]

Why Are You Here?

pairing: rockstar!Touya Todoroki x ex girlfriend!reader (fem), model!Keigo x reader (implied)

warnings: quirkless!au. exes to lovers. reader's wearing a dress. no cheating involved. reader & Keigo aren't exclusive, but it's still a little shady. Touya has low self worth. bathroom sex. wall sex. unprotected sex. biting if you squint. dacryphiia if you squint. v mild degradation. praise. reader gets picked up. creampie. emotionally charged sex. tiniest bit of angst, but it's immediately resolved.

word count: 3.5k

notes: based on the MGK song of the same title. his music always makes me think of Touya, so I couldnt resist 💕

also shout out & credit to @emotionalsupportemoboys for making me fall so deeply in love with rockstar!Touya that it actually hurts sometimes. every version of this man that you write is just *chef's kiss*

💕Heartbeats & Handgrenades Masterlist 💕

“Why are you here?” 

You recognize the voice behind you immediately. Recognize the ire permanently laced into his words. Ire that was never truly directed at you, even now. He’s always had plenty of reasons to be angry, but not with you. Not for long, anyway. 

After inhaling a silent breath, you turn to face him and, unfortunately, he looks as good as he ever has without even having to try. It’s unfair, honestly.

Snow white hair perfectly mussed atop his head. Dark, ripped up jeans. A black button down that’s half undone, offering you a generous peek at the smooth skin of his well toned chest, covered in various tattoos that you know you could trace without even having to look at them.

And then there’s that fucking look on his face. The handsome smirk that has your knees turning to gelatin, but you’re determined to try and prop up your walls. They always seem to be made of cardboard when it comes to Touya, but something is better than nothing. 

“Getting a drink? I could ask you the same question. This was my bar first.” You offer nothing more than a nonchalant shrug as you lean against the countertop in the dimly lit dive bar. “Some people just say ‘I’ve missed you’, y’know.” 

“Oh, so you miss me? S’that why you showed up with pretty boy?” He cocks a brow as he sidles up beside you, cheating his body towards you as he rests an elbow on the bar. 

He’d seen you walk in Keigo and he’d also just outed himself, because no sooner than the blonde had left your side did Touya seize the opportunity to say hello to you. He mentally kicks himself from slipping so soon into your interaction.

He leans in a little closer and the aroma of his aquatic cologne mingling with the ever present scent of smoke hits your nostrils. He smells like a bonfire on the beach and it catapults you back into the memory of the last morning that you’d spent together. Tangled up in the sheets, limbs intertwined while your noses brushed against one another’s. The taste of cigarettes on your tongue, despite the fact that you don’t smoke. You’re a little ashamed to admit that you bought a pack just to burn one whenever you miss him a little too much. 

“Why? You jealous?”

“M’sure you’d love it if I was,” he says as he turns toward the approaching bartender to order himself a whiskey. He orders you your usual. 

“If,” you scoff once the bartender busies himself with fixing your drinks. He hates the way you threaten to cut through his entire facade with a single syllable. 

“Didn’t miss your fucking attitude, that’s for sure,” he mutters, but there’s no truth to his words.

He’s missed you. He’s always missing you. Constantly. It’s exhausting, actually. He’s well aware that he has a tendency to obsess over things, to fixate, and you’re no exception.

He’s only at this bar, because he knows that it’s your favorite. He was so used to attending exclusive nightclubs, posting up in the VIP section to party to his heart’s content, which was fun in the beginning of his career. He loved the attention that it brought him, but eventually the charm wore off and he realized that most of the people around him were after something. 

Not here though. He was just looking to get a drink without having to entertain anyone. He wanted to unwind and take his mind off things, so he happened into this place. Strolled up to the bar the two of you are posted up at right now and there he found you. The only thing worth thinking about from that point forward. 

You and your gentle touch. You and your kind words. You and your concern for his well being. You and your Godforsaken love for him. He can still feel it too. It’s practically radiating off of you, even through your veil of sarcasm; he’s practically drowning in it and he’s ready to take a deep, deep breath. 

But he doesn’t. He’d rather suffocate like a fish on dry land when the ocean is right there, waves outstretching over and over again, offering assistance to see him home where he could finally breathe again. He knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

“Bullshit,” you laugh and the sound is genuine. It makes his heart skip a beat and he knows that he’s helpless now. 

“What do you mean, bullshit?” He quirks his brow, narrowing his eyes and offering you the slightest hint of a smile. 

“You miss my attitude,” you state plainly, shrugging as you accept your drink from the bartender with a polite thank you before you turn to look at Touya. “It’s the only one that can keep up with yours.”

The tension finally breaks. It doesn’t shatter, but there’s an obvious crack in it. Enough to relieve some of the pressure that’s so violently palpable between you. You focus back on your drink, taking a generous sip as you start to study the few other bar patrons here tonight. 

“Ya got me there,” he chuckles, looking down at his designer combat boots as his smile grows and turns a touch wistful. 

He quiet for a moment, fingers tapping against the glass of whiskey on the bar. He studies the amber liquid until he can’t fight it any longer and he reluctantly fixes his gaze on you. His eyes slowly travel along your frame, pulse quickening when he finally gets a good look at the way the stark white dress that you’re wearing suits your body. You look perfect. Hair done and makeup perfect. He’d still think the same if you were sitting here in sweats, barefaced. You were always perfect in his eyes. 

“What?” You ask as you peek over at him, innocent as ever. 

“I miss you like hell.”

Your eyes meet and everything seems to slow down for a moment. You study his features, your gaze briefly flitting to his lips that you wish you could just lean in and taste again, but you told yourself that you had to quit him. It isn’t healthy to keep doing this same old song and dance. Even if it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive these days. 

“We can’t keep this up, Touya,” you whisper, meeting his eyes again to see the same sense of longing you feel reflected in his own.

“One more time.”

It’s a plea. He’s desperate, holding his breath and praying to a God that he’s never believed in that you won’t turn him away. 

“We always say that.”

“And one day we might mean it, so c’mon. We can’t hurt each other more than we already have.”

“You’re underestimating us.”

“You’re avoiding this,” he counters. “Because you don’t wanna say no.”

And he’s right. You don’t want to. You can’t. 

“Ya got me there,” you admit, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. Despite everything that you’ve been through together, which has definitely involved hell and high water, there’s always an invigorating sense of newness and novelty with Touya. A fire that you can’t put out. 

He grins, nodding towards the back wall of the bar before he tips his glass back to swallow his drink in one gulp. You fight the smile on your lips, taking one last sip of your own before you abandon it in favor of following a few paces behind him towards the men’s restroom. 

He slips inside and you wait nearby for a beat until he just barely kicks the door open to signal that the coast is clear. With a quick glance around, you’re assured that no one’s paying you any mind, so you slip inside and are immediately welcomed into his arms.

“You didn’t say it back,” he points out, pressing you against the counter as his hands slide from your waist down to the hem of your dress. 

“You didn’t lock the door.”

He huffs a laugh and steps away to twist the lock on the bathroom door, sauntering back towards you to seize your waist again. 

“Satisfied?”

“Never.”

“Smartass,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he leans in to capture your lips, silencing whatever remark you had brewing. 

Both of you had tried to put distance between yourselves, in vain, clearly. None of that mattered now. All that seemed to matter was getting closer. Your arms wind around his neck, hand cradling the back of his head, so that you can kiss him more deeply. His tongue parts your lips, begging to explore your mouth while his hands slip beneath your dress. He wastes no time in finding what he’s really after. His index fingers hooks into the crotch of your panties, tugging them aside to slip his middle finger between your folds as he pulls a moan from your throat.

“This wet for me already? So you have missed me, huh, doll?” He smirks, teasing your slick entrance as he pulls back to look at you before he starts peppering kisses along your jaw. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmur, shifting your hips forward in search of friction, which he grants you in the form of his thumb gently circling your clit. You rest your hands on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady. 

“Don’t hafta. You’re the one doin’ that,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and sensuous. “Keep it up, baby. You know I like hearing the sounds you make for me.”

He doesn’t give you much of a choice when his lips find the skin of your neck. The tip of his tongue slides over your pulse before he nips at it with his teeth, making you gush a little around his finger when he effortlessly slips one inside of you. 

“Touya,” you moan, already too pliable in his capable hands. “We don’t have a lotta time.”

It’s an unfortunate truth that he can’t argue with. He wants nothing more than to make this last, but he’ll always take what he can get as far as you’re concerned. 

“I know,” he grumbles and you swear you can see a pout on his lips for the briefest of seconds as he cups your jaw. 

He kisses you like he means it. It’s not searing, but it’s comfortably warm. His soft lips move against yours again and again, slow and deliberate. He savors every second that he’s able to taste you and he uses each one to try and tell you without words just exactly how much he’s been missing you. 

“Guess we oughta do this efficiently then, yeah?” 

The signature smirk is back when he pulls away and you hardly have time to process before he’s spinning you around to face the dingy mirror in front of you. He guides your hands to the counter as the bulge in his already tight jeans prods at your ass. 

“Just shut up at fuck me already,” you beg impatiently, too wound up to deal with any more banter while your cunt was still empty. 

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with amusement as he looks at you through the mirror and pulls his cock from his pants. Long, pierced, and swollen with need. 

“I love it when you boss me around,” he rasps as he guides the head of his cock between your folds, quickly gathering your slick on his length before he sinks himself inside of you with a sinful groan that he doesn’t bother stifling. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, sighing with relief as he fills you. 

Your eyes fall closed and you hang your head while he slowly starts shifting his hips, dragging his cock back and forth along your walls to inch himself deeper with each pass. 

“You feel so good, doll. Shit.”

His head lolls back and he loses himself for a time, too distracted by the feeling of you finally being wrapped around him again to focus on anything else. 

You eventually pick your head up to look at him through the mirror, your moans echoing off of the glass. He meets your gaze a moment later and neither of you dare look away from one another as he starts thrusting harder and faster. 

“Fucking missed your cock, Touya. Missed it so fucking much,” you whimper, clutching to countertop as tears start to well in your eyes, because it truly just felt that good. 

“Don’t cry, doll. You’re gonna ruin your makeup and we can’t have that,” he says with an edge of condescension in his voice. “I gotta send you back to pretty boy in good condition.”

He looks down to watch where your bodies are joined, never missing a beat as he continues drilling himself into you. 

“M’not w-with him,” you feel the need to clarify while you can still form words.

“But you came here with him. Could have any man you wanted and yet you show up here with a friend of mine. M’not stupid, doll,” he pants, gradually slowly his pace as he finds your eyes in the mirror yet again. “And neither are you.”

“Touya—,”

“Ssh,” he hushes you, pulling out to grab onto your waist and spin you around. “I don’t give a fuck about who you’re here with.”

You gaze at him, allowing him to walk you backwards towards the wall that he pins you to. He lumbers over you, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt it back, so that his eyes can bore down into yours, allowing you to see the unadulterated desperation in his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you just say it back?” He asks quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I know you miss me, doll. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, right?”

You don’t know what to say. Of all the times that the two of you had slipped and ended up like this, neither one of you had ever let your guard down so completely. 

He’s impatient and painfully aware that all of his insecurities were bubbling up to the surface, so he changes course again, throwing the two of you right back to where you were. 

“You said you missed this, yeah?” 

He grabs your thigh to hitch it up onto his hip and palms his erection, slowly sliding it into your core again and breathing a little easier when it still tears a moan from your lungs. The tension lessens once you’re connected again, but it doesn’t dissolve and he thinks the only solution is proximity. 

“Up,” he instructs as he slides his hand behind your other thigh. 

You comply and jump high enough to let him catch you and hoist you up, your back flush to the wall as he starts rocking his hips again, slowly pistoning his cock in and out of you. 

“I missed you,” you admit breathlessly, draping your arms around his neck and holding him close. “I always miss you.”

Hearing those words brings him some relief and it shows on his face, but he realizes then that just that alone  isn’t what he really needs. He needs more and you know that already, because you need it too. 

“Say it. Please. Please just fucking say it. I need you to,” he outright begs, too lost in the moment to care about the fallout that might occur after the fact. 

“I love you, Touya. I love you so much,” you confess, feeling an immense weight slide off of your shoulders. 

“I love you too, doll,” he replies without a second thought, sighing with relief as he picks up the pace again, spurred on by your reassurance. 

“Fuck! Touya, baby,” you whine, clutching to him as he starts hitting an angle that makes your eyes roll back inside your head. “B-baby, m’gonna cum. M’so close. So fucking close—ahh!”

“Cum for me, doll. Cum right on my fuckin’—oh fuck yeah, baby. That’s it. Such a good girl f’me,” he praises you through grit teeth, feeling his own end rocketing towards him as he fucks you through your own. “Such a tight fucking pussy. Gonna make you all mine again. All fucking mine.”

The cacophony of noises that ensue as both of you enter nirvana is likely enough to alert anyone standing too close to the bathroom, but neither of you care, too wrapped up in the glorious feeling of being reunited once again. Hearts thumping. Bodies pulsing. Adrenaline running high. It almost feels like flying.

It isn’t until you start to recover from your orgasm that you realize what goes up, must come down. And reality was likely to hit both of you once you walked back out that door. 

He seems to have the same sad epiphany as his breathing even out. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, refusing to let you go just yet, even if it was just prolonging the inevitable. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you echo your words from earlier in a remorseful whisper, closing your eyes as you knit your fingers into his hair and cradle his head. 

“I know,” is all he says. 

He feels empty all of a sudden and he hates it. He doesn’t want to let you go. What if this really was the last time?

“But I don’t wanna stop,” you add more quietly. 

His lips curl into a barely there smile against your skin and he presses a kiss to your pulse. 

“I don’t either.”

Not two minutes later, you stroll out of the bathroom. Thankfully, no one seems to notice, but you do see Keigo across the room searching for you. 

Touya steps out of the bathroom to see you joining the blonde at his side. He watches you take a seat beside him at a table and sip on the drink he’d ordered you as his arm slips around your waist. 

He’d love nothing more than to tear his friend’s arm off at the moment, but he plays it cool, pretending like he’d just happened into the bar as he approaches the table. 

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” He asks coolly, standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he surveys the two of you. 

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think we’d see you here,” Keigo says as he looks up, his arms subconsciously tightening around your waist. 

You smile up at Touya, having fully prepared yourself to put on this dumb little act, but your expression falters when you see a scantily clad blonde step to his side and practically throw herself onto him. 

“Hey, Dabi,” she says in a sing song voice that makes you want to hurl. 

He doesn’t look thrilled to see her, but he slips an arm around her anyway. 

“I see you’re busy,” you say as you lift your eyes to his face. “It was nice to see you, Touya. We should catch up soon.”

The woman on his arm must recognize you as his ex, because she slips her hand through his and starts not-so-subtly tugging him towards the bar. 

“C’mon, baby, let’s let them get back to their date,” she says, shooting you a judgemental look that you know you could wipe straight off of her face, but you don’t. 

“We were just leaving, actually,” you explain as you slip out of the booth and Keigo follows. “But I’ll see you around, Touya?”

Your tone is sweet and he understands that there’s more meaning behind your question than either of your respective dates would pick up on. He flashes you a knowing grin and nods. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you around. Take care, doll. Keigo,” he nods to him as well before he walks off towards the bar with the now disgruntled blonde still attached to him like a leech. 

When you finally get back home that evening, alone and grateful for it, you plop down on your sofa to kick off your shoes, feeling the effects of the alcohol you’d downed at the next bar you’d ended up at. 

You sink back into the cushions and sigh, staring at the wall as you consider whether or not you’re drunk enough to text him before you realize that you’d do it sober, so who the fuck cares? 

You grab your phone and it buzzes the second that it touches your hand. The preview shows that it’s from Touya. 

I can’t wait any longer. I know we can’t do this shit anymore, but I don’t wanna play any more games. I want this. I want you. Always. Not just sometimes. 

He sends another. 

Can I come over?

You chew on the inside of your cheek, thumbs hovering over the keyboard while you read his message over and over and over again. 

Finally, you take a deep breath and punch in your response. 

Took you long enough. I’ll be waiting 💕

thank you for reading! likes, comments, and reblogs are always very much appreciated 💕

[tleeaves]

what did cassie get wrong w Jem iyo? like to me he’s very proud and stubborn in an Asian way (it’s hard to explain but there’s something very chinese about it, culturally, how he’s optimistic and dramatic in equal parts but needs to be seen as separate from his illness so badly) and very conscious of the value of life yet resigned to his own fate yet holding his head up the way people in inspiration porn do (but it’s from a place of wanting to be normal, wanting to fit in and live and have meaning and love and responsibility in his life like a teenager). I’m curious though how could his character have popped more? and what does not seem realistic?? actual so curious

Okay love, bear with me, I'm just going to go on a bit of a ramble. I haven't put a lot of thought into my answer so it may be a bit incoherent.

So, as context for anyone else, I mentioned in another post where I was examining chronic pain and illness in fiction using TSC characters that I felt that while Jem was done quite well (he means a lot to me as a character and I relate to him like I haven't been able to with other characters before), there were some missed opportunities for his character to really pop and some things I felt Cassie didn't really do realistically.

Honestly, I think the two kind of tie together. While my illness is not terminal, there were many times I either wished for death or wished to live a fuller life unhampered by the pain and sickness. This still happens sometimes, but more of the latter. It's hard to look at healthy, able-bodied people. I marvel at just... how much easier existence must be for them. And I wish we saw more of this perspective with Jem.

While we do see him having a crisis over feeling like he's only half-living, half a man, and so he must take more yin-fen to be his full self for Tessa (this really hit hard as someone who was on steroids and felt unshackled for the first time in years, only for the pain to come back again and trip me up again sometime after I had stopped taking the meds), I also feel that we didn't quite reach a catharsis or angst that truly would have rounded his experience as a character. Optimism, pride, stubbornness, and his own subtler dramatics all do come into this, but I really would have liked to see a moment of weakness.

I think that night when he first kisses Tessa and is ranting about how she acts like a nurse and as if he is her patient, that he knows she cannot even see him as a full man, one who might desire her -- that was good. That was a moment of weakness. Emphasised when he sent her away because he did not want her to see him on his knees dusting up the drugs that give him life. That was so frickin' YES. I cannot even tell you the amount of times I feared as a teenager and even now into adulthood that I will not be seen romantically because I am just someone to take care of, a liability, and I try so hard to compensate for that to not be a burden, because I need to be seen as a "full person" to anyone able-bodied. This was just chef's kiss fantastic as a demonstration of something Cassie did so, so right to me with Jem. It's a common insecurity but not to be overlooked. For Jem it is his weakness and shorter life span, for me it's physical disfigurement (so far it's just one funky collarbone) that may worsen with age and limited physical ability (I say it so many times, but it really haunts me that I turned down a dance offered by a guy I had a major crush on because I was in too much pain to move much let alone dance, and the fact that many people avoided me when I was in my worst bouts of pain because they didn't know what to do).

Anyway, that was an example of something Cassie did right. What I would have also liked to see though is a moment where Jem is not calm and it has nothing to do with Tessa (well, it's at least not centred around Tessa). For a long time, I just wanted the pain to end. I had made peace with death because I wished for it. And there was a calmness to it. The same everyone sees in Jem. Acceptance. He argues not willingness because he fights for every second of life he gets to spend with those he loves, but I really think what would have popped is seeing him realise how much he wants for there to be a cure. He does give everyone permission to look before he calls it off to take the last resort option he never wanted before to be a Silent Brother, but I wanted to see him break down -- even if it's in private because most of our battles are when you're chronically ill -- and realise he wants to live because there is so much more he wants.

I know it's seen as very cool to accept a death that's coming to you in a lot of media, but honestly once I got past wishing for it, I became so absolutely terrified of it. The idea of losing control over my body, of my joints being too stiff and painful to create or do simple tasks, and the idea of any of my chronic illnesses being severe enough to become what might kill me in the end, before my time, scares me so much. There is a frantic need in me to do and see everything before I am unable to. I feel like I am constantly in a rush for everything in life.

It's basically rule of thumb in writing that a character who is calm needs a scene where they are not calm, when they snap, when the unthinkable happens, where the unshakeable are suddenly shook, and I needed that deep, deep terror in Jem to be about him, and not just Tessa or the people he's leaving behind that he does not want to cause grief for.

Not every person who can "put up" with their chronic illness is a saint with infinite patience. I see this a lot. To me it feels unrealistic that Jem feels okay about his illness, about his impending death, about all of it, that the only thing he might feel bad about is making his bride a widow too soon and leaving his best friend who might not cope without him. This is more of a typical trope in media, and by god do I just want to see someone else who isn't me go through what I do and also scream and cry at the injustice of it all. We didn't choose this life, it was given to us, and it feels so unfair. It is rare that I ever break down right in front of a person, I've gotten good at the detachment when talking about my chronic illnesses, but in private it is a whole other monster.

Not only that, but the Jem we see post-Brotherhood is so... different. Granted he had over 100 years to come to terms with no longer dying too early or being ill and weak. But chronic illness really takes its toll on a person. You don't have to make their whole personality their illness, I think we'd all rather not, but there is a fear that every little health problem might be something worse, there is even a begrudgement of those who take their bodies for granted, the fear that your children might inherit your weaknesses and that maybe you have sentenced them to a life of pain like yours was/is, that one day the chronic illness will come back and you've only got so many healthy years left before you get old and start to lose your body all over again.

For every moment of optimism and hope, there are hidden moments of despair and fight and pain. Sometimes we have to claw and bleed for that ounce of hope, for the strength to act "normal" and fit in and not be a downer around everyone else. As restless as you can be, sometimes you just want to sleep it off, even though you know this illness isn't something you can sleep off. I would have liked to see more of that with Jem.

Again, what Cassie did was really good, and I appreciate Jem so much since I have not seen many other chronically ill characters who I relate to in fiction. I just felt some things could have added to his story and character.

[totallyexhausted]

In the End, I'm Still a Loser (Snippet)

Basically holding myself accountable for doing some writing after a year and a half of silence. This is a sickfic with Kagi getting wrecked - it's definitely still in progress and rough so fyi (im sorry); im also working on that Hirano sickfic with his parents (there's this fight scene that im just *chef's kiss*). Anyway... please give me motivation Writing Gods!!

......

If Kagiura were being honest, he knew he should have taken Hirano’s advice this morning and stayed at the dorms… but their first game was in two weeks, and given the teenager had just made Starter, Kagiura didn’t want to ruin his chances the rest of the season by missing practice. He should have seen it coming, really. After all, he’d exhausted himself over the last few weeks with cramming, practice, and stressing over what would happen if he wasn’t roommates with Hirano the following term. The temperature change, going from hot to freezing, hadn’t helped anything either… thus, the ever-knowing fact, blessed by big tonsils, that Kagiura got sick easily.

So, the cough that slowly built until he sounded like he smoked and the sore throat that hurt every time he swallowed, wasn’t surprising. The headache, fever and nausea, was. And then this morning, he just had to go and prove he was okay, to a roommate who seemed to know everything, and drag himself out of bed.

Morning practice wasn’t as bad as Kagiura originally thought it’d be. The brisk air felt nice against his skin as they were forced to run laps in order to “wake up” for the practice game later. And with running, Kagiura could pretty much zone out and daydream. So, morning practice wasn’t bad. Running into Hirano several times in the hallway, dodging the older’s concerned glances, wasn’t bad. Hell, even classes weren’t that bad… despite the fact that Niibashi harassed him to see the nurse, and the 16-year-old fell asleep during two separate lectures. The practice game after school, however, took a severe left turn.

Kagiura had done well for the first 15 minutes… but as it turned out, 15 minutes was all his body was willing to give. He started stumbling, throwing crappy passes, wincing every time someone yelled too loud or feeling nauseous every time someone shoved into him. Even worse, he started missing shots. His teammates kept giving him weird looks, but it wasn’t until he tripped over his own two feet, slamming into the pole when someone accidentally nudged him too hard, that the Coach pulled him out and demanded he run laps the rest of the game. It was humiliating, and if anyone had any doubts about Kagiura being selected as a Starter for the upcoming game; the teenager had sure as hell fanned the flames, so to speak.

By the time the game was called, it’d started raining, and the 16-year-old was pretty sure he was going in for a rough night. His headache had traveled across his nose and cheekbones, making the nausea and lightheadedness worse. His throat hurt to swallow, let alone, talk, and despite being an athlete, he was out of breath – which only brought about further coughing. And to top it all off, Kagiura was pretty sure he had a fucking fever because he felt hot and sweaty despite the cold air surrounding him. All-in-all, he really should have taken Hirano’s advice.

The 16-year-old groaned as he glanced up slowly as the Announcer called the next train. He really wanted to get back to the dorms and sleep off whatever the hell was wrong with him… and if any luck, he’ll feel better tomorrow – and maybe listen to Hirano this time and skip school. It was a simple enough task, getting back to the dorms. But the rain and freezing cold had made it harder, and the dizziness that faded in and out every couple of minutes, sickening. Passing out or puking again would make venturing back to the dorms so much more difficult.

Walking up the stairs to the station fucking sucked, and Kagiura still had another 15 minutes of walking before he reached the dorms. What a pain. The teenager swallowed, running hand through his sweaty hair before standing as a train approached. He stumbled slightly, closing his eyes as the it sped past before sitting back down slowly. The station tipped, and the 16-year-old pressed his forehead against his folded forearms, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Shit. He couldn’t even watch the train go by without getting dizzy. Was that even his train? What station was he even at anyway?

            He took a deep breath, coughing several times into the sleeve of his coat as he heard the train leave. This really sucked. He hadn’t felt this bad earlier; sure, he felt sick, but it wasn’t this bad… then again, he had pushed himself through the day, not to mention the last few weeks because he didn’t want a new roommate. He wanted another year, one more year, with Hirano, as his roommate. One more year to convince Hirano that the teenager loved him, that they could date. One more year for the 16-year-old to get the older to fall in love with him. One more year for Hirano to think about Kagiura’s confession. One more year. That’s all he needed; that’s all he wanted. One more year with Hirano. How selfish…

            Kagiura flinched as his phone vibrated in his pocket, swallowing lightly as he pulled the device, smiling softly as his roommate’s name flashed across the screen. Despite how shitty he felt right now, the older always made it better. He always made the younger happy, even seeing him, even saying his name… made everything better.

            “H-hello?”

            The 16-year-old grimaced as his voice came out gruff and hoarse. He could barely freaking talk and the damn cough drops he’d been going through the last couple of days had done nothing. He cleared his throat carefully, resisting the urge to cough as Hirano’s voice bled through the speaker, “Kagiura! Where the hell are you? It’s almost curfew!”

            “What? I-”

            Kagiura glanced up quickly, pulling the phone away as he coughed several times before scrubbing at his eyes as he waited for his vision to clear. Almost curfew!? He’d closed his eyes for a few minutes, sure… but hours? The teenager groaned loudly as he glanced at the clock on the wall. Fuck. Hirano was right, it was almost curfew. Kagiura had fallen asleep at the freaking station. Which station again?

            “Kagiura?”

             The 16-year-old jerked his head towards the phone again, trying to clear his throat as a shiver ran through him. Thunder clapped outside, and Kagiura glanced down at his shoes, scuff marks tearing across once white shoes. He still felt like shit, and sleeping had done nothing to ease his headache or stomach…

            “Are you okay?

            Kagiura winced as Hirano’s met him, low and soft… gentle. It was comforting really. And the teenager wanted nothing but to crawl into that comfort right now… to be surrounded by it. He paused momentarily, sneezing, before inhaling slowly, “H-Hirano?”

            “Kagiura, what’s wrong? Your voice is rough as hell. You okay?”

            All that concern. All that worry. It was overwhelming. It was familiar, warm and safe… and it made Kagiura’s heart race. He drew in another slow breath, his voice cracking halfway through, “Hirano… could you come get me? I-I mean, walk back to the- the dorms with me?”

            Silence filled the other end, and the teenager scrubbed his eyes again, realizing tears were forming. God, he was fucking exhausted. He felt miserable… and to make matters worse, he was getting emotional. He always got emotional when he was overly tired. Kagiura already had a hard time getting Hirano to see him as his equal, and now, now he was going to see the 16-year-old as a child again – all Kagiura’s hard work undone by some stupid illness.

            “Where are you, Kagi-kun?”

            Kagi-kun. The familiar nickname the younger had come to love. The nickname reserved for Hirano’s lips only… one that made the younger special to the 17-year-old. One that almost claimed him. Kagiura wiped his face again as he kept his gaze down, his head resting against his forearm again as a train came to a loud halt and noisy passengers exited.

            “The station,” the teenager coughed in his elbow again before clearing his throat as Hirano sighed, “Okay… I need more information, idiot. Which station?”

            The Announcer blared overhead as the doors on the train closed, the lights flickering as rain started pelting against the windows. Kagiura glanced up, meeting several pairs of passing strangers, each giving him a worried look. Shit. Did he really look that bad? His face was probably red from leaning down, and he was definitely sweating… he probably still had tears in his eyes so that most likely didn’t help. He was a mess… Hirano was going to see him… like… this…

            “Hirano, actually, I-”

            The Announcer blared over the speaker as the train left slowly, and Kagiura turned his attention back towards the phone as Hirano called his name, “Nevermind, Kagiura, I heard. I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

…………

[yellowkitkieran]

What the Heart Wants (Part 7)

Read part 6 here

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Kieran is your best friend’s older brother. Your best friend’s fit older brother that you definitely haven’t had a crush on for years. Not at all. And he certainly doesn’t like you back, that would be absurd...

A/N: This is the final part. Thank you for the love on this series! I’ll be moving on to my Martin series, To Have and To Heal.

Did you get on your plane okay?

Yeah, thanks for checking in. I'll message you when I land okay? 

Sounds good, have a safe flight xx

Kieran waits another half hour for a reply, but he waits in vain. Your response doesn't come and he won't let himself read into it too much; you'd responded to his first message and that's more than he's gotten in what feels like years.

He misses you already. After insisting on covering the cost of a last minute ticket home (you missed your flight because of him after all), his apartment feels empty without you in it. Despite only occupying the space for a few hours, Kieran grew used to your presence rather quickly. 

All because of a kiss. Kieran closes his eyes, fingers flexing as he recalls how your body felt under his touch. He swears he can feel your weight on his thighs, feel the ghost of your fingers in his hair. And god, your sweetness still sits on his tongue. That one small taste was all it took to have him hooked. He wants- no, he needs more, or he might combust. 

What he needs now is a distraction, which is provided by his growling stomach. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Kieran hobbles over to the fridge to grab a container of some sort of pasta dish you whipped up for him. You're an amazing cook, often using whatever ingredients you could find in a sparse kitchen to create a dish so mouthwatering that everyone begs for seconds. This is no different; though it's nothing more than a homemade red sauce and some spiral pasta, it's one of the best meals Kieran has eaten all month. And that's including the chef-catered meals they serve at training, too. 

Kieran eats in silence aside from the rerun playing on the television. He's not sure what it is, some decade old American show that he struggles to relate to. At least it takes the edge off of his loneliness. 

The noodles in his mouth suddenly turn to ash. Is he really sitting here feeling sorry for himself? He should be training, or at least in physical therapy so his muscles don't bind up. It's too late in the day now; by the time he gets in everyone will have left. Besides, the effort required to get up, shower, get dressed and drag himself to the training grounds is a monumental mountain he isn't sure he has the energy for. 

Kieran sighs, tipping his head back. Why can't he just push through? Why does he feel so weighed down, like his soul has become a bunch of rocks in his shoes?

He has something- someone- to fight for now. And you know what? He refuses to fuck it up again. He wants to prove that he's serious about this. He isn't about to let you slip through his fingers a second time; he's determined to do this the right way. 

Tomorrow he'll go in, first thing. Bright and early, seven am. He'll do the therapy and create a recovery plan to follow. Whatever it takes to get himself back on the pitch so he can hear you cheer for him. Because you'll be at his return match. He will buy you a ticket right behind the bench, so he can hear you screaming for him to move his arse. 

For tonight, Kieran decides to focus on you. You said he had to earn your forgiveness, so that's exactly what he plans on doing. He grabs his phone, searching for a way to apologize that he knows will catch your attention.

**********

Bella is waiting on the balcony of your shared flat when you arrive home. You sigh, spotting her from the backseat of your uber as you pull up. "This should be fun," you mumble, catching the driver's eye in the rear view as she parks. 

"Good luck," she chirps, picking up on the fact that your friend is obviously pissed about something. 

"Thanks, I'll need it apparently." Luck won't help you if Bella is in a mood. You absently wonder who's upset her now, and how much work you'll need to do to calm her down. Hopefully this time she doesn't try and convince you to help her egg the offending boy's car or something equally foolish. 

You take your sweet, sweet time retrieving your things from the boot. You sigh when you pop it closed, holding your free hand up to your eyes to ward off the harsh sunlight as you try to determine what's got Bella's panties in a twist. "What is it now Bella?"

"Get up here. NOW!" 

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself. "Jesus, I've become her boyfriend haven't I? I'm walking into a firefight. Right well, goodbye cruel world, it was nice knowing you." If nothing else, you finally got to kiss Kieran. You catch yourself smiling as you head for the door. You fight to keep your happiness from being too obvious, not wanting to tip Bella off when she already looks set to punch someone. You'd rather it not be you she sets her sights on.

Climbing the steps to your second floor flat seems far more strenuous than normal. Probably because you know what's waiting for you at the top. After fumbling with your keys for a few seconds, you push the door open, letting it swing wide as you haul your things in. "Alright then, what did I do now? Did I accidentally steal your shirt?"

Bella is every inch a cross mum, her arms folded over her chest, foot tapping the hardwood. If you didn't know any better you would think she took lessons from Mrs. Tierney; they've got the same scolding facial expression apparently. 

Bella points to a bouquet of red roses arranged in a crystal vase in the center of the dining table. You tip your head, dropping your bags in the open doorway. 

"Uhh, someone sent you flowers? Why is that suddenly a bad thing?" You carefully brush your fingers over the petals, admiring the perfect blooms. These aren't drugstore roses; they're the expensive, 'I've fucked up and I'm begging you to forgive me' sort that men usually get from an upscale florist when they've done something unthinkable. 

"They aren't for me, they're for you." Bella shakes her head, sighing through her nose. "They're from Kieran."

You freeze, nose inches from the bouquet. A sharp inhale brings with it a lungful of sweet scented air. "They're from- who? Me? Why?"

"You tell me! Why is my brother sending you flowers?" Bella grabs your shoulders, forcing you upright so you're face to face. "Is that really why you went to London? What happened to Aaron? What's going on?"

It's not panic painted on her features but rather confusion, and maybe a touch of betrayal. For as long as you've been friends, you've obeyed the unspoken rule that her older brother is strictly off limits. You grew up knowing Kieran is untouchable, which never mattered because you had always been positive he would never look twice at you. 

Despite the mess of tangled wires in your head, a grin splits your cheeks. "Kieran… sent me flowers? He actually listened. Was there a note?" 

Bella nods. "But first tell me about Aaron. I thought you loved the lad?"

"Erm, I guess not?" You shift on your feet, unable to stop your cheeks from burning. You feel like you're at a confessional. "Right so- I was at the match right, and everything was going well. Then Kieran went down and- and I don't know? Something in me snapped. My chest hurt and all I could think about was how alone he'd be with this horrible injury. I guess I didn't want him to be alone? And… My old crush resurfaced."

"What do you-"

"I've had a crush on your brother since we were teenagers, Bel. Why do you think I barely dated? Didn't you notice I had a type, and that type was Kieran? I broke up with Aaron that night because I couldn't string him along, not when all I could think about was Kieran."

Bella shakes her head. "Right well… okay then. Clearly Kieran feels the same, because obviously you told him how you feel before you left."

You nod, smiling to yourself as you properly sniff the roses. "I told him he needed to earn my forgiveness for how he's been acting."

"At least he's on the right track. Oh- right, here's that note." Bella pulls a business card sized slip of cardstock from her pocket and hands it to you. She shakes her head with a tiny smirk when you smile, recognizing Kieran's sloppy handwriting straight away.

Bug,

Laying around doing nothing all day got me thinking… I should be grateful for the good things in life. Like football, obviously. 

"Brat," you mumble, absently picking up the vase and taking it towards your room. 

"Don't worry I'll close the door and bring your shite in so it doesn't get stolen!"

"Thank you!"

Football is great and all, but this injury changed my mind on a few things. I think I'm starting to realize how much you mean to me, so these flowers are my way of asking you to stick around until I can figure all this out.

Love, KT3

The first thing you do is set the vase on your nightstand, flipping the card around so it's unreadable and snapping a photo for your Instagram. Then you pull up your messages with Kieran, fingers flying over the screen.

You corny sap. Sending me flowers? Really? You can do better 🙄

Kieran's reply comes quicker than you expect. Yep! What else was I meant to do? I can't exactly get on a plane myself right now, I don't think the medical staff would like that 😅

I mean… I expected chocolate at a bare minimum. Maybe one of those fancy fruit bouquet things if you were feeling generous. But my favorite flowers? How dare you!

Ah, damn. Well I guess there goes the progress I made yesterday… oh well guess I'll have to find another way to impress you! 

Oh please don't send me photos of any part of your body unless it's to prove that your knee is miraculously healed. 

😳 nnnnnooooooo why would I ever do that? Kidding, kidding… I'll figure something out

You set your phone down, cheeks burning from your massive smile. It's hard to believe that less than two days ago, hearing Kieran's name would've sent you into a spiral of fiery rage. Now, you're beaming like an idiot, sniffing the flowers he sent you every few seconds because you simply can't get enough. 

Initially, when Kieran kissed you, you had no clue what to feel. Then you quickly realized that you didn't need to feel anything just then, because you'd felt so at home. Peaceful, like you'd been waiting for that kiss your entire life. Which you sort of had, minus the few months that you'd managed to convince yourself that Aaron was somehow better than Kieran. Which was a lie. A complete, utter lie that you can now admit to telling yourself.

The second lie you've sold yourself on? That you haven't forgiven Kieran. The second you laid eyes on him at his flat, you forgot why you'd been ignoring him. Your instincts screamed to comfort him and to prove to him that he wasn't fighting alone. He has you now, someone to lean on when his recovery seems endless and wasteful.

Bella may never forgive you, but you want Kieran. You've wanted him as your own since you were a teenager, it just seemed impossible that he'd want you too. His younger sister's best friend isn't a logical choice in your mind, especially now that he's a famous footballer.

But… somehow you've caught his eye. Apparently you've had his attention for nearly as long as he's held yours. The classic miscommunication trope has kept the two of you from realizing what you felt for one another was mutual and not some silly one sided crush. Now that you're both adults and can date whoever you want without consequences, what's stopping you? 

You snatch your phone off your bedside table, heart beating out of your chest. Are you really about to do this? Can you deal with the repercussions if he says no? 

Ah fuck it, he won't say no. Before you left, you recognized the sadness in his eyes as a reflection of your own. He won't say no because he wants this as much as you do.

Alright I forgive you. Wanna like, go on a date or something?

You wait. 

And wait.

And wait.

After twenty minutes, you're convinced you've scared him off. Despite your self-inflicted peptalk, nerves crawl over your skin like vines. You must have read him wrong, maybe he doesn't think the same way you do. Maybe he doesn't want anything serious. Hell, he can have any woman he wants on the face of the planet, why would he settle for you?

You nearly jump out of your skin when your phone chimes. It's a screenshot of a flight for next weekend from Edinburgh to London. You spend at least two minutes jumping for joy before you read his caption.

Pack your pajamas because we're about to have the cuddliest, cutest, softest first date ever. I'll see you next weekend, I'll be counting down the minutes. 

Okay, boyfriend. Is it too early to call you that? Actually I don't care, I've waited long enough!

Bug, I've never been called anything sweeter. Guess I have to put a little lock in my Instagram bio now. 

Maybe with the date too. Just so you look extra taken. 

Your wish is my command, girlfriend. Just curious though… what made you choose me over Aaron?

You don't have to see Kieran to know he's sporting the same dumb, lovestruck smile you are. You've come so far in such a short time; from hating each other's guts to being in a relationship in the span of only a few hours. 

The heart wants what the heart wants. 

[do-you-sea-whatididthere]

Speaking as someone who's been into fnaf religiously ever since it came out, I watched the movie and I liked it a lot. I'm going to write my thoughts on it, spoilers spoilers SPOILERS

The only posts I saw about it before watching it were people hating on it so I was surprised that I liked it, I was thinking like "Am I missing something that's supposed to make me hate this?"

The story was not 100% accurate to the lore but it's clear that was intentional. I like the FNAF game lore the most but translating that 1 for 1 into a movie would be too much, too many threads. They took what they needed while clearly understanding the source material and molded it into something that worked in a linear cinematic format. I never got the impression that the games were just being coldly ignored or something, they were going for something with a touch of realism vs the actual gameplay. It makes sense to have mechanical doors and to be working in a functioning pizzeria that children were murdered in once when it's a GAME, it also makes sense to have phone guy get actively murdered the week before you and it getting covered up easily and you still receiving the message when it's a GAME, not when it's a movie trying for realism. While I would have loved seeing the first game recreated in movie format I'm honestly not sure how they would have pulled it off without it being kind of surrealist. I do miss phone guy though but we got an equivalent.

The way they handled the ghosts was fantastic, that and the fact that the bodies were straight up stated to be inside of the suits was chef's kiss, fantastic, I loved that. I also like how the animatronics were portrayed. Not too innocent, not too violent. It made them compelling.

The murder Freddy mask thing was a little weird but I can assume that Afton made that to help get bodies into the suits and it makes enough sense I guess, though I prefer the horrifying imagery that comes with people being stuffed into the suits with inhuman force. I miss my mask eyeballs. Plus the victims were only ever supposed to be children, but I guess it makes sense that once security guards started getting hired he would need a way to dispose of them too.

I could rant about the practical effects for hours you have no idea how crazy I am about these practical effects. I loved it, I loved the effects, nobody can ruin that part of the movie for me.

Thank god it wasn't Michael Afton. That would have been annoying for the movie. I prefer that theory when it applies to the games only.

William dying without intending to take apart the animatronics was fine. I like that part of the game lore but it isn't entirely necessary for the movie. I got what I wanted with springtrap and then some. God. Loved that ending bit so much. On that note, the casting for William Afton was perfect. I'm so thankful that he wasn't some weird twink. In the beginning he seemed normal if a bit over-enthusiastic, and maybe just a tad unnerving, but it was perfect for the kind of character he is. He didn't seem like a serial murder, he just seemed like someone's weird dad until later when he went full murderer mode.

Have the other children's ghosts moved on yet? We don't know for sure. But we do know Cassidy hasn't. I love that, thank you for that.

The suits weren't QUITE grimy enough. I can forgive it, but I would have preferred more grime. I want them to be GROSS.

The twist with Vanessa was... unexpected. I can't say that it doesn't make ANY sense. I have mixed feelings about it. In the context of the movie though, it makes PERFECT sense. Her being a police officer also works in that context, she's covering up for the kids and for William. It's just where it would fit into the game lore that throws me off. The bit where she has Garett's plane though in that photo, that was fantastic.

There was a respectable amount of gore. Not too gorey, just enough. It leaves things to the imagination like the games did, for the most part.

No security breach!!! :^DDDD focusing down on JUST the first game, PHEW

It actually had funny bits. Like not weird predictable jokes or one-liners, or too many obnoxious game references, they were just funny.

Idk, maybe my standards are just low for good movies. In any case, I enjoyed this movie and I thought it was good. I'm excited for the second movie. This is all I can think of in terms of my immediate thoughts, for now.

[fllagellant]

Okay before bed dead space 2023 chapters 2 + 3

- I love you medical ward

- The Nicole side quest !!!! Follow where she’ s been !!!!!! She’ s important to me … she must be here … isaac it is over for both of us of course I will seek her out no question

- ISAAC CALLING FOR NICOLE UPON ENTERING HER OFFICE . Whatever . My tummy hurts so much . I frantically looked around for her when he did that like SHES HERE ?

- we both miss our girlfriend Nicole Brennan very much

- forgot to mention that in chapter one there is a whole text log giving you Isaac backstory … and it does come into play more here !! I’ m sure his backstory hasn’ t changed much but it was never That Present before .. now you’ re literally told his mom was a uniontologist and how both his parents bodies are held in ownership of uniontology … AND how he and Nicole met because his mom needed medical help later in life !!

- Nicole ex uniontologist … she’ s everything to me

- The text log of her helping a Jane Doe escape with her girlfriend from it ????? I need to go back and read that a million times UGH

- The hologram conversion between captain mathius and dr kyne ??? Ohhh that was such a good chance . The use of holograms and security recordings to show things as they actually occurred …

- also ! Security stations holding the last message sent through them !! Love that touch … instead of a random audio log on the ground it is literally like “ hey there’ s one message in here ! “

- THE NICOLE SIDE QUEST .

- The evil babies are just as stomach churning as I remember … lurker is a wonderful name for a new born baby necromorph

- the introduction scene to them … Isaac reacting verbally to the Event .. yeah

- THEY CHANGED THE SCENE FOR GETTING THE CAPTAINS RIG AND IT IS SO MUCH BETTER . I didn’ t have any issue with it before but the infector grabbing onto the body WHILE Isaac is trying to take the rig !! The body falling and transforming ON TOP of him !!! YES !!!!

- They gave Isaac Clarke a voice and his favourite word IS FUCK !!!!!

- There’ s more zero-g in this one !! Yay !! I love floating

- The fact that now , when you’ re fixing power , you have to sacrifice your lights or life support to actually have the power needed to do your task is . That’ s so good I am so scared of the dark always

- CAN NEVER FORGET MY FRIEND THE FLESH TENTACLE THAT HATES ME ‼️‼️‼️

- The fact that the weapons can be picked up during the game and aren’ t diagrams you have to hunt down and bring to the store is . Hm . I don’ t know if I like that change . Also you cannot sell your weapons anymore sad face

- Idk I like collecting that Is on Me

- HAMMOND AND DANIELS MARKER DISCUSSION I MISSED YOU ‼️‼️ now with Isaac’ s own introjections … chefs kiss

- the fights are relatively similar However the areas have changed enough that I am Not Familiar . I keep having to pause to be like O Yeah !

- THE TRAM STATIONS . Such a good touch you have to bring them out of lockdown to use them . UGH love that . And the fact you don’ t need to use them every time to start and end a chapter ???? YAAAAY

- THE NECROMORPHS ARE QUIETER . BTW . The music queue is my only hope now and even then . I am on half health always against my will

- Did I mention that Nicole has a side quest and more content now . Save me blonde girl save me

[nkatr84]

The Lost City

Do you miss rom coms? Then boy do I have a movie for you! Here the highlights

Sandra Bullock playing a frustrated writer/historian that had to write romance novels to pay the bills spoke to me personally. Add in the fact her character is grieving her archeologist husband and the movie is her journey of moving into the acceptance stage of grief is chefs kiss

Channing Tatum plays a romance novel cover model with an adorable crush on Sandra’s character. At first glance he’s just a lovable himbo, but as the movie progresses we see that he has his own kind of intelligence and a kind understanding heart that respectfully never pushes Sandra’s character into a relationship. And even though it’s way out of his comfort zone, his character Alan goes to extremes to make Sandra’s character Loretta is happy, rescued and safe.

That said we just get a five minute scene of staring at Channing Tatum’s naked butt while Sandra gets to stare at his…um…Magic Mike shall we say? (Ps he was probably wearing a sock on set but still) also they not only stay on that butt but it fills like half the screen. And I saw this in a theater!

They subvert as well as embrace some rom com/ action movie tropes. Brad Pitt makes a cameo that makes you think he’s going to be the real love interest ala Romancing the Stone style since he’s literally the action hero of Loretta’s books that Alan wants to be. He’s closer in age to Loretta, he’s charming, handsome etc…but! There’s a reason it’s a cameo. All I’ll say is make sure you watch through the credits.

Daniel Radcliffe is once again playing a rich weirdo who kidnaps Loretta to find a lost treasure. And he’s having so much fun. His villain goes from comedic to threatening gradually so it’s not jarring. And don’t be surprised but there’s kind of a high body count in this movie.

My inner fashion nerd loves the pink sequin jumpsuit Sandra Bullock wore through most of the film. Still wondering if she ever had to take that off to go #2 though…the woman ate cheese at one point…

[feelin-woozy]

Title: Stoke The Fire

Word Count: 1984

Pairing: Bo Sinclair x female!reader

Warnings: Daddy kink, breeding, degradation, dumbification

Thanks @slasherrabbitmadness for the inspiration and the absolute brain rot that she has given me with the idea of dilf!Bo :) go check out her dilf Bo stuff because it's,,, chefs kiss.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to spend time over at Bo’s house; it became almost like a second home over the years. Your father and Bo have a relationship that bloomed from the moment they entered business together a few years back. It wasn’t easy to imagine what life was like before Bo became so close to your family.

A warm summer breeze blows past you, ruffling the soft saffron colored cotton of your dress against your thighs. Of course, you don’t miss the way Bo’s blue eyes dart to the newly exposed flesh of your thigh, but beyond that, he doesn’t make a move, just sips the beer in his hand and takes another easy drag off the cigarette.

Your dad is prattling on about this and that, talking about some jackoff who tried to rip him off the other day at work claiming that his rate was ludacris and that there were a dozen other mechanics that could do it for cheaper. And sure, that may have been true, but the quality wasn’t there. It wasn’t biased, perhaps a little, but it was still a well known fact that your dad and Bo ran the best mechanic shop in town; it’s why they got away with the rates they charged. And there was always a sense of taking care of the community, their community, that had the townsfolk whipped and willing to shell out the money.

The lively strumming of guitars swirled around you, and you bounced your leg to the steady beat of the Seether song that played over the speakers. It was heavier than the usual stuff that your dad played around the house, but then there were many things about Bo that were heavier. Perhaps that’s why they worked so well together.

Your attention is drawn away from the melodic beat and easy going conversation between Bo and your dad when a small hand tugs at the hem of your dress. You turn your head to look down at the young girl, blue eyes staring up at you with a smile that lacked a few teeth. You return the smile to her, waiting for her to speak and voice whatever thoughts swirled around in that head of hers.

You had nearly forgotten that Oliva was here with the three of you. Bo’s time with her split with his ex-girlfriend, who he had some choice words about every time she was brought up. The young girl was undeniably Bo’s child through unruly brown hair bouncing with every shift she made and blue eyes that were carbon copies of her father’s. You couldn’t help but wonder what she got from her mother; Bo didn’t have any photos of her around the house.

“Will you come play with me?” She reaches for your hands, her skin slightly sticky from God knows what, but you don’t pull away; you just give her hand a small squeeze in return.

“Olive, sweetie, don’t bug her. Go play by yourself okay?” Bo says softly, a sort of sternness shining through his words. You lift your gaze to look at Bo, and you catch a glimpse of fondness that softens the lines of his face. Olivia whines, eyebrows furrowing as if she’s about to pitch a fit at Bo’s words.

“It’s okay Bo,” You smile at him, wide and radiant as you get to your feet without letting go of Olivia’s hand. “I don’t mind.”

Bo just nods his head with a bit of a shrug before turning his attention to your dad again. However, you don’t miss the way his eyes surveil you as Olivia drags you to the small backyard park that Bo and your dad had built together the previous summer.

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

It’s almost two weeks later when you find yourself bent over the laminate countertop, hands scrambling for purchase as you’re pushed forward again and again. You hadn’t even been here for five minutes, coming by only to grab some tools for your dad to borrow, wearing that same saffron dyed dress you had worn last time that you were over here. Bo’s worn trucker hat lost to the linoleum, jeans pushed only half way down his thighs, leaving his belt to jangle incessantly with every movement. The edge of the countertop digs into your hip bones saved only for the dress that’s bunched up over the curve of your ass. It does little to pad and protect you against the vicious rocking of Bo’s hips, but it’s better than nothing.

“Been thinkin’ about this sweet pussy every fuckin’ day,” Bo groans, grimey fingers curling into your hips and dragging you back against himself. He stays put for a moment, keeping your bodies pressed flushed together. “Been thinkin’ about knocking you up.”

The way your pussy flutters around his length is indecorous, the whimper you let out even more so. But it can’t be helped; hearing the filth that dripped from Bo’s lips always had that effect on you, but there was something about the way he said it that made your insides churn. The serious edge to his words that wasn’t there the times you had fucked prior, the way his words turned from a pipe dream to something that could be a reality.

“Does my baby like that idea?” Bo titters, the noise breathless and broken. A testament to the effect that this was having on him as well. “Like the thought of me fuckin’ a baby into you?”

“Fuck, Bo.” Your head drops, cheeks pressing into the chilled countertop. You don’t even pretend like this wasn’t doing it for you, hips rocking back against his to tempt him into staying true to your word. “Yeah, yeah fuck.”

He leans over you, the thin cotton t-shirt dragging along your sweat-slicked back as he pressed his lips to your neck, teeth catching the rosy skin. For a moment, you think that he was about to leave a mark to bloom against your skin, a small sign over ownership that would have you avoiding your parents’ home till the skin healed, and you could look them in the eyes once more.

“Gunna have to get you off that birth control of yours,” Bo murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek before he pulls away again, looming over you and admiring the way he has you splayed out like a wrecked mess in his kitchen. The windows open, and the back sliding door cracked so neighbors would be able to hear every little indecent noise that passed your lips like a mantra. You were glad for the arborvitae that lined the fence. It gave you some privacy, even if it wasn’t much, and it did ease your nerves considerably. “After that, maybe I’ll just keep you on my cock day ‘n night till I know it took.”

Your hands curl into fists at the thought, knuckles blanching under the force. The idea has your mind melting; nothing has ever sounded so perfect to you. It was almost insane how easily Bo got you cockdrunk, how easily he bent you to every whim that crossed his mind. But there was something about his smile, his scent, the way he could play you as if the two of you were made for each other that left you a strung out fanatic.

“Tell me how badly you want it,” Bo growls, nails cutting crescent shaped moons into your hips. If he wasn’t dragging you so perfectly through the trenches of pleasures, the pain might have brought you from the lust addled fog, but instead, it only shoves you down further. It made you feel like you were drowning, drowning in his words, the scent of sex that hung headily around you, the obscene noises that sounded like your own but were so far away, the way skin slapped against each other and the wet noises of your pussy dripping around his thick cock. It was all too much, and you knew it would only be a matter of time before your orgasm swept you pitilessly under the current. “Come on baby, if you wanna cum you gotta tell Daddy how badly you want it.”

A sob tears through your chest, thighs shaking as you’re forced onto the points of your toes with each thrust. Bo laughs above you cruelly, not once slowing down and allowing you a moment of reprieve to find your words. There was a satisfaction in seeing the way he strung you along, bringing you so close to the edge, and you knew that if you didn’t give in, give him what he wanted, he would pull away.

It wouldn’t have been the first time. There had been many times he’d pull out only to jerk himself off to completion and paint your pussy, or your panties, only to force you to wear his cum as a reminder. So you try with a renewed desperation, to try and formulate anything of sense before Bo had the chance to pull out of you.

“I-I fuck,” You stutter, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Every time the words were cocked and loaded on your tongue, the way he brushed against that spot within you had them rolling off your tongue in the form of drool. If it didn’t feel so fucking good, it would’ve been beyond humiliating.

“You look fuckin’ pathetic like this,” Bo sneers, hips stuttering. You knew he was close, his words coming out a sharp rasp as each thrust was punctuated with a guttural growl. “Just an empty headed slut made to be knocked up. S’okay baby, Daddy will take care of you.”

That’s what sends you over the edge, cunt clenching down like a vice around the cock plowing into you. It must have been good because you’re distantly aware of the sound of Bo choking on a noise within his throat. And God, do you wish that you were more aware and not floating listlessly through the waves of pleasure so you could see just how wrecked Bo was. You wanted to acknowledge the way graying brown hair clung to his forehead, cheeks flushed as he gritted his teeth. It was always one of your favorite sights. A low moan tumbles from the two of you at the feeling of warmth filling you, the gentle pulsing of his cock as he empties himself within you.

The two of you remained like that for a moment, and you silently wished it would never end as you tried to quell your racing heart and the rapid movement of your chest. Then, when Bo begins to pull out, you whine, but he only snickers, fingers moving from your hips to dance along your folds, running through the slick and cum that dripped out.

“Ya mean it?” You whine softly, pressing back as he pushes cum back inside of you.

“Mean what, baby?” Bo muses, fingers moving at a taunting pace. You crane your neck a bit to stare up at Bo, catching the post sex bliss that overlays his face, the smug look that only makes your stomach twist, thighs clenching.

“Are you going to knock me up?” Your tongue flicks out over your lower lip, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thick fingers stretching you open once more. Bo groans low in his throat at the thought, and you peek your eye open to catch sight of the twisted grin on his face and the dark intent that swirled within blue eyes.

“Course I am,” Bo says matter of factly as he pulls his fingers out of you, reaching down to grab the lace panties you wore and pull them back up over you. With a pat on your ass, he begins to tuck himself back into his pants, walking over to the fridge. “Would be a shame to let that pretty pussy a’ yours to go to waste.”

[memeadonna]

Anything for You, Baby

Hello everyone! This is a short little thirst story I wrote for @sendhelpimstupid featuring Sugar Baby Kirishima. The stunning art can be found here. Please visit her page and show her some love! 

This story is 18+. Minors DNI 

Warnings: Sugar Baby/Sugar Mommy Relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Cross-Dressing, Sub Kirishima, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Mild Choking, Scratching and Biting Mentioned, Vaginal Intercourse, I wrote this in like 3 hours sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes

Word Count: 2,562

Of all the things you were thankful for in life, people were always surprised when you mentioned Kirishima's expensive taste. Your entire relationship had started because he hadn't noticed how much money he'd been spending until one day he was overdrawn. He hadn't added up the totals of his expenses in his head, hadn't realized every time he swiped his card that money left his account. He liked the finer things in life, and how was he supposed to know that his bank account was meant to last him all of his first semester? His parents had told him "figure it out", so he couldn't even ask them for help. 

Being at a hero school was tough already – he could barely even enjoy the city nightlife since he was stuck at the dorms between classes doing homework. He didn't even have enough time to get a job outside of school hours. Maybe he wasn't cut out for university, let alone at a prestigious hero school. 

You had noticed Kirishima's state of panic, and when he confessed to everyone in the dorm that he was out of money, people (Bakugou and his other friends) had made fun of him. Uraraka and Iida had stepped in immediately, chastising them for mocking him. He tried to play it off as no big deal, that he'd figure it out, and the conversation shifted elsewhere. 

You'd been born into a wealthy family like Iida and Momo, and on top of that you'd had your own job throughout high school, so you'd saved up lots of money already.  "I could hire you," you told him after everyone had left for the night. "Pay you to do things for me." 

"I don't need your charity," he'd snapped back. "Did Bakugou put you up to this?" 

"I just thought I'd offer to help you since we're friends," you answered calmly, before getting up and heading to your dorm. That night you'd sat up late regretting ever asking him if he needed help. 

Early the next morning he was at your door. "What kind of things?" was the first thing he asked, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked up at him blearily. You made him repeat himself twice because the words didn't stick in your brain this early. 

"Clean my room, do my laundry," you'd finally told him, offering what you hoped was a kind smile. "Other things when I want them." The blush he gave you at those words more than made up for his harshness last night. 

You'd started slowly, of course. You gave him rewards for handing in assignments on time, taken him out to dinner when he got good grades, and little treats for random things. "Do I always need a reason, baby?" you'd asked him one night as he examined the concert tickets, you'd just given him. You'd been delighted to accept the ticket he gave back to you and had secretly smiled to yourself as Denki had whined and complained that Kirishima had promised to take him! But that was back when Kirishima was spending his money on everything. Now he was just spending it on himself. 

One day, half-joking, you'd gifted him a French Maid outfit to clean your room in. It was just a little too tight for him (he couldn't even do the zipper up!), but it was the creamy white stockings and cute little heels you were interested in. He tried his hardest to clean your room, but after the third time he rolled his ankle, he ended up with you in his lap, and let's just say that your relationship changed from there. 

You'd pushed him back into your bed and felt him up beneath the skirts and ruffles. You left a smattering of dark hickies over his neck and collarbones, moving down his body with clear intent. He was beet red, sitting up and panting as he watched you with wide eyes. Your hands slipped below his skirts and trailed up his legs, and you watched him squirm. "Aw," you teased, revelling in your victory. "What's wrong, does the baby like getting dressed up all cute and ravaged?" 

He stammered with a reply for a moment, but you dipped under his skirt and the breathy gasp he let out as you began to kiss up his thighs was more than worth it. A part of you wanted to pull back out and apply lipstick so you could leave more evidence of your kisses, but there was no way in hell you were going to back down now. You settled for more hickies and a few bites, and by the time you reached your prize, he was hard and throbbing. 

You were the only person with a dorm on your floor (luck of the draw), so you didn't dare tell him he should quiet down his moaning, especially not as you slid the lacy panties reverently down his thighs. 

It was clearly his first time, and he was squirming in your grip as you gave him a teasing lick. A part of you wanted to pull back and tease him some more, but this was too good to pass up. He threw an arm over his eyes and slipped his other hand into your hair. He arched his back as you raked your nails down his thighs, and let out the sweetest noise you'd ever heard, blowing his load directly in your face before you could even get him into your mouth. After you'd finished laughing and wiped his spunk off of your face, you'd given him the sweetest kiss on the cheek. He'd gone beet red as you laughed, and hadn't said no when you promised him a shopping spree because he was just so good for you. 

The sales lady at the lingered store had been surprisingly accommodating when you'd asked her if they carried up to a 3X. 

He'd been your sugar baby for all of first year, even after he got his own allowance from his parents. He'd been your boyfriend the rest of your university career (of course, you still liked to treat your spoiled baby), and a few years out of school he'd asked you to marry him, with that same sweet expression he always had when he told you he loved you. 

The world saw Red Riot as a strong, manly hero that took shit from nobody. They also saw him as hopelessly in love with you (or with Dynamight, depending on which magazine you read). He was a real Man's Man, always on the covers of fitness magazines or advertising sports drinks and protein powders. He advocated for always being chivalrous and brave, but that Manly Men also took the time to be vulnerable and compassionate. 

One thing that hadn't changed since your days in university was the fact that your Eijirou loved to be spoiled. Shopping sprees, private chefs, weekends away… his eyes always lit up no matter what you surprised him with. You were both similarly ranked in the charts, and both made a lot of money, but he secretly adored the fact that you had a bank account you filled up every month just for him. He'd buy whatever he wanted with it, whether it was designer clothes or handbags (for either of you), or any number of things (he particularly liked buying new gym equipment that the two of you most certainly didn't need). 

Today had been a hard day. You'd been overusing your quirk and your muscles were sore, not to mention you'd been working with one Lord Explosion Murder God which meant that you'd been ordered around all day.

When you got home, a note from your husband was laying on the counter. Eijirou would be home a little late, and you could order whatever for dinner. Grumbling to yourself, you refused to take yet another order from yet another person and reheated leftovers in the fridge. Take that, loving husband! 

You ate standing at the counter in your uniform, and after you'd put the dishes away you marched up to your bedroom, already peeling your costume off. You left it on the bathroom floor as you hopped into the shower, and just let the hot water scald your aching muscles. You used Eijirou's body wash because you missed his smell, and changed into your pyjamas while you combed your hair. 

You crawled under the covers and scrolled on your phone for a while, wishing your husband would just hurry up and come home already. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms, hear him tell you all about how he would protect you from the bad things in the world. 

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs woke you from a restless sleep, and you sat up in bed. How long were you asleep? Was that your Eiji? 

The door opened, and what greeted you took your breath away. Your husband stood in the doorway with a sheer robe, trimmed with red faux fur. It was tied with a ribbon around his waist and accentuated his hips beautifully. He was wearing red lacy thigh highs and nothing else beneath the robe. He completed the look with a set of Louis Vuitton stilettos, which you noticed in passing due to the stunning everything else the Adonis before you was showing off. 

"Hey," he purred. "Heard you had a rough day." He smirked at you as your eyes trailed up and down his body. "Can I make it better?" he took a few steps into the room, undoing the ribbon around his waist teasingly slowly. He opened the robe, letting it fall off his shoulders and rest at his elbows. He had filled out a lot since university, and he was a healthy 7'6 and twice as wide as you. He could lift you with one arm and toss you like a football if he wanted, but as he dropped his robe to the floor and elegantly clicked his way across the room towards you, he had no intention of tossing you around tonight. That thought made sparks dance around your core, and you felt your panties starting to soak. 

You sat up on your knees for a better look at him. He ran his hands over his body, shamelessly showing off for you. His dick stood proud and tall and was already leaking for you. You smiled at him as you slipped into your role. "Did you buy that to look pretty for me?" you asked ever so sweetly. "Sounds like you want a reward." 

He walked right up to the side of the bed with a breathy "Yes,". You leaned up for a kiss and enjoyed the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he took his time with you. 

His hands gently explored your curves, squeezing the plush of your thighs and the soft skin beneath your breasts, and as you pulled back to lick your lips at him, "Anything for you, Baby," felt like the most natural thing to say. 

He crawled into bed, careful not to kick you with his knife-shoes, and placed his wrists at the headboard. You attached the restraints with all the care in the world, and ran your hands over your baby's chest, admiring all of the scars that years of hero work had marked him with. "You're beautiful," you told him, leaning down for another kiss. 

You painted his chest with kisses and hickies, not caring if they'd be visible the next day. Let people stare. Let people know who your man belonged to. 

"I love these too," you ran your hand over his new stockings. "You know lace is my favourite." 

"Always the best for mommy," he purred back, pleased with himself as you explored his body. It had become familiar to you; you knew everywhere he was sensitive. You knew how to get him going, how to slow him down, and how to drive him wild. You shrugged off your own pyjamas and he let out a noise of approval, eyes taking in your curves. "You're stunning." He offered, looking absolutely awestruck. If his hands were free, they'd be all over you, but now was not his turn for control. 

You slid off your panties and tossed them off the bed, eyeing his body up with increasing lust, before suddenly straddling him and sinking down onto him with a small noise of discomfort. He let out a sharp noise of concern and pleasure, gasping. "You've gotta prep yourself!" He hissed, half-drunk on the tight squeeze. 

"Shut up," you answered, and picked up a brutal pace. He let out a strangled noise and arched up into your touch, gasping and whining and looking up at you with eyes clouded by lust as he gave harsh thrusts up into your welcoming body. His hands hardened and unhardened within their restraints, along with a line along his forehead. You wrapped your hands around his throat, and he tilted his head back to bare it to you. His moans crescendoed as you began to put pressure on him, canting your hips faster and faster. 

He was drunk off the lust singing in his veins and bent one of his knees to give you better leverage. You freed one of his hands from its restraint and it immediately flew to your hip to help you ride. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and his breath came in desperate gasps. "Gonna cum!" he whined, blinking desperately up at you. "Please mommy! Please let me fucking cum I want to cum so bad!" he babbled, blinking his pretty crimson eyes up at you. 

You gently caressed his face and smiled down at him. You leaned in closer, giving him a deep kiss. "So do it," you growled. "Knock me up." 

His hips faltered and the absolute roar he let out at your challenge sent a pleased shiver through you. He ripped the other restraint right off of the bedframe (along with a chunk of the frame itself) and flipped you onto your back, all without pulling out of you. He kissed you ravenously, his hands squeezing every inch of you. He grabbed one of your tits in one hand as he reached his other down to play with your clit. He threw you over the edge, and as you came around him, his thrusts changed. They were sharp and purposeful as he poured everything he had into your body. 

"Mine," he growled out, sinking his fangs into the tender meat of your shoulder. He didn't dare move as the two of you came down from your highs but rolled the two of you back over so he didn't crush you. You laughed a little and cuddled into his chest, enjoying the warmth of a womb full of his cum and the delicious stretch of him inside of you, not to mention the feeling of utter safety that having his arms around you brought. "I love you." He purred, giving your forehead a kiss.  

"I love you too," you answered back, smiling up at him with tenderness. 

"Did you really mean it?" he traced his hands over your back, massaging your tender shoulders. "You want to start a family?" 

"Mhm," you nodded tiredly, before looking back up at him once again, echoing your earlier promise: "Anything for you, Baby." 

Taglist: @malicealieness (If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask requesting it)

[iwaslut]

— 𝖌𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖘

this is my piece for @karasunosimp’s “it’s raining milk” collab!! this is my first time ever participating in a collab, so thank you for letting me join <3

milf!sasha braus

fem!reader, nsfw content, large age gap, wlw, oral sex.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡ 18+ CONTENT

Your job as a babysitter had quite a few perks.

One: The pay is good. You were rather reluctant to resort to babysitting as a part-time job but, desperate times call for desperate measures, especially when you’re trying to earn some form of income while putting yourself through your last year of University. So you were pleasantly surprised when you had been offered more than you normally would be compensated when babysitting.

Two: The kid you babysit, Kaya, is an absolute angel. Due to her rather withdrawn nature, Kaya typically keeps herself busy by quietly reading in her room or watching the television in the living room. As time has passed and Kaya’s slowly become accustomed to your presence, she no longer seems as apprehensive to interact with you as she once was. It’s obvious to you that she’s a good kid. Although she’d rather keep to herself, she’s always polite when you converse and sometimes she’ll even ask if you want to join her and watch a show together. She has pretty good taste in shows, you think as you watch “The Winx Club” together.

Three: Miss Braus is one of the hottest fucking women you’ve seen in your life. She looks fucking incredible for a woman her age and you were honestly shocked to learn that she’s as old as she is. Whenever you interact with the woman, you have to physically restrain yourself from allowing your eyes to lower; her shirts are always exceptionally tight, clinging like a second-skin to her tits. It’s only when she turns around to leave through the front door that you let yourself check out the older woman. She has a damn nice ass.

“Hello, Miss Braus.” With your tote bag resting on your shoulder, you step inside of the home as the brunette warmly ushers you in.

“Miss Braus makes me feel old. How many times do I have to tell you that Sasha will do just fine, sweetheart?” She complains, playfully scolding you as you slip off your sneakers by the entrance of the door. Her hands are firmly placed on the curve of her hips when you lift your head to offer her a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, Mi—Sorry, Sasha. Force of habit, I guess.” You bring up one hand to rub at the back of your neck, brows lightly pinching together when you survey the space to see Kaya nowhere in sight. “Eh, pardon me, Sasha, but where’s Kaya at?”

Although you’re well aware of how reserved her daughter is, you’ve come to expect Kaya to be curled up on the couch reading a novel whenever you come over to babysit her. You guys have fallen into the habit where you’ll cook her lunch as soon as you arrive while she reads nearby so it’s rather unusual that the blonde girl is nowhere to be seen.

“She’s at her father’s house for the day.” For a brief moment, the brunette’s expression pinches up: distaste for the blond man made evident on her face. You don’t know too much about Sasha’s ex-husband, just that he’s some renowned chef that frequently travels a lot. Niccolo is his name if you recall correctly. It’s not your place to pry so you choose to not ask any questions regarding the matter and listen when Sasha slips little tidbits of information regarding her ex-husband.

Wait. What?

“Kaya’s not here?” If Kaya’s not here then why were you still scheduled to babysit today?

You’re drawn out of your train of thought when Sasha places a gentle hand on your shoulder. You startle at the little amount of space in between the two of you.

“Nope!” She cheerfully exclaims as she slips your bag off of your shoulders. You’re left in a stupor, wondering what the fuck is going on, but you shake it off and follow Sasha, who has turned around and is now making her way in the direction of the kitchen.

“I thought we could chat today!” Her back is turned towards you as you take a seat at one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. She floats around the kitchen, grabbing items from the fridge and cabinets. Your eyes glue themselves to the thin sliver of skin that appears when Sasha’s shirt rides up as she reaches for something in one of the upper cabinets.

“O-oh, okay.” This turn of events is rather strange, but you’re not complaining. Sasha’s a really wonderful conversationalist: the conversation flows naturally between you two and you’re always left in stitches at the jokes she cracks. Also, you get the opportunity to openly ogle her with her back facing you as she cooks something on the stove. You’re not going to pass up on an opportunity like this.

“I’m making us some lunch, but it’s going to take some time to cook.” You’re knocked out of your reverie once again and quickly avert your gaze from Sasha’s ass to meet her eyes. You desperately hope you were fast enough that she didn’t catch you. Her expression doesn’t give anything away so you think you’re good.

“Sounds good to me! Thank you so much for making lunch.” Your mouth waters at the thought of eating Sasha’s cooking. Although you’ve never tried it, Kaya’s always boasted about how her parents are both great cooks. You’re looking forward to trying her food since Kaya speaks so highly of it.

“Of course, honey! It’s no issue especially for such a sweet girl.” Your thighs automatically squeeze together. You mentally thank a higher being that the counter hides your lower half because that would be painfully embarrassing for you if your employer saw how turned on they made you by uttering only two words.

You watch as Sasha floats around the kitchen, grabbing some more ingredients from the fridge and different cabinets before tossing them all together on the stove to simmer. You fidget in your seat, never one who was good at sitting still with nothing to occupy your attention. You feel that it would be rude for you to pull out your phone and scroll through social media in Sasha’s presence.

“There we go! Now we just have to let this simmer for a while,” she exclaims, turning around to face you and clapping her hands together. A pretty smile graces her face and her features light up when you return it with a grin of your own.

“Since it's going to take some time, how about we get comfy?”

Sasha pats the seat next to her on the couch, prompting you to slip out of the stool you’re sitting on to join her. You make sure to maintain a respectable distance that Sasha effectively destroys when she scoots closer to you until your knees are brushing against one another’s. The lack of space between you two makes you more nervous than you’d like to admit, but you don’t move from your spot.

The air is stolen straight out of your lungs when Sasha places a delicate hand on your knee.

“You know, you’re not really discreet when you’re checking me out, honey,” Sasha notes.

“Huh—what?” It takes your brain a moment to process what Sasha’s said, especially as her hand steadily inches up your thigh. Once you realize what she’s said, embarrassment crashes over you in a cold wave.

“Oh my god, I am so so so sorry Miss Braus. Please forgive—.”

Your words die out when Sasha places the hand that’s not on your thigh on your cheek, forcing you to look her way.

“You talk too much, sweetheart,” Sasha affectionately chides before she presses her lips to yours, effectively shutting you up in the process. You’re frozen still for a moment. Is this actually fucking happening? When you feel Sasha move her lips against yours, you realize that yes, this is, in fact, fucking happening.

Any of your prior hesitations is thrown out the window when you feel Sasha’s hands slip underneath the hem of your t-shirt. Your tongue traces the seam of her lips before Sasha parts them, letting you in. Your hands rest on her hips, urging and guiding her to seat herself on top of your lap.

You smile against her lips as a startled gasp leaves them when you firmly squeeze her ass.

“Too much clothing,” she rasps out while pulling her shirt over her head. You’re quick to follow suit and tug your own t-shirt off just in time to watch Sasha unclasp her bra. Her breasts spill out from underneath the constraining fabric and jiggle before settling against her chest.

As much as you want to lean forward and lather her tits in attention, you’re eager to switch the position you’re currently in. Sasha’s back hits the couch’s cushions with a quiet thump as your frame leers above her.

Her eyes widen in brief surprise at the action, but Sasha’s not granted much time to think when you swoop down to kiss her again. It’s sloppier this time around. You have no clue when, or if, you’ll ever get this chance again and you’re determined to make the most of it. You want to ingrain the taste of Sasha into your brain.

Her hands tangle together behind your neck when you begin your descent down her body. You lick the bead of sweat trailing down the column of her neck and gently nip at the skin there. Not hard enough to make any marks, but just hard enough to elicit a gasp from Sasha.

“Fuck. Just like that.”

She throws her head back when you swirl your tongue around the hardened bud of her nipple while your fingers roll her other one. You lavish her tits in attention, sucking and nipping at them until blood rushes to the surface of her skin. When you lean back, you mentally pat yourself on the back. Her tits are a mess, covered in hickies of varying sizes.

You pepper kisses to her stomach, relishing in how soft and plush her skin is, before tossing her legs over your shoulders.

“You look so good like this, Sasha. So pretty and desperate for me to eat you out,” you coo. You hook your arms underneath her thighs, grabbing fistfuls of the fat of her ass until she’s positioned in a way you like.

“Hurry up and put your mouth on me already.” She tightens her thighs around your head and digs her heels into your back, urging you to get on with it already. If this was any other situation, you’d draw it out a little longer until Sasha was on the verge of tears and begging you to eat her out, but you’re feeling impatient. You can’t lie and say you’re not eager to have a taste of her.

Before Sasha can complain at how long you’re taking, you dive in. A startled moan tears its way out of her throat when you lick a long, deep stripe along her dripping slit. You lap at her cunt like a woman starved, devouring her whole. You circle her clit with your tongue before latching onto it.

“Shit. I’m so close. You’re doing s’good.”

Her back arches off of the sofa as her hands bury themselves into your hair. She digs the blunt edges of her nails into your scalp and the slight splintering pain has you moaning into her cunt.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit! I’m cumming.”

She sharply digs her heels into the muscle of your upper back and she cums with a loud cry. You hold her in place as she convulses, bucking her hips wildly as she rides out her orgasm. You gently suckle on her clit and run your tongue through her folds until she’s whimpering.

The incessant beeping of the timer that Sasha had previously set startles the two of you. From in between her thighs, you stare up at her with a crooked grin. A mixture of her juices and cum coats your lips and chin. Her eyes dart to the pink of your tongue when you lick your lips clean. You use the back of your hand to wipe your chin, which only serves to smear the liquid more.

“Thanks for the dessert, Sasha. I’m looking forward to tasting your cooking now.”

[yoonpobs]

difficult | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: fluff, mini angst, super cute, mutual pining

words: 3, 812

summary: you're difficult and yoongi just wants you

“I can’t believe it,” Jimin whistles. Taehyung mirrors his sentiment but with a look of disbelief.

“Me neither. But here we are.” Taehyung states matter-of-factly.

You were silent, not because you had nothing to say—but because you couldn’t believe it either. How did you allow yourself to fall into this trap? A trap you’ve spent your entire life training to avoid. And you would consider yourself someone that was dedicated to their craft and you truly were. But you were still susceptible to guilty pleasures and you just found your match.

“Why is no one stopping me? Why isn’t anyone telling me to get a grip of myself?” You cry.

Jimin looks at you sympathetically even if he knows that you hated being pitied. Taehyung at least avoids your gaze but the tell-tale signs of a frown appear on his face when you see the furrow of his brows.

“You know … you’re allowed to feel this way, right?” Jimin says carefully and you were more annoyed with the fact that he was walking on eggshells with you when you’ve long passed that stage of prudent navigation around each other. And you knew exactly why he sounded the way he did.

“I’m not. I’m supposed to be an impenetrable fortress that cannot be shaken by anything let alone anyone. I am an unyielding, resolute woman that refuses to be tied down by society’s narratives.” You say all at once.

Jimin and Taehyung blink at you. They expected this—but it still surprised them that you vocalised their thoughts.

Jimin clears his throat.

“Let me rephrase that,” He says sternly, “You’re allowed to feel, period.”

You shake your head because you’ve fallen too far—too hard. And you needed to get a grip of yourself because you didn’t work hard perfecting the flawless expression of bitchiness and temptation to be taken seriously amongst a Board of Directors filled with men. People like you couldn’t afford to feel.

Especially when the world never feels for you. For women.

“Do you hear yourself Jimin?” You exasperate as you throw your hands in the air in frustration.

“____—” Taehyung attempts to reason with you, but as always, you never let him get a word in. He knows you don’t mean any malice because you’ve built your walls so high that you think everyone is out to get you—but he just cares about you. He wishes you’d let him.

“No. You don’t understand guys. People like me? We—I—can’t afford to slack off. Not now and not anytime soon. I hear you guys and I wish I could understand where you’re coming from but frankly, I won’t ever be able to. You have the liberty of picking your battles because this world is yours. I had to fight my battles on my own to claim this world as my own and I’m nowhere near deserving of that role yet. I can’t feel.”

Their eyes soften at you and you avoid their gazes. You didn’t want their pity, and you didn’t want to sit in a tight office with their stares so heavy on your own.

“You deserve to be happy,” Taehyung says sadly.

You don’t respond, but you hear the chairs in front of your desk move against the hardwood floor. Then, you hear the opening and closing of your doors and you’re finally alone. Like how you do best.

You don’t allow another thought as insignificant as the one that threatens to overtake you to pass through your mind as you quickly tend to your pending projects.

The name of a certain man lingers very vaguely, though.

It annoys yet terrifies you how much you needed to consciously play your cards just right when you step into another board meeting. You thrived when you spoke at the podium, and no man—even the most bigoted—could deny that you were a born leader. But that didn’t mean that they liked that fact. In fact, most of them despised the idea that a woman as young as you was even allowed in the same room as they were. You wished you could yell at them, cry and shout until they understood that you were deserving.

You couldn’t, for very obvious reasons. But until you could—you needed to be smart.

“Mr Lee, with all due respect—liquifying the compartment company will not bring us the projected profit that you’ve pitched in the previous meeting.”

You’re level-headed and cool when you attempt to reason with the older and very stubborn man. He was old, and stubborn, which was never good news for you.

Mr Lee, the Chairman’s younger brother, simply scoffs at you, and you try your best not to let your eye twitch.

“What? Do you have a bachelor’s degree in business?” He sneers.

You blink.

“I have a double Masters in Business Administration and Finance.”

Mr Lee stiffens, and you briefly see Seokjin, the fellow nephew of Mr Kim, holding back his snorts at your declaration.

“I am qualified to be making this statement, and if you don’t believe in just words—which you really shouldn’t—here are the documents and projections from my end.” You distribute the analysis you took upon yourself to complete over the weekend and worked overtime to finish it as you handed it around the table.

Mr Kim, the Chairman, who was a far better man than everyone else in the Board of Directors, offers you an impressed smile as he flips through your booklet while you stand straight with your shoulders rolled back. A stance you often took to show that you knew your shit.

“This is very … meticulous. Great work as always, ___.” Mr Kim compliments you.

You don’t let it show on your face but you’re pleased with the way Mr Lee grumbles under his breath like a petulant child.

“Very well. We’ll keep the compartment company as it is,” Mr Kim declares and everyone else in the room shuffles to collect their belongings as the meeting comes to an end, “Meeting adjourned.”

+

“You’re absolutely badass,” Jin whistles at you as you walk side-by-side, your folders snug against your chest.

You hide your smile but acknowledge it regardless.

“And you were … there. As usual.”

He snorts and you know he gets where you’re coming from. Jin was simply present at the meeting but he wasn’t actually present. His heart had no place in the business world but instead in a world filled with fine dining and diverse cuisines as he worked up a storm in the kitchen. But as every father—who is the Chairman of a country’s largest exporter—he had pushed that dream onto Jin from a young age.

But Jin was Jin, and you knew Mr Kim simply kept him here for the sake of it; fully aware of his son’s aspirations and determination of becoming a chef.

“You should just take my position. You’re so good at business talk—I didn’t understand half the shit you were saying the entire time.” He says.

You shrug.

“I mean, that’s the goal. But let’s just see for now,” You hum as you reach your office, and you still when you see the person waiting for you inside.

Jin takes a peek over your shoulder and spots the same person who has you looking so tense. He whistles at you as he stuffs his right hand in his pocket while offering you a consoling pat on your shoulder with his left before he stalks off.

“Good luck!” He calls out, and you internally groan at the oncoming interaction.

You brace yourself and put on a brave face as you step into your office, doors clicking, signalling your guest to turn around at the insinuation of your presence.

“Mr Min, what can I help you with?” You don’t look at him when you place your belongings on your table and you nearly miss his scoff with the way you attempt to busy yourself with any mindless activity that you can find on your desk.

“Mr Min? Not Yoongi anymore?”

You ignore his bitter tone and look at him with a reserved stare, raising an eyebrow as if to question his statement.

“Are we not co-workers?” You reply coolly and he scoffs much louder for you to hear.

“Co-workers … yeah,” He shrugs, leaning forward, “Do you usually kiss your co-workers?”

You are still at the sudden declaration and nearly drop the pen that was in your grip. He’s suddenly inches closer to you despite the relative distance of your desk between the both of you. You try to ignore the heat of his body, but it’s entirely too suffocating for you to pretend like he isn’t there.

“Don’t give me that nonsense,” You wave him off and you steady your voice because you weren’t ready for him to see you break. You allowed yourself too much space to be vulnerable and you needed to stop.

He sits back into the chair and folds his arms across his chest with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, this is not what we’re going to do.” He says, suddenly much firmer than he was a moment ago.

“I’m sorry?” You ask, clearly confused.

“None of this detached, emotionless attitude with me. I see through this facade and it’s not cute. You’re going to speak to me like an adult and address the very obvious feelings you have for me, and likewise. You’re not allowed to deflect like you always do because I expect you to be honest with me because you’re clearly not being honest to yourself.”

You blink up at him and your heart starts beating more rapidly within your chest as it betrays your stoic appearance.

Maybe that was why you fell for Yoongi in the first place. He didn’t tolerate you. Specifically, the shit that you pull on him. You were well aware you were a stubborn, hard-headed bitch that could be emotionally reserved 99% of the time when you interacted with others. And sometimes your bitchiness was uncalled for, but most people were too terrified to say anything about it to your face.

Yoongi?

He had no problems letting you know what he expected from you and how he thought of you from the beginning. It should’ve irked you. Based on your strict line of principles that you upheld—a man projecting his own thoughts of you that he had in his head, directly to you, should’ve been dehumanising, disrespectful even. But you never got that from Yoongi. He was brutally honest. And you appreciate honesty.

But sometimes it made you squirm.

“I … sorry, what? Are you insane? I don’t have feelings for you.” You narrow your eyes at him and hope you sound convincing enough.

But you knew Yoongi well enough to know that he saw through your blatant lie.

“I said: don’t deflect. You’re deflecting.” He scolds.

“You’re being unnecessarily distasteful right now,” You roll your eyes.

“Am I? Or am I just telling you the truth that you’ve been trying to deny for the past week that you’ve been cowardly avoiding me?” He’s calm when he makes the accusation. And it wasn’t even an accusation because it was the plain truth.

You burn, both in anger and in humiliation.

“What do you know about me Yoongi? Aren’t I just the company’s hot-headed bitch?” You snap, remembering the first words you heard from Yoongi.

“You are a hot-headed bitch, and I know you’re scared of admitting that you have feelings for me because you think feeling makes you weak.”

You ignore the fact that he admitted that you were a bitch, but Yoongi wasn’t the type to lie, nor was he the type to kiss ass. And you hated that he was still brutally honest, even when speaking about a topic so … intimate.

“Look, I don’t know where you’re getting this information from but you need to leave.” You stand up to walk towards the door so you could open it for him but he grabs your wrist before you make it there.

He turns you around to look at him. Properly look at him, that is. You’ve been avoiding direct eye contact with him because as good of a front you’ve worked on to put in front of him, you were human. And as a human, you were bound to have a weakness.

“You don’t get to walk away from me—this conversation—because you hate confrontation,” He frowns at you and you turn away to avoid his heavy gaze.

“Yoongi, can we not do this?” You sigh.

He chuckles dryly, using his right hand to nudge your face to look at him. It should’ve been demeaning, but you felt nothing like you were disrespected. You hated to admit it but you liked it. You liked it a lot more than you’d admit to anyone.

“No. We’re doing this. You’re going to address your feelings for me and actually work for what you want—and that’s clearly this,” He gestures between the two of you and you glare up at him.

“I told you! I don’t have any feelings for you.” You snarl at him, teeth bared like an animal but he just laughs at you like you were pathetic. You hated how small you felt in his presence but yet you were still whole.

“You don’t kiss a person you don’t have feelings for—you don’t hold someone you don’t have feelings for like they’re your safe space. You don’t have feelings for me? That’s funny because you did all of those things and you’ve never once complained when I reciprocated.”

You fumble with your words as the tip of your ears burn a bright red, which Yoongi easily catches.

“You don’t turn into a tomato if I was lying to you. You’re not like that, right? You’re self-assured. Ms-I’m-An-Impenetrable-Fortress,” He mocks.

“S-Stop acting as if you know me, Yoongi. You don’t and you never will.” You struggle against his grip on your wrist but he simply tugs you closer until your faces are inches apart.

“I don’t?” He scoffs, “Then tell me, why do I know that you confide Jimin and Taehyung for advice but never take it anyway because you’re too damn stubborn?”

You were about to retort but he’s quicker with his response.

“Then tell me, why do I know that you walk with your head held high into meetings but exit with your tail tucked between your legs because you’re afraid of sounding too dumb, too incompetent?”

You freeze.

“Then tell me, why do I know that you pull away from people not because you’re repulsed by them but because you’re afraid of forming actual bonds in the fear of being abandoned?”

You internally curse when you fear your eyes burning, and the lump in your throat becoming too much to bear.

“Then tell me, ___, why do I know you feel the same way about me but you’re too scared of looking dependent to do anything about it?” He whispers the last part when he pulls you tight against his chest.

You don’t fight him anymore, and you relax into the firm expanse of his chest and it terrifies you that it feels so much like home. A warm space you find comfort in.

You don’t even realise the first tear escapes your eyes until you feel Yoongi’s dress shirt turn slightly damp under the skin of your cheek. You’re mortified when you realise you’re crying and you attempt to pull away but his hands find their way around your waist to hold you tight.

“Don’t,” He whispers, “Don’t pull away from me.”

“Yoongi … I-I can’t,” You stutter, voice shaky.

He wipes a thumb on your cheek to wipe away the continuous stream of tears that you don’t bother hiding from him anymore.

“I worked my ass off to be taken seriously here and—and … if I get a boyfriend they’re going to think that I’m reliant, I’m weak, dependent on a man.” You ramble, but he just listens to your nonsensical statement as he rubs soothing circles on your head.

“I want you to rely on me, to depend on me. Stop thinking that you need to fight your battles alone. I’m here—I’ll be here. I’ve always been here but you need to let me be there for you.” He says softly.

You peer up at him with swollen eyes and he thinks you look beautiful. You always were beautiful. When you were commanding a meeting; when you were focused when you were angry; when you were laughing, and when you were sad. He was in for all of it.

“But ... the Board of Directors—”

He shushes you with a light kiss to the corner of your lip and you feel your stale heart flutter.

“I’m not here to be your saviour. I’m here to be your equal. I want to help you as much as you’ll help me. And believe me when I say you’ve helped me. The Board of Directors? Relationship or no relationship, they’ll be the same bigots that unfortunately dictate the policies in this company. The only person that has the ability to change anything in this situation is you ___.”

You feel your resolve breaking but you should’ve known that you’ve never had any resolve when it came to Yoongi. You were always weak around him. And maybe you needed to start accepting the fact that you were allowed to feel weak, to feel dependent on someone.

“What if you leave me.” You whine.

He snorts before rubbing a thumb between your furrowed brows.

“Then I leave. But we don’t know what’s going to happen if we don’t try,” He says and you realise how close he’s gotten to you to the point you feel his breath on your lips.

“That’s not comforting to hear the slightest,” You complain.

“And nothing about a relationship is easy. But I’m willing to be with you. I’ve always been ready—it’s you that needs to make the decision, ___.”

You finally lock eyes with him and you see nothing but sincerity. Yoongi could be crass, and often mistaken as a dick. But he was just honourable. He wouldn’t lie to anyone or sugarcoat the difficult truth. In fact, he never made you feel inferior to him even when he was straightforward. He never treated you differently because you were terrifying—but he treated you how he would with anyone else. And that was comforting. While everyone else walked on eggshells with you, he was fearless with his declarations.

Even now.

“I like you. I have no qualms in admitting it. And I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me,”

You don’t reply but kiss him. And there are no explosive fireworks, and time still flows—but it feels familiar. It feels like a territory that you’ve known all along, a little rough around the edges with the time spent away, but a place you can allude to comfort.

He responds by licking into the seam of your mouth as you allow his tongue to lick behind your teeth, a small whine caught in the back of your throat as you card your fingers through his hair. The hands-on your waist presses you tighter, flush against his body.

He pulls away first, resting his forehead on your own.

“I need to hear you say it. None of this tip-toeing anymore.”

You offer him a small smile.

“I-I …”

He watches you stutter with a hooded gaze but nothing about his stare makes you feel pressured. It was more comforting than anything, and the way he still held onto you like you mattered—but weren’t fragile—allowed you some semblance of peace in retaining your identity. This arbitrary idea of what you thought you were and how people perceived you. It was difficult to unlearn an idea that felt very personal to you after years of mastering its art.

You’re still unsure of how to react but you’re so sure of how you feel.

“I like you. I-I want to try.” You wail.

He’s alarmed by the sudden change in tone from your end and at the way you tug at the collars of his shirt. Not aggressively, but a little desperate. Not in the way that’d make him scrunch his nose in distaste but in a way that told him that this was you being vulnerable. Being open.

He wipes at your cheeks with dried tears and looks at you so honestly that it scares you. But in a way, you were fearless because you were terrified of everything. Mostly of disappointing others who held you to such a high standard, but it was a valid fear regardless.

“I’m not some fragile woman that you need to fix and I want you to understand that,” You pull yourself together and tell him sternly. He listens because Yoongi has never been presumptuous.

“I’m my own person and I won’t change the way I act to be with you—and if you’re looking for a cute … dainty, soft girlfriend then…” You whisper, “That’s not me. I’m tough. I’m a bitch and I’m stubborn. Our arguments are going to suck because I have a response for literally everything so—!”

He shushes your rambling with a finger to your lips and a raised eyebrow. You pout at him under his finger and he finds you adorable. He decides to not say anything to preserve his head—but soon. He’ll tell you soon.

“Are you done?”

You huff under his finger but he looks at you fondly.

“I’m not one for normality. I don’t care about what you think I’m into because I know that I’m into you. I’m in this, ___. Stop thinking that I deserve some idealistic image of a woman that you have in your head. I want you, and I thought me coming here to speak to you about your feelings was a clear testament to that.”

You try to hide your blush but you fail.

“And stop being so conscious of how you act around me. Be tough. Be independent. But don’t be afraid to be cute and vulnerable too, okay? I like you in all ways that you decide to present yourself in. Just … trust me. Trust this.”

“Okay.” You nod.

He grins at you.

“Does that mean I can hold your hand on the way to work?” He teases.

You avoid his eyes and look to the side, but the slight curve of your lip gives your answer to that question away.

“I guess …” You mutter.

He hugs you closer and squeezes you until your feet leave the ground. He tackles you with kisses all over your face and you can’t help but giggle. You feel happy. You feel secure.

“Cutie.”

You deliver a smack to his chest but he just laughs.

[blahkugo]

Omakase

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x Reader 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+, smut, slight overstim, all characters are aged up, ofc. 

A/N: Happy birthday to the woman that literally birthed my blog, the writer of the best fics I’ve ever read-- *cough Notice, Seven Minutes, Of Love and Lemons, etc.*-- @lookslikeleese​. It’s 5 am right now and my brain cannot come up with the proper words, but just know I love you so much. Thank you for creating our entire friend group. I LOVE YOU. 

omakase (noun): 

(in a Japanese restaurant) a meal consisting of dishes selected by the chef; chef’s choice. 

Thirty minutes into supper with the Todorokis, you think your heart may actually stop beating. It’s not the awkward silence, nor the snowstorm of icy glares traveling across the table. You’ve long since made your peace with the scents of charred leather couches and melted silverware that linger in your hair whenever one of the men gets riled up. 

No, it’s an issue far more pressing than the typical family drama, a matter that needs to be resolved with stealth— immediately. 

It’s Shouto’s fingers, darting into his pocket and pressing a single button. It’s your heels digging into the cool tile beneath you. It’s every nerve standing on end, every passing second sending a wave of heat to your core. Your knuckles blanche, gripping the oak table with such ferocity that it may just snap, and your thighs shake, overwhelmed.

The issue is that there’s a little pink vibrator pressing against your clit and the bi-colored bastard chews his food as though this night is no different than any other. 

It doesn’t matter that the toy’s been placed at the lowest setting all night, doesn’t matter that your fingernails relieve a bit of the pressure every time you dig them into your exposed thighs. The only thought crossing your mind is your impending orgasm. How are you supposed to stifle euphoric pleasure when you’re barely able to hold it together now? 

“So, how’s that new job going?” Enji asks more out of courtesy than interest. While you typically humor his attempts at placid conversation, you’re too troubled to speak to the stoic man in front of you. What if your juices seep through your soaked panties right onto the chair? 

“It’s— ah- it’s really good.” 

And this has been your entire night thus far. Feeble efforts to remain coherent, whines and gasps hidden behind awkward coughs— anything and everything you can possibly do to maintain your dignity in the presence of your boyfriend’s father. 

“What was that funny story you were telling me earlier today?” Shouto doesn’t miss a beat, sending a quick slant your way before stuffing another bite of rice into his mouth. He knows precisely what he’s doing, can feel the pointed daggers you dig into the side of his head, but his relaxed smile reveals nothing to the three pairs of eyes gazing intently at you, awaiting your response.

“Oh, Mt. Lady, she— oh my god,” As soon as you begin speaking, he cranks the toy up to a new level. Though it’s only for a second, the sound that leaves your body is inhuman, a mortifying cross between a sob and a choke that has your palm slamming onto the table fiercely.

All at once, the table is bustling with concern for your safety. To their naive eyes, it seems you choked on a bite of food, and Fuyumi hurries to grab you a glass of water. Shouto simply remains seated, a slick grin plastered across his face at the sight of your heated cheeks and teary eyes. What the fuck could have possessed you to agree to this in the first place? 

“I-I’m okay,” you mumble out, embarrassment shaking you far worse than any sex toy ever could. And that fact— the way your eyebrows knead together in discomfort as you squirm in your seat— is precisely what Shouto wants. You’re no stranger to humiliation, no stranger to the tugging deep in your gut or the heated flush that darts onto your mattress and makes its home on your cheeks.

But this? This type of shame is foreign; it makes your head spin and refuses to waver no matter how much you silently gripe and plead. “Honestly, I feel a bit—” another pulse, another pained gasp from you, “ill.” The words barely make their way out before you’re gritting your teeth, thighs pressing together so tightly they may leave pretty purple marks. 

“Maybe I should take her upstairs,” Shouto sighs, faux apology slipping through his mouth with ease. When did the fucker get so good at lying? 

And then he’s helping you up from your seat, rubbing tender circles into your back, like any good boyfriend would. But every graze is unbearable, sends a tidal wave of warmth rushing through your core. The most innocent of touches has become obscene, twisted in a way only you and the cool man next to you are able to acknowledge. 

As you climb the stairs with shaky legs, you can only pray that the rest of the family doesn’t notice the slick juices trailing down your thighs. 

—

“Who knew dinner and a show could be so entertaining?” He teases, just barely dodging the fist you throw half-heartedly at his shoulder. His supple lips are glued into a smirk, one that probably won’t drop until the night is long over. 

“Please– I-” you attempt to stifle your moans, but in the comfort of his childhood bedroom you find yourself slipping into a high-pitched whine. “Turn it off.” He seems to debate the plea internally, slender fingers brushing over the buttons until you grip harshly at his bicep. You’ve endured enough misery to last you months. 

When he finally switches it off, you feel your entire body slacken and relief wash over you; however, it does nothing for the throbbing in your clit or the pool of desire still brimming in your core. What you crave is his touch, the warmth that pokes and prods at your every muscle, loosening each nerve until you’re a babbling mess— wholly at the mercy of his lithe fingers. 

“Shou,” you mewl, voice dripping with desperation. His eyes widen for a quick second, brows raised and shocked by your blatant come-on with his family only a level down. “I need you.” 

Those three simple words have him springing into action, shoving you against the mattress. Pinning you beneath him with ease, he hikes your skirt up to your hips before running a slender digit against your clothed slit. 

“You made a mess,” his words carry no weight, only amazement at the juices flowing freely through the thin panties and down your thighs. “Probably made a mess all over your chair too.” 

With that comment, your shame is back with a vengeance, tinging the tips of your ears and causing you to cry out. Before Shouto, you’d have never thought this sort of depraved commentary could have you shaking. Hell, you’re not sure he even knew what he was doing to you at first; ever oblivious, Shouto simply speaks his mind. 

Only when he noticed the effect of his words, did he begin using those passing observations against you. Now, he lives for your reactions, spurs you on if only to see how far a gruff remark can push you— and typically, your limit is reached in wanton sobs and bright red scratch marks down his back. 

He doesn’t bother with removing the lace panties, only tugs them to the side so he can brush his fingers against your naked slit. When he pushes a thumb against your clit, you can’t help the loud cry that escapes you. “Bite,” he offers up his wrist so that your moans don’t carry through the thin walls. 

Your teeth sink into his flesh, eliciting a sharp breath at the sudden pain. And he enjoys that part too— the lengths you’ll go to achieve pleasure, the stinging reminders of your desire. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?” He tests a finger, then two, knuckles deep in your doughy walls as you writhe on the bed. “Good girl.” 

“Mmph,” you feel your eyes roll back at the soft praise, thighs tensing as he begins to pump his digits in and out. “Faster, ah– please.” Your moans are muffled against his arm, but he complies nonetheless, fingers curling and hitting the spot that drums against your heartbeat, that rattles through your brain.

The second he brings his lips to your clit, you feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. Hair slick with sweat, your hands roam through his own wet strands, gripping and tugging him closer, closer, closer. He suckles hungrily, his last meal long forgotten as he pushes you further over the edge. 

All at once, you see stars. You’re unsure whether you’re keeping quiet like he asked or sobbing loudly, the tidal wave of pleasure consumes you whole, stomach going taut and twisting as he allows you to ride out your orgasm. With the toy slowly edging you all night, this bliss feels fully merited— is exactly what you deserve after being subjected to his teasing for so long. 

Shouto only lets up when your entire body has gone slack and you push his head away. Bringing his fingers up to your supple lips, he watches hungrily as you slurp at your own slick. 

His eyes are the darkest you’ve ever seen them, pooling with eagerness and a longing for more; he brings a thumb to his chin to wipe at your juices— licks a long stripe up the digit to fully savor you. The image is immodest at the least, animalistic at most.

It reignites your own thirst immediately. 

Though you’re exhausted, core spasming from overuse, you find yourself tugging at his waistband, pulling him close so he can sheath himself inside you in one fell thrust. 

“Fuck,” his voice is husky, groan stifled in the nook of your shoulder. “Still so fucking tight for me.” The only sounds that fill the air are your joint moans, the squeaky springs of the mattress, and the headboard clanging against the wall— sweat soaked skin as his hips snap against you. 

“Ah— please, please, please,” it seems to be the only phrase that falls from your loose lips. Every jerk sends shocks across your damp flesh, vision going foggy as he sends your brain spinning. Once again, you teeter at the edge, so close. Your legs wrap across his back, digging into the globes of his ass to pull him impossibly closer. 

“What do you want?” He grunts into your jaw, peppering wet kisses down your neck and across your chest. It may leave a mark or two, but it’s something to worry about later. 

“I–”At this point, you’re just a teary, blubbering mess, “please, Shou– need your cum.” You manage the words, knowing exactly what effect they have. His movements quicken, pace faltering as he chases his own high. 

And then, you’re both seeing stars. With one final shudder, his cock twitches, and then he’s spilling into you. Your groans intertwine, his a loud sigh of your name, you sobbing helplessly. 

Once he finally stills, he collapses on top of you, both of your chests heaving. His fingers smooth at your matted hair, whispers of ‘so good for me’ and ‘fuck, baby’ into the shell of your ear as he allows your body— still trembling uncontrollably— time to regain composure.  

Now you remember why you agreed to this little game of his.

–

“I hope you feel better,” Fuyumi hugs you goodbye, though your eyes are glazed over in post-coital bliss. Her gaze doesn’t quite meet your own, anyways. But they couldn’t have heard; you were quiet. Weren’t you? 

As you stumble into the passenger side of Shouto’s pristine Model S, you catch the gruff comment Enji murmurs to Shouto, 

“You two could stand to be a bit less obvious next time.”