#and the years wear on and you have to stop or it’ll eat you alive

[mournflame]

Sometimes you have sad thoughts about characters you don’t even write

[moonstruckme]

Are you going to continue the roomate James series? I’m actually in love with it😍

Yes! Thank you for reading <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 804 words

“Honey, I’m home!” 

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you roll your eyes to yourself. James has become more and more fond of these pet names, and of announcing his comings and goings like he’s worried you’ll miss him. (He’s never gone long enough for that, though you might actually miss him if he were.) If you don’t respond in some way or another, he’ll—

“Hey.” He pokes his head through your cracked door. “You alive in here?” 

You pause in folding your laundry to give him a deadpan look. “I could have been in my underwear.” 

He looks mildly horrified. “I’d hope if you were, you’d close the door all the way.” 

“You know, I did manage to stay alive even before you moved in.” 

James leans on your doorframe, giving you the sort of lazy grin you have to pretend doesn’t scare butterflies into flight in your stomach. You really hope that wears off soon. “See, but now I’m convinced if I don’t check on you, you really will die and it’ll be my fault.” 

“How would it be your fault?” 

“Classic case of roommate neglect. I smell the rotting coming from inside your room, the police come, they ask How did you not know your roommate was dead for a month? I reply, Well, officer, she said she could be galavanting in her underwear at any moment. They put me in handcuffs and I spend the next five to fifteen years having Sirius bring me cigarettes I don’t want so that I can trade them for ramen noodles in the yard.” 

You scoff, fighting a smile. “As if you would ever eat ramen.” 

“That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart. You’d be forcing me upon desperate times. But hey,” he raises his hands in a show of surrender, “I didn’t come in here to discuss prison currency. Would it be alright with you if I had friends over tonight?” 

“Of course,” you say, looking back down to match a pair of socks. “You don’t need to ask every time, it’s always alright.” 

“Thanks,” he says warmly, “but it makes me feel better to ask. What do you want on your pizza?” 

You blink. “Me?” 

“Yes, you.” He smiles. Butterflies all over again. “You don’t have to hang out with us to eat it—though we’d love to have you—but I’m not just going to order pizza to your own apartment without having any for you.” 

“It’s your apartment, too,” you remind him. “That’d be a very normal thing to do.” 

“Irregardless.” James waves you off. You wrinkle your nose at the word choice. “What do you want?” 

You swallow a sigh. There are some things, you’ve found, James is nearly impossible to argue with about. If you really dig your heels in, sometimes you can make him move first, but you don’t feel like it right now. 

You do the next best thing you can think of: choosing the least obtrusive option. “Cheese is good with me, thanks.” 

His eyes narrow like he knows what you’re doing, but he says, “Got it. I’ll let you know when it’s here.” 

“Thanks.” You turn your attention back to your laundry. James lingers in the doorway. 

A month ago, you would have kept ignoring him, working on the (unfounded) hope that he’d go away. Now, you look up. 

“Do you think you might come downstairs and hang out?” he asks. He has a strange look on his face, one you can’t quite decipher. “You know you’re always invited.” 

You give James a terse sort of smile. He’s not stopped inviting you to do things since the day he moved in. Your open invitation has been made very clear, and you’ve been accepting it more often lately. James is someone who makes it easy to feel close to him. He tosses pet names at you like they’re nothing, comes to check on you when he gets home, pretends he needs to go grocery shopping just because you need a ride to the store. Last week, you’d sat down to watch a movie with him and woken up to a black screen, your cheek smushed into his shoulder and his head resting atop yours. 

Somehow, you’ve let him spill into your life without meaning to, and now you have these childish, crush-like reactions whenever he smiles a certain way or calls you pet names with that familiar bent to his voice. You know you just need time to sort these feelings out. It’d probably be ideal to keep yourself from spilling into his life as much as possible in the meantime. 

But it’s hard to deny James anything when he’s so sweet to you. And he’s nice. His friends seem nice. 

“I might,” you say. 

“I’ll take the win,” James replies, smiling. These butterflies are seriously inconvenient.

[junglemax]

i can’t write the bcc but i will write abt orange n darby bc i missed them + the fucking horror on their faces (esp darbys)

darby’s rattled.

[drabble]

Darby stares into the ring. He can’t see Bryan from all the medical staff and others crowding the space, but he knows he’s there. Fuck, he was so close, he could have touched him, but he wasn’t good enough. He was too late. Bryan had the bag over his head, Darby was wrangled with duct tape and couldn’t fucking move. He’s used to danger; breaking bones, bleeding half of his blood content out. That’s nothing.

Bryan was almost fucking dead.

Darby didn’t even know if he had been breathing or not. Surely he should have been, but he couldn’t see. His eyes had blurred, going crossed as he pulled at the tape around his wrists.

Darby drops his face into his hands, looks back up like maybe this is all a bad dream. Maybe it’s a horrible, horrible nightmare and when he wakes up everything will be fine. Bryan will still be champ, Darby will have a shot and won’t feel like pulling his heart out so it’ll stop beating so hard in his chest.

But it doesn’t go away, and his stomach sinks further away. He feels like hyperventilating, like crying his eyes raw, like vomiting until there’s nothing left in his system.

A hand drops to his shoulder. Squeezes once.

Darby looks up. He can’t stop catching his breath, mouth stuck panting like a dog, trying to make sure he’s still alive.

Orange’s hand lifts from his shoulder and moves underneath his arm, slowly pulling him up. He’s upset, too; mouth fixed in a frown, eyes filled with worry. He slides his hand down to Darby’s wrists, where he had cut them free from the duct tape, and inspects them. “I didn’t cut you, did I?” he whispers.

Darby shakes his head. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have cared. The emotional toll he’s currently feeling feels worse than death, worse than a little cut to the wrist. (Maybe he’d feel better if he did get cut; he’d rather have been the one suffocated, nearly killed than Bryan. The cuts could prove as punishment for not being enough to save someone.)

Orange nods. He doesn’t let go, but he does look away, back into the ring.

The medical staff starts to leave with Bryan. The others start to disperse backstage, a heavy despair hanging around the entire arena. Darby could choke on it.

Orange pulls him lightly along to the back, following the shuffle of the locker room.

Darby barely registers it. All he can think about is a lifeless Bryan, not even 3 feet away. He couldn’t save him.

Orange gets him in his locker room. He grabs one of his own shirts and helps Darby put it on. The material is scratchy and nothing that Darby would ever want to wear on any other day, but he can’t find himself to complain or care about how it makes his skin crawl.

It’s a blur after that, up until Darby’s in Orange’s hotel room, sitting on his bed. He hasn’t changed, hasn’t showered. He doesn’t even have any of his stuff.

Orange sits on the bed slowly next to him. “You want a shower?”

Darby shakes his head slowly.

Orange reaches up and puts a hand on his back. “It’s okay,” he says.

That’s when Darby starts to shake. “I was right there,” he whispers, fists clenching. “I was right there, and I couldn’t do anything.” And the last thing I wanted from him was a stupid title shot.

“It’s not your fault,” Orange says. “We all tried.”

Darby’s eyes sting and he finally blinks, letting tears spill out. He takes in a deep breath, then two, and a sob wretches out of him so hard his throat hurts. His whole body shudders and he squeezes his eyes shut, like he can ignore the tears that way.

Orange pulls him into a hug, squeezing him firmly, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. He’s going to be okay. There was nothing you could do. It’s going to be okay.”

Darby cries for the first time in years, and he hates the way it feels, digging into his gut like a parasite that’s about to eat him from the inside out using only guilt and fear. He wraps his arms around Orange, his chewed down nails digging into his back as best as they can.

[pleaseexcusemylameness]

i’m finally employed and i had to take two sick days my first week. incredible timing. i’m trying not to let the anxiety from having a full time job i’m confident i’ll hate and eat me alive. i’m hoping tomorrow and friday will be better than monday was. it was literally so boring i did basically nothing all day while feeling my sickness come on and my body hurt so bad. i was so uncomfortable. also they won’t let me wear earbuds which i think is a hate crime. this is a desk job bro i will either die of boredom or constantly zone out and not get work done if you do this to me. also i have to wear a corporate costume and take all of my jewelry out of my head. i’m also not allowed to show my tattoos so i have to wear long sleeves at all times. idk why it fucking matters i’ll never get it. let people do whatever it takes to get their job done well and efficiently. stop trying to suck my soul. also i’m being payed jack shit which sucks already but they also make me pay for fucking parking. it’ll be like 225 bucks a month. they gave me like 75 bucks a month for parking and i’m like ??? that will cover literally one week. i’m trying not to be too annoying or ungrateful because i have had zero income for almost an entire year but it’s making me sick. LMAO literally.

[aelsie]

A Targaryen Thanksgiving (boy oh boy)

Rhaenyra is trying to stick to a schedule calmly but has to make sure Daemon doesn’t burn the kitchen down from his aggressive cooking, and trying to tell Alicent that really you don’t have to do that, I can take care of it. She’s starting to ask herself why she ever agreed to be the hostess.

Daemon is in charge of the turkey and he’s refusing to follow the recipe because whoever wrote it (Otto) “doesn’t know shit” and “can’t tell the difference between a chicken and a turkey so f*** this recipe!” He’s wearing an apron gifted by Rhaenyra that has all of their kids’ names.

Alicent has taken over washing the dishes even though dinner hasn’t started. She lowkey wants it all to be over already. They try to stop her because she’s wasting more water that way but she obsessively scrubs and soaps and says it’ll be better and faster this way! Much easier for all of us! Trust me, I know! *inhales sharply*

Otto is walking around the house like he owns it, bourbon in hand, commenting on the “positively scandalous” furniture. Inspecting the food with a grimace, moving things around in the kitchen, making snide comments about how HIS family did the stuffing. Daemon is ready to stab him with a tong.

Rhaenys and Corlys bring exotic wine from overseas. They’re #coololdmarriedcouple but Corlys is lowkey whispering we should have had this at our place, you would’ve been a better hostess, plus—all organic! Rhaenys side-eyes him angrily and makes him help with the Parmesan Brussel Sprouts Salad.

Aegon looks like he JUST left a Halloween party and is pacing with his headphones on. Alicent is yelling at him from the sink to change your clothes for crying out loud! But he can’t hear her because his sad boi emo music is on blast and he’s maniacally texting Aemond—where the hell are you?! Get me out of here!

Helaena is talking to herself, looking a bit nervous. She’s lost her pet, Dreamfyre the Lizard, but hasn’t told anyone. Lowkey going through the mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Last time her pets peed in the Christmas pudding! She’s also texting Aemond—where are you?! Pets lost! Help!

Aemond comes late in a leather jacket and makes a HUGE spectacle of parking his fancy ass vintage car. Everyone rolls their eyes at his dramatics and audacity. Daemon=deja vu. He brought his own homemade gravy. Daemon very reluctantly says that it could maybe go well with the turkey. Aemond preens at his hero’s uncle’s approval.

Jace is trying so hard to help his mom with the pumpkin pie but she keeps saying next year, next year Jace! Watch over Joffrey and the babies for now please! Joffrey is aggressively waving around a lizard-looking thing in his hand and amusing baby Aegon and baby Viserys, who have gotten their hands on the bread rolls and crawling around maniacally. Baela, who Jace keeps staring at instead of the kids, is looking like a million bucks and snapping photos for the gram. Say hi to my followers grandpa Vissy! She’s in charge of music and is blasting T Swift.

Rhaena is the most gracious out of everyone but is losing her patience because no, Baela, now we got bad blood, you know it used to be mad love isn’t funny right now! Luke is helping Rhaena with the tablescape but he keeps awkwardly looking over at Aemond, who’s staring daggers at him. He scratched Aemond’s vintage car last Easter and he has not forgiven him. At all.

Finally, Viserys is in the corner, half awake (half alive?) and they keep coming up to him with plates of food trying to feed him or yelling things like did you take your medicine today father?! Or how’s your blood pressure brother?! Or you need to eat husband! He just grunts and groans. He believes that the chaos around him is everyone having a grand old time!

One big slightly sociopathic family. Happy Thanksgiving indeed!

[seijorhi]

Imitation

Commission for @beany-goes-dark I hope you like it, bby!

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

TW kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, referenced unnamed character death, mindbreak, implied abuse, forced pregnancy, breeding kink (kinda?), unhealthy relationships

He calls you kitten, mostly. Sometimes sweetheart. You don’t mind the pet names, especially when he says them so affectionately, with that lazy, indulgent smirk of his. It’s the other name that bothers you, the one that slips out in the heat of him fucking you, the one he whispers in the early hours before dawn when he thinks you’re fast asleep.

Her name. 

It’s soft and pretty, spoken with a reverence that belongs in holy places, edged with a bitter wistfulness that makes something small inside of you shatter into a thousand pieces every time you hear it.

There are pictures of her; on his desk, lining the walls. One time when he let you sleep in his bed you found one lying under your pillow - hers at one point, you guess. The photo couldn’t have been more than a few years old, but it was worn, the edges crinkled and the image a little faded. You wonder how many nights he’s wasted lying in bed staring at it, fingers slowly tracing the lines of her face.

You wonder whether he pulls it out after he’s finished with you for the night, like he’s returning to her when all is said and done.

She’s beautiful. Even with tears in her eyes, the smile on her frozen face strained and unnatural, she’s gorgeous. You suppose it’s not hard to see why he fell for her in the first place.

And you can see why he chose you. She’s prettier than you by far, there’s no denying that, but your hair is similar, and there’s something in the shape of her face, the colour of your eyes. You might not be identical, but it’s more than just a passing resemblance.

And under the dim, flickering lights of his basement, you suppose it’s good enough. 

Good enough means you get to eat. Not stale bread and plain rice spaced too far apart, but home cooked meals. Bowls of soup and curries, fresh fruit and warm drinks, once he even brought you dessert - chocolate dipped strawberries. Her favourite. He’d smiled as he fed them to you, hazel eyes darkening as you obediently licked and sucked the sweet, red juice from the fingers he slid between your lips.

Such a good girl for him. 

Good girls get rewarded. A soft mattress. Blankets. Pretty clothes. Kuroo likes to spoil you when you play along. He’s nicer, too. You get kisses instead of punishments, and sometimes when he’s finished taking what he needs, he’ll stay - strong, muscular arms curled around your waist, your head tucked against his shoulder as he strokes your hair and hums an unfamiliar tune.

You can almost pretend there’s not a chain locked around your ankle when he kisses you and tells you how much he loves you. How badly he needs you.

Not you. Never you. You’ll never be her. 

And it’s cruel, you think in the dead of the night when sleep is just out of reach, the way Kuroo treats you. Not the punishments or the icy indifference and isolation he subjects you to when you’re anything less than perfect, but the way he toys with you. 

For as much as he wants you to be her, Kuroo never fails to remind you that you’re not. 

Your voice isn’t hers, you say and do the wrong things - you can’t love him like she did. And when he’s reminded of that, your adoring captor turns cold. He becomes unloving. Distant.

Irritated.

Sometimes you catch him staring, those dark eyes flickering intently across your face, and you know that it’s not you he’s seeing - only to watch as they harden, all the softness and love leaching from hazel depths as the illusion fades. 

There were others before you. 

You don’t know how many, or what happened to them, but the day Kuroo brought home a friend, and apathetic, cat-like eyes appraise you, your suspicions were all but confirmed.

“Another one, Kuroo?” he scoffs, barely sparing you another glance.

Your captor ignores the comment entirely, and a moment later you’re tugged into his lap to be played with and fussed over as the two old friends catch up.

Kenma doesn’t visit often and rarely without Kuroo, but on the days Kuroo decides you’ve been good enough to roam the house freely, sometimes you catch him slipping in and out. He doesn’t pay you any mind, and why would he?

You’re just the latest plaything. A temporary pet. 

Until the day you finally gather the courage to speak, clinging to the corner of the living room wall, barely peeking your head out. 

“What happened to her?”

It’s obvious who you’re referring to. 

And maybe it’s the fresh bruises that mar your pretty skin, or maybe he just doesn’t care to keep Kuroo’s secrets anymore, because he lets out a quiet sigh. 

“She died.”

You flinch at his bluntness, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. The disdain on Kenma’s face is almost enough for you to tuck tail and run, and pray that he doesn’t tell Kuroo that you’ve been misbehaving, but as he turns to leave, you realise that if you don’t ask now, you might never get another chance, and you have to know. 

“Did he kill her?”

He falters, just for a second. 

“No,” he says. Slowly, he turns - not to face you, but to stare at a photograph sitting by the coffee table; Kuroo, with his arms wrapped around her, his lips pressed to her cheek in a loving kiss. If you ignore the clear discomfort on her face, the tears glistening in her eyes, it makes for a cute picture. You loathe the very sight of it. “She got pregnant and went into labour too early. He wouldn’t take her to the hospital, didn’t want to risk it, I guess.” He shrugs, but when he glances back at you there’s an uncharacteristic hardness to his features. “They didn’t make it.”

Nausea twists at your gut, and for one single moment, your heart breaks for her. For him. You’ve never really believed in soulmates or true love, but you have to wonder if that’s what she was to Kuroo. The be all, end all. 

She must have been, for him to still be trying to keep her alive years later.

As if he can read the thoughts racing through your mind, golden eyes narrow into a withering scowl. “You’ll never come close to replacing her.”

It’s more than apathy, you realise. He hates you - well, not you specifically, but whatever you represent. He might not say anything to Kuroo, at least not within your earshot, but it’s clear that Kenma couldn’t care less whether you lived or died at the hands of his friend.

He turns to leave then, apparently done with the conversation, but you can’t stop the words that tumble from your lips. “How many?”

Kenma doesn’t acknowledge that he even heard the question, at least not until he reaches the front door. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet that you barely catch it at all. “You’re the fourth.”

In the beginning, it was a method of survival. It was obvious that Kuroo was bigger than you, stronger too. When he told you that you were his, when he called you by her name, you didn’t argue. You played your role - it was better, wasn’t it, to feed into the delusion than to make him mad by trying to break it?

But it’s been months now. Nobody is coming for you, nobody but him cares what happens to you anymore. You’re no closer to figuring out a way to escape, and you’re terrified that if you try and he catches you, you’ll end up like the others.

Kuroo… can be nice. Loving, even. He’s handsome and he takes care of you, when you’re good. He doesn’t enjoy inflicting pain, he doesn’t hurt you unless you deserve it. You need him - he’s the one who feeds you, who gives you clothes to wear, shelters you. If he decides tomorrow that you’re not good enough, what’s to stop him from ending it right then and there?

It’s not like you could fight him off, months locked in his basement have robbed you of what little physical strength you had left. It’s not like anybody else could stop him, or would even care to.

You’d die, and just like the other’s before you, you’d be forgotten, nothing but a pale imitation that quickly wore out its usefulness.

He might never love you like he loved her. And Kenma’s right, you won’t ever be able to replace her, but maybe… maybe if you give him what he wants, what he lost, he could find a way to love you for you.

You can give him the baby he wants. 

Hours later, when the front door unlocks and Kuroo walks in, he barely has a chance to drop his bag and kick off his shoes before you’re bouncing towards him. Strong arms catch you when you leap, securing you against his chest as your legs wrap around his hips, “Did you miss me that much, kitten?” he asks with a grin, walking the both of you inside. 

“I love you,” you breathlessly answer instead, reaching up to tangle a hand in raven locks and draw him down into a desperate, needy kiss before he has a chance to reply. 

It’ll be enough. 

It has to be.

[poptod]

Would u be up to writing a crack fic where Ahk eats some dodgy food and gets violently ill from it and in his food poisoning induced delirium starts to like hallucinate and think that gods are against him and hanging out with him and stuff. so yeah. (also omfg never noticed the ostrich part in NATM!!!)

notes: YEA that fucking ostrich is hilarious and YES this sounds fun. u didn’t say if this was xreader or if this was in egypt or in the museum so i took some liberties, hope that’s alright! i also really ran with this so apologies for the length WC: 2,222

+

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Now, now, that’s no way to refer to your husband,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You are not - we’re not married,” you hissed.

“Not yet,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. Ahkmen wasn’t King yet, but you still held the position as his advisor, placed there by both Ahkmen’s choice and his father’s insistence.

Now, however, you were focused on a different, more pertinent issue. An entire bag of almond date rolls had been thrown away for Ahk to find, opening the sack to find them untouched. Since he had little to no self control—which was why you were there to begin with—he immediately began eating them.

“There isn’t anything wrong with them,” he said through a mouthful.

“You don’t know that,” you said, still glaring up at him.

He swallowed before promptly stuffing another whole roll in his mouth.

“Stop that!” You said, and batted the sack out of his hand.

The cinch released and the rolls went flying down a sandy hill, reaching the river outcrop at the bottom. Ahk watched, miserably, as they disappeared.

“You have access to date rolls anytime you like in the palace,” you reminded him.

“But it’s such a long walk back, and I like it here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the forested hill overlooking the Nile. Shade stretched over your bodies and the reed blanket beneath you, allowing the wind to cool your sun-beaten skin.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you said, leaning back to lie down.

“How funny, then, that you are my life,” he said with a grin, following you till he propped himself up on his elbow, his free hand resting on your chest.

He stared at you, scanning you as you half-glared at him.

“What do you want?” You asked, looking up unimpressed.

“A kiss,” he said, puckering his lips.

“Shut up!”

You shoved him onto his back, laughter wracking his body.

A little while later you found yourself once more obeying Ahk’s whim, though his father had warned against that, and followed him in short steps down the tall dune. Solidified, plant-filled earth gave way for free falling sand that drifted off the slope and towards the riverbank.

The water during this time of year was at a steady but slow pace, flowing from south to north as the sun’s rising and setting indicated. Wind that once cooled you now brought hot air, exacerbated by the overzealous sun, who you imagined could burn even your ink-black skin. Sand avalanched around your still feet, landing you at Ahk’s side.

“Luncheon will be soon,” you reminded.

“I’m aware,” he said flatly. “Can’t I simply enjoy myself for once?”

“No.”

He waded out into the water, his shoulders tensing at the chill and only releasing as he went deeper. Once the red water reached his knees, just barely soaking the edge of his skirt, he called to you.

“Come join me,” he said, offering you his hand.

“We should go back to the palace,” you said.

“Come now, it’ll be hours before lunch,” he whined.

“It’s one hour. And you can’t be wearing that,” you said, gesturing to his outfit that consisted of no more than a skirt, partially torn and covered in dirt.

“Then take it off me,” he said with a sly grin.

You scowled at him, going over your options for a moment before you acted.

Once you decided, you waltzed into the river, soaking your sandals as you approached him. Satisfaction filled his gaze as you came closer, his hand still outstretched to you.

At last you took his hand, tugging him forcefully towards you. He let out a grunt, but before he could say anything, you reached forward and released the clasp keeping his skirt on him, allowing it to fall in the running water and drift away.

“Hey!” He cried, attempting to go after it, but stopped by your hand still in his. He turned back to you, a shocked look on his face as he said, “what was that for?!”

“Dawdling. Let’s go back to the palace.”

“Like this?!” He yelled, gesturing to his naked body. You snorted.

“You don’t mind. I know you don’t. You just want to be mad at me,” you said in a definitive voice.

“I don’t-“

“Come on, Prince,” you said, tugging him past you so he stumbled towards the shoreline. As he just barely got his standing you slapped his butt, pushing him forward further.

Ahkmen fell silent—as he rarely did—after he’d been dressed and was on the way to the garden, where the Pharaoh had arranged a feast he made and placed for himself, his family, and the ambassadors visiting from Punt. You were not invited, but you watched from above alongside the youngest Prince’s manservant. Ahk’s room was placed right above the western gardens, large arches within allowing a plenty good sight out, which you and Naguib took advantage of.

“He’s squirming an awful lot,” Naguib noted after several minutes of silence.

Naguib laid on his stomach, his chin propped up on his palms, in turn resting on his elbows on the stone floor. You sat nearby, leant against one of the arch pillars with a tablet of baked limestone on your lap.

At his comment you looked over the ledge, easily finding the trademark golden crown Ahk bore.

“How so?” You asked.

“Look at his legs,” Naguib said, and your eyes turned to his fidgeting crossed legs, “and his hands.”

His fists were clenching and unclenching.

“Should we check in on him?” He asked gingerly.

“.... nah,” you said after a moment. “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just upset I slapped him on the arse.”

Naguib choked on his own spit, bursting into manic laughter.

“You slapped the prince’s ass??” He asked incredulously through gasps of laughter. “How’d he react to that?”

“He stripped me,” you answered, returning to your tablet with little waver in your voice.

“What -“

“That might’ve been because I took away his skirt, though. In that case, he just looked at me really strangely,” you said.

“How so?”

You twisted your expression to reflect what you remembered, a strange mix of confused, angered, and one feeling that was almost always at the forefront of Ahk’s mind—horny. Naguib burst into another round of laughter.

Several minutes later, after your conversation died down, Naguib looked back over the ledge and frowned.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“Who what?”

“Ahk, he isn’t there anymore,” he said, pointing to the empty cushion where Ahk had been sitting. You shifted to see.

“Huh. What do you think happened?”

Bursts of metal latches and swinging hinges interrupted you before either of you could think of an answer, followed by the wooden frame of the door slamming against the other wall. Both of you darted to look behind you, finding several different servants entering, a limp Prince in their arms.

Instantly you jumped to your feet. Naguib joined you, though much slower, and you both made your way to his bedside once the servants set him down.

“What happened?” Naguib asked, a hand on the bed as he looked up to one of the servants.

You set your hand over his forehead, testing his temperature, and using your sense of magic to reach into his veins, searching for a perpetrator.

“He hasn’t got a fever,” you noted, earning a nod from the servant tending him.

You made to search again before Ahk moved, groaning softly as he curled into himself, clutching his stomach.

“Ahk? Are you alright?” You asked—probably too quickly—as you knelt at his side, panic pounding its way into your heart.

“Ugh,” he grumbled, just barely wheezing out his breaths. “Alive. Right now.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“Stomach,” he breathed, halting as he flinched, his hands moving to slap over his mouth.

“Bucket!” You said to the servant, who nodded and rushed for one of the buckets in the nearest closet. “You’re going to throw up, its alright. Get it out.”

“Ughhh...” he mumbled, convulsing forward again as he attempted to hold it in.

In a flash the servant returned, rushing to set the bucket down beside the bed. You held it up, helping him scoot dizzily forward before he hurled.

Things continued in a similar fashion until the setting of the sun, the western rays finally sinking beneath the distant mountain horizon. Crickets and firebugs chirped, bringing in the cool breeze of evening, sending shivers down Ahk’s sweat-sheeted shoulders and back.

You ran your fingers through his hair, hoping to raise the curls off his heated forehead, but he raised his hand to stop you.

“No,” he slurred, “too sick... repetitive.”

“Alright,” you said softly.

His dizziness persevered from the evening into the night, but his vomitting had luckily stopped, though he did try to retch on an empty stomach twice. By then he was passed out from exhaustion, still shivering in his sleep. You stayed at his side without fail, raising his sheets up to cover him, and removing them when he broke out into another sweat.

At midnight, his eyes fluttered open.

The first thing he saw was you—surrounded by a halo of brightly glowing stars, colored in red, yellow, and purple. His sickness had faded but the delirium remained, and he reached out blindly for your face.

His fingers dragging across your eyes and cheeks brought you back from your meditation, shocked at his consciousness.

“You’re awake,” you said with a relieved sigh, your knees digging into the cold stone beneath you.

“Hathor?” He mumbled weakly, his eyes still half-closed.

“No, no,” you said, taking his hand down from your face and clasping it in your own hold. “Piye. Remember? How do you feel?”

“Am I dead?”

“Not as far as I know. You exhibit all the tell-tale signs of being alive,” you said, chuckling.

“... Bastet?”

“Also no. Piye.”

“Peets....” he mumbled before promptly falling back asleep.

The next time he awoke was a little later on, towards the very, very early morning. He once again broke you out of your meditation, this time with words rather than smothering your face. His state of aberration had yet to improve.

“Piye?” He asked softly, a husk of a voice.

“Yes,” you said, smiling. He remembered your name. “How do you feel?”

“When d.. you’re... you’re glowing,” he murmured.

“I what?”

He reached forward, and you flinched away, stiffened by a soft touch that traced down your jawline.

“You’re... glowing,” he said, louder, drawing in a deep breath as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Calm down, Ahk,” you warned him, pushing the hair off his forehead. “You’re going to work yourself up.”

“No,” he said with a strange sense of urgency, holding your face in the palm of his hand. You subconsciously leaned your cheek into his touch. “No, I need to see you.”

“I’m right here, with you.”

“Not in my dreams,” he breathed out, the words brushing his parted lips, now paler than ever.

Fever.

Vomitting.

Fatigue.

Gagging. Weakness. Dizziness. Chills. Sweating.

What would your father say?

He didn’t need to consult the numerous stacks of books shoved into his office to know what Ahk suffered from, but he was far away in Thebes, and you wouldn’t dare leave the Prince’s side, in fear of his condition and the wrath of his father should he suffer grievously.

“I told you not to eat those date rolls,” you chided, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. That must’ve been the cause—sickness carried through infirm food. You could think of nothing else.

He didn’t say anything. Not for a little while, at least. He continued to blink, albeit slow, and stared unceasingly into you.

“He is in your eyes,” he whispered, his own eyes flickering between yours. “And... speaking.”

“Who do you see?” You asked softly, suddenly reluctant to blink.

“Heka.”

Not a God of magic, but the personification of it. The genuine representation of healing and enchantments. His fertile, black skin made of the Nile’s silt was reflected in your own complexion—darker than night, flanked by eyes that appeared to glow against the midnight of you.

“What is he saying?” You said, readjusting yourself beside his hand, a seriousness edging your tone. Claims of Heka were not to be taken lightly.

“Pledging.. love.”

“For who?”

“... me,” he whispered.

“Beloved of...”

“Beloved of you,” he interrupted before you could finish your thought, a smile creeping at the edges of his pale lips.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. He was returning to a saner state of mind.

“Perhaps so,” you murmured.

[britishassistant]

Supervillain AU! I formally request the special addition of Yuu’s first kidnapping please.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“Yoo-hoo, Reporter-chan? Wakey-wakey, it’ll be bad for you if you don’t get up soon~”

Yuu shakes their head groggily, the sing-songy voice not helping the pounding in their temple.

“Did someone get the number of the truck that hit me?” They mumble, blinking to try and get their eyes to focus.

“Dammit Deuce, you gave them brain damage.” A familiar, much more annoyed sounding voice said. “Their head’s gonna be all screwy and useless now, dumbass.”

“It was just a lovetap though!” A third voice, also familiar, protested.

The floor finally stopped moving in front of their eyes and Yuu realized some very important things.

One, the floor they were staring at was not the floor of the library where they last remembered being.

Two: Their arms and legs seemed to be tied tight to the arms and legs of an iron garden chair.

Three: There are many odd-looking people standing near them, all in clothes that are too coordinated not to be a uniform but too outlandish to represent a government group of some kind.

Oh Great Seven, Yuu thinks with a rising sort of hysteria. It’s finally happened.

Clowns have come to take me away for not brushing my teeth enough like Mom said when I was little.

“...Are ya sure you didn’t break ‘em?”

“...”

“Deuce.”

Yuu wonders if they should feel offended at being talked around like this.

“Enough of this nonsense!” A hand seizes Yuu’s chin and pulls their head up to face the latest speaker. An imperious-looking young man stands and walks towards the reporter, clicking his fingers. “Three of Clovers.”

A tall man in glasses hands the imperious young man what Yuu recognizes as their wallet. The shorter man glances at the contents disdainfully. “You. First and last name and age, now.”

“Y-Yuu Radcliffe, 23 years.” The reporter stutters, their initial hysteria morphing into a sinking feeling in their gut. If not the clowns, then... “Can I ask who I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“No.” The redhead holding their wallet snaps. “Current occupation and birthday?”

“Field reporter at TWST local news.” They force themselves to relax the fists their hands have balled into. “March 18th.”

Remember what Uncle Divvy always says. Stay calm, act cooperative, do or say whatever you need to to avoid injury. Any supervillains on this level trying to curry favor with or blackmail the dumb bird will have to go through Uncle Divvy first to contact him, and he’ll take care of the rest.

All Yuu needs to do is keep themselves alive until then.

They still can’t help but dread what they know is coming next.

The supervillain seems to notice their distress, and smirks cruelly. He takes his time walking forward and leaning down until he’s on the reporter’s eye level, hands resting on the back of the chair and eyes flicking over their face, almost as if he’s savoring the moment before he makes their life that much more painful.

Yuu braces themselves as he opens his mouth–!

“What is the best type of tea?”

Huh?

“Wait, what? I don’t—” Yuu asks, backpedalling as the supervillain’s face grows stormy at their lack of response. “Uuh...green tea? I guess? I mean, it’s the one I like the most, but I’m more of a coffee or hot cocoa person, so I’m not the best one to ask...”

The person holding their chin sucks in through their teeth and the annoyed familiar voice outside their periphary snickers “Oooh, busted~”

The supervillain is beginning to go as red as his hair, and the reporter can hear his teeth grinding. His hands are now gripping the back of the chair so tight Yuu would almost swear they hear the metal by their ears creak.

“Ri–Royal.” The man with glasses says.

The supervillain inhales and exhales almost violently, until what’s visible of his face under that mask is looking less flushed.

“The correct answer,” He says, voice trembling with emotion. “Was all teas at their due times. To drink green tea instead of rosehip at breakfast, or lemon tea at 8pm...the nerve of your arrogance is astounding!”

Yuu...genuinely isn’t sure how they’re supposed to respond to that. Instead they just go with, “I’m sorry, I’ve never had rosehip or lemon tea. Do you like them?”

“Do I—?!” The supervillain’s mouth works soundlessly, gradually going red again. He pushes off the chair sharply. “I—the ro—i-it’s not a matter of liking!! These are the Rules!! And the Rules must be obeyed!! Three of Clovers!”

“Yes, Royal Flush?” The glasses man asks.

“The reporter is forbidden from having any montblanc after dinner, and will take two cups of lemon tea at 8pm tonight and two cups of rosehip tomorrow at breakfast.” Royal Flush flashes them a cruel smirk. “Consider it a light punishment for your impertinence.”

Yuu blinks. Tries to make sense of what they’ve just heard.

Blinks again.

“You know if you just wanted to ask me out to dinner, I’d have taken a nice invitation or a bouquet. You didn’t need to knock me out and tie me up like this, I’m not that picky. I do have Tinder.”

Glasses guy makes a choking noise and erupts into a coughing fit.

The hand that’s been holding Yuu’s chin migrates to their shoulder for support as its owner lets out an undignified snort and gasps out something that sounds vaguely like “why wasn’t I recording, that was Magicam gold!” as he giggles. He’s a redhead too, but much more orange than his boss.

There’s a sputter of hysterical laughter that has Yuu twisting their head to see the two guys and the cat from the hydroelectric plant, both with these odd-looking metal collars around their necks, but otherwise unharmed. The talking cat is trussed up in so many ropes that it looks more like a bobblehead, also wearing a weird collar.

The third redheaded one is bracing his hands on his knees, wheezing out a litany of “holy shit, holy shit” between chortles. The dark haired one is holding the cat a confused expression, cutting off his friend’s laughter when he turns to ask, “Ace, what’s tinder?”

The momentary silence lets an odd squeaking noise be heard.

One that gradually grows in volume until it’s an outright screech coming from the supervillain in front of them. He’s so red Yuu is honestly worried about his blood pressure, pointing a shaking finger at them.

“I—YOU—YOU—OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

Yuu chokes a little at the feeling of cold metal materializing around their neck, dragging their head down with its weight. The supervillain continues screeching, refusing to even look at the reporter. “YOU—! DUNGEON! RIGHT NOW!! NO DESSERTS!! GO!!”

There’s an awkward moment as Royal Flush turns away from them, as if expecting them to get up and walk out of their own accord while his back is to them.

“...So, does that mean you want them to untie me or something, or...?” Yuu wiggles their firmly bound hands and feet for emphasis.

The supervillian makes a sound like a kettle whistling, before he barks out. “Two of Spades! Ace of Hearts! GET them OUT OF MY SIGHT until they’re WILLING to COOPERATE!!”

The dark haired young man quickly shuffles forward, grabs the back of the chair, and drags it and the poor reporter attached to it out of the room and into the corridor. The metal screeches as it moves from carpet to concrete.

“Wh—Two, no, untie them first.” The man with glasses says, despairing, appearing in the doorway. “You’ll mark up the floor otherwise.”

“Ah! Sorry, senpai!” Two looks between the cat in his arms and the knots on the chair, before shoving the cat into the arms of the redhead who answers to “Ace”. Neither of them look happy with this development.

“Fgnah! Quit squeezing, ya jerk!” The cat protests, wriggling as best it can.

“Oh? What’s that? I’m sorry, I just need to make sure that greatest, lamest supervillain in the city doesn’t escape to go setting random crap in the lair on fire again.” Ace says sweetly, grip tightening.

“Tha’s your fault, an’ you know it!” The cat wheezes out, thrashing harder.

Yuu winces. “Hey, quit hurting him. Whatever he did, he doesn’t deserve this.”

The dark haired minion barks out a laugh as he tugs the ropes away from their right wrist while his redheaded counterpart sneers at them.

“Oh really? Bet you’ll change your tune real quick once you learn it’s thanks to him you’re here in the first place.” Ace of Hearts mocks. “Dumb monster sang like a damn canary when Royal pressured him a tiiiny bit, saying it was all your fault his precious ingredient is now in the sewers.”

“Tha’s a lie!” The monster? cat blurts out too quickly for comfort. “It’s all these two morons, I swear!”

“Why you little—“

“I don’t care.” Yuu cuts in before Two of Spades can hit the animal. “I didn’t destroy that thing, but even if none of you said anything, your boss would’ve found out I was involved anyway from watching my report on it on the news. So I don’t care, just-just quit hurting him.”

There’s a tense moment as the two minions stare down at the reporter. They do their best to meet the gazes without flinching.

Then the Ace of Hearts tosses the cat into their lap as the Two of Spades sinks back down to keep working on their ankle. “Fine. Since you like it so much, you can take care of it. Just don’t expect me to cover for your ass—you still owe me for the power plant.”

“I’m sorry?” Yuu curls their free arm around the bundle of rope, fur, and yowling insults and pulls it closer to them. “Shouldn’t that be the other way round?”

“You locked me in a closet with him!” Ace hisses. “Do you know how hard it was to get out before the cops came with him freaking out and messing stuff up?!”

“Oi.” Two shoots him a dark look from where he’s finished untying the reporter’s left hand. “Like you weren’t whining about us being digested until you knocked a broom over!”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Well excuse me for trying to save your lives.” Yuu bites back, rubbing the rope marks on their wrists. “Next time I’ll just run and let the sludge monster eat your unconscious bodies.”

“It’d save us all the trouble of this shit if you did!” Ace spits, jabbing a finger at his collar. “At least then we wouldn’t be on Royal’s shit list!”

Yuu lets the piece of information they were just given marinate in their brain as they glare at him. Well, now what exactly was that supposed to mean?

“Ngh...this knot won’t come loose.” Two says from by the reporter’s left foot.

“How about now?” Replies an unfamiliar voice, as a disembodied hand pulls deftly at a loop in the rope.

“Ah!” Two of Spades brightens up as the rest of the rope falls away. “Thanks a lot—”

The disembodied hand punches him in the face.

Yuu cries out in alarm at the sight of the minion falling backwards into the Ace of Hearts, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

A pair of clawed hands are then scooping them up, extra cat and all, and the reporter finds themself looking at the unsettlingly wide smile and purple cat ears of one of the city’s top heroes, running at full speed while sharpened playing cards whizz past his face and Ace calls out behind them “Senpai! It���s him again!!”

There’s a percussive boom somewhere in the distance, and screams of how the flamingos are loose as the hero winks down at Yuu. “Seems you’re a popular one today, kitten! But let’s get you back to where you where before you were so rudely catnapped, yes?”

“Not so fast, hero!” The orange haired guy choruses from the entrance to the staircase, and—from behind them as well?

The reporter’s heart sinks as more and more versions of the minion keep popping up around them, to the point where the hero is forced to stand on the bannister of the balcony they’re on.

And based on the fact that the hero hasn’t used his invisibility? Intangibility? powers, it’s likely that he can’t use them while holding Yuu and the cat.

They’re surrounded.

“You really can’t keep your paws out of anything that’s mine, can you?” Royal Flush’s tone is clipped as he glares up at the hero.

“Hey R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero pouts, hugging Yuu closer to his chest. “I come a~ll this way to play, only to find you’ve got a nyew toy you’re already playing with without me! How mean! You guys really are cruel!!”

“We’re sorry about that.” Three of Clovers says, edging closer. “If you just hand the reporter over to Four, they’ll be put away and we can all “play” together, no distractions. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The hero makes a deliberating noise, holding Yuu out and away from him over the drop, tilting his head this way and that.

His grin grows unsettlingly wider.

“Look, R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero calls out. “Nyo hands!”

Wait, what—

The hero’s body vanishes.

Yuu and the monster cat plummet screaming past the illogically winding staircases of the evil lair.

Yuu tries to angle their body so that the frantically crying cat will be shielded from the brunt of the fall—!

“NO!!”

There’s a sound like glass shattering, and a feeling of being enveloped in something soft, cold and buoyant. The two of them bounce a few times and land back on it more gently each time.

Yuu cracks open their eyes to see that they’re seated on a strange, red, jelly-like mass. The cat in their arms tentatively sniffs, and then lunges to take a bite out of their cushion before the reporter can stop him.

“Shtrawberry?” He says through a full mouth. “Tashtes good!”

The reporter grabs him before he can go for another bite, a little thrown by his speed now that collar isn’t weighing him down. But where did this thing come from–?

Yuu looks up.

Royal Flush is leaning dangerously far over the balcony countless flights of stairs above them, one arm outstretched down towards them.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then clawed hands fasten around Yuu’s waist again with a cheery “Nyow wasn’t that fun?” and Royal Flush visibly tenses and begins screaming things after the escaping hero that are barely legible through his rage.

The hero deposits them both outside the TWST news station with their wallet and phone back in their pockets. He at least helps them untie the monster cat, who promptly declares he just let them protect him, and scarpers.

Of course the hero is gone too when Yuu turns back around, before they can ask him what the hell he was playing at, dropping them like that, was he insane?! If Royal Flush hadn’t interfered...

The reporter has to fight the urge to lose their lunch.

Their boss rushes out and envelopes them in a surprisingly powerful hug, the woman almost lifting the reporter off their feet as she babbles about whether or not Yuu needs a hospital after getting kidnapped by one of the seven major supervillains.

Yuuken is quick to join the embrace with a bear hug of his own. He pulls back, fingers prodding gently at Yuu’s bruised temple and declaring he’ll drive them to hospital to make sure they don’t have a concussion.

He graciously waits until they’re in the car to ask why Yuu smells so much of strawberries.

The reporter can only give a half answer, partly because they don’t want to worry him, and partly because they have another question of their own buzzing incessantly around their brain.

Why was Yuu kidnapped in the first place?

Royal Flush never even mentioned Crowley, despite all the chances he had to do so. Not even an oblique or confusing metaphor or code. Does that mean he’s ignorant of the connection between Yuu and the League?

But if that’s the case, it circles back around to the first question: why kidnap Yuu to begin with?

Somehow the reporter doubts it was to just ask their tea preferences or invite them to dinner.

Those minions referred to that monster as Royal Flush’s “precious ingredient”. Ingredient for what? Is there something that Royal Flush thinks they witnessed that’s integral to a scheme? Did they witness something and just not realize it’s significance?

Yuu’s reporter senses are screaming that there’s a deeper story to uncover here. Yuu’s common sense is screaming that investigating the dangerous plans of the supervillain they’ve just escaped from is a terrible idea.

Though he could have just...let them fall. But he didn’t. And won’t he just kidnap them again regardless?

...

This is a terrible idea.

But if Yuu’s common sense was stronger than their reporter senses, then they wouldn’t be in this city in the first place, would they?

[azucanela]

THE LOVE LANGUAGES — HAIKYUU!! [GENDER NEUTRAL! READER]

FT. AKAASHI KEIJI, BOKUTO KOUTARO, IWAIZUMI HAJIME, KAGEYAMA TOBIO, KUROO TETSURO, OIKAWA TOORU, SUGAWARA KOURSHI, TSUKISHIMA KEI, USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

WARNINGS: NONE.

ACTS OF SERVICE

AKAASHI KEIJI not only knows Bokuto’s weaknesses, he knows yours. If he takes notice of your eating habits and realizes you have yet to eat, he’ll offer some of his lunch. Sharing his bottle of water with you if he notes you’re dehydrated in any way or bringing you a cup of coffee each school morning. He also adores when you made him a playlists or help him out with work of his own. Though Akaashi rarely needs reminders or assistance when it comes to doing chores and such, but the push to take care of himself is something he sometimes requires when he gets a tad overwhelmed. As someone who traditionally takes care of everyone else, Akaashi no doubt enjoys when someone takes care of him for a change. Bringing his favorite snacks after practice and helping him pack his things up before leaving. He just wants to help you in any way he can, and loves when you do the same, so naturally study sessions where you help each other in different subjects are frequent. 

IWAIZUMI HAJIME is handing you a bag with your favorite breakfast food, as he points to the cup in the cupholder of his car— the drink made to perfection— when he picks you up. He’s the type to do things for you without you uttering a single word to him. He can tell when you’re feeling down—after having known Oikawa for so long, it’s become easy for him to read you and your emotions and moods. Once he realizes, you’re getting your favorite candy sliding under your door, he’ll send you the homework even though he normally scolds you for asking and insists on teaching you. And Iwaizumi can’t help but adore when you do the same, cooking his favorite foods, staying late at practice with him and refilling his water bottles, and wordlessly completing chores for him. In general he adores you and just wants to make your life easier!

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI has never been of a man of many words. Or, any words at all really. He has also never been known for physical affection of any kind. And though, on occasion, he will verbally express his love for you, or protectively wrap an arm around you, he’s always been a man who viewed actions as louder than words. Show, rather than tell. You’ll find the dishes spotless when you wake up in the morning even though he came home from work equally late, and Ushijima won’t even mention it but you know. He pays the bills of your shared apartment before you have the chance to suggest splitting the price, you’ll wake up to a nice cup of coffee or tea waiting for you, sending you flowers while you’re at work. He appreciates the same sentiment when you attend his practices holding a lunch for the two of you to share along with bottles of water. A sign that you do care, and even if you verbalize that constantly your actions solidify the fact for him.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

BOKUTO KOUTARO is notoriously affectionate— tackling his friends to the ground in a hug, patting their heads and ruffling their hair, it’s his best way of communicating his feelings when he can’t express them verbally. After a long day he adores coming to you and resting in your arms, practically throwing himself at you just for a hug. It’s easy to find him in the halls of your school, hand in yours, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he goes to his own class after dropping you off. He always has a hand on you, wrapped around your shoulder, resting on your thigh. Please run a hand through his hair and let him rest his head on your shoulder or lap and he will love you forever. It’s honestly just easier for him this way— when he has no words to say he can just wrap his arms around your waist to seek out comfort in your presence and in your arms.

SUGAWARA KOUSHI will never stop touching you. Literally never, he’ll always have an arm around you as he makes his way to the gym after school, hand in yours, kiss against your cheek before he heads to practice. He’s always been a physical guy, it’s just easy to hold you close after an equally close game, relief flooding him when he buries his face in your neck. Or when you hold him close, because he can’t help the sadness he feels knowing he won’t be playing his beloved sport as much this year— and the only solace he finds is in your arms. As everyone sits on the floor listening to Coach Ukai’s words of wisdom, Sugawara finds his body sprawled over yours as he watches the man’s presentation. He loves when you randomly come up behind him, arms winding around his waist for a hug, and will often do the same. It’s a simple thing really, Sugawara’s desperate need for the attention he doesn’t receive on the court.  

QUALITY TIME

KENMA KOZUME has almost no social battery. Though he loves you endlessly, that doesn’t change the fact that he also just... isn’t one for small talk. It’s easy for him to enjoy your existence in silence, especially since a large amount of his time is spent playing video games. Whether you’re laying on your bed, or his, doing your homework or something else mundane. Maybe you’re seated in his lap as behind him with your arms strung around him loosely as you silently watch him game, head resting on his shoulder. Or maybe you’re walking through the mall, hands joined, as you wordlessly browse each store. Kenma adores moments where its just the two fo you so he tries to schedule dates as often as possible, but most of the time they’re done at home— how he prefers it. But it’s nice because for the first time all day Kenma puts his phone down and gives you his undivided attention.

TSUKISHIMA KEI hates how much he likes you. Just your presence, your very existence, fuels his love for you and it’s really annoying given the amount of time you spend together. Walking you from class to class because it’s “convenient” and walking you home at the end of the day even though it’s out of his way. Silent study sessions in which one of many playlists of his plays in the background, he’s seated on his desk while you rest on his floor— much to his dismay. He’d lectured you several times on it under the guise of it being “inconvenient.” There are days you go on dates and barely utter a word, but not the awkward kind, rather the comfortable kind. Speaking of dates he practically kidnaps you to go on them, dropping by your class at the end of the school day, or showing up at your house simply saying, “let’s go.” Without giving you a single clue as to where. 

RECEIVING/GIVING GIFTS

KUROO TETSURO is the type to see something in the store and immediately think of you, although it doesn’t matter if there is an occasion, Kuroo has every single possible one marked down on a calendar– he has never and will never forget an anniversary, holiday, or birthday. You’ll randomly find flowers left for you, or a keychain that he saw while waiting in line at a store that reminded him of you. He’s the type to enjoy similar gifts as well, if you gave him anything he would never let it go. A poorly done friendship bracelet? He wears it everyday. An also poorly knit sweater? His favorite thing in the world. A scrapbook filled with all your favorite memories together? He might melt, don’t kill him please. He just finds it intimate at another level to know your thinking of him and to have something physical from you to cherish. Give him a framed picture and it’ll remain at his desk permanently. A random wildflower you found and handed to him? He’s googling ways to keep it alive. Even if you guys break up. He’ll keep everything you’ve ever given him, no matter how insignificant it may seem. 

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

KAGEYAMA TOBIO has been praised his whole life, and he knows what he’;s good at, the mild cockiness and confidence is nothing new. But for some reason those words of assurance just mean more coming from you. After all... you’re you, the only person with an opinion that mattered. And seeing as Kageyama doesn’t necessarily thrive socially and was outright abandoned by one of his previous teams—leading him to believe that everyone in his life is now destined to do the same— a few words of encouragement don’t hurt. Tell him that you love him, and that you aren’t going anywhere and relief will flood him. Although he isn’t known for being the best with words, things feel different with you, easier. He’s very bluntly complimenting you now— in front of all your friends, which leads to some seriously embarrassing moments that he did not anticipate— but its worth the smile on your face. 

OIKAWA TOORU just wants someone to tell him that he’s enough. Although he’s demonstrated astonishing talent and skill, time and time again, he’s never been enough. Which is why hearing any semblance of praise from you of all people means so much to him. Come to his matches, watch him, tell him how well he did, when he passes a class say that you’re proud after having studied together the night before. He’ll express those same words of pride back of course, because what isn’t there to be proud of when it comes to you. Similarly, he has no qualms professing love for you constantly, leading to much embarrassment on your end. He’ll compliment you frequently as well, your outfit, your intelligence, your kindness— and if he sees something he likes, he will tell you. He’s a very open person, though he tries to avoid communicating his feelings at times, it’s quite easy when you’re just so easy to talk to. 

A/N: Part 2 or nah bc there were initially more characters but the tags,,, were not saving bc there were so many kjsadhjakhsda.

[emmatriarchy]

Meme: Witches Unleashed - Chapter 6 to 10

Change pronouns, names, etc as you need.

" Almost forgot the sugar! Sorry about that. " " Would you like some, [name]? " " I'd love to sit around all night and have a slumber party, but I have steaks to cook. " " If I don't get something to eat soon, I'll have to pick one of you. Probably [name], since I hate [pronoun] by default. " " I don't have any beef with you. Maybe we'll come to blows someday, but it'll have to wait. " " What I've got to do is too important. " " I'm listening, and I haven't tried to kill you yet. " " What's so funny? " " You don't want to know. " " So, [name], are you going to tell us what brings you to our humble abode or not? " " Would you like some crayons to draw us a picture? " " We don't have crayons. " " I do. I also have a unicorn coloring book if he wants it. " " [name] gave them to me for my birthday. " " I'd like to know why you're here, please. " " I need advice. And some help, if you're willing to offer any. " " It's a long story with a ton of background that you probably don't need, and there's really no sugarcoating it anyway. " " I didn't realize it at the time, but that's neither here nor there. " " Let me help. It's ok. " " I've got it under control. " " But [pronoun/name] is lucky I don't leap across the table and pull [pronoun] guts out. " " You know what [pronoun] is capable of. It'll be Hell on Earth if [pronoun] isn't stopped. " " I let [pronoun] out. It's my job to put [pronoun] back. " " You can guess what [name/pronoun] did with [pronoun] newfound freedom. " " Jesus. I'd cross myself, but I'd probably burst into flames. " " You either get Sarcastic [name], or Murderous [name]. I assume you'd prefer the former. " " It's bad. But I've been making good progress. " " Then, if I'm still alive, I'm gonna sleep for about two years. " " If you've got it handled, why are you here? " " That's where things get sticky. " " It's my job to know, [name]. " " I'll cook as long as you promise not to continue the conversation without me. " " The conversation is over. " " It's been a long time since you've seen each other. " " I see you've finally gotten some pants that button. " " They were my favorite pants. They were comfortable, and they had decent pockets. You have no idea how rare that is in women's clothing. " " I'd wear a paper bag if it had good pockets. " " I remember those pants. What happened to them? " " Nice place you've got here. " " We're happy, it's home. " " You think you'll ever settle down again? " " That didn't go so well for me the first time. " " I got a [girlfriend/boyfriend/datefriend], though. I think you'd like [pronoun]. [pronoun] doesn't take crap from anybody. " " Then what is [pronoun] doing with someone like you? " " [pronoun] doesn't have to see me much. Maybe that explains it. " " Maybe I'll bring [pronoun] to visit someday. " " Why are you acting like a toddler. " " I figured you shouldn't be the only one. " " Don't worry, they bicker to siphon off steam when they're stressed. It'll pass in a minute. " " You'd like that, wouldn't you? " " I've kind of got a personal stake in that one, don't you agree? " " Sorry. I shouldn't have been so self-centered. " " We're allowed to disagree, so long as we do it like adults. " " If you say so. " " I'd like to know what makes you so sure that one of my relatives is involved. " " It was less unnerving when they were fighting. " " I live with them. " " I know enough to agree with you. " " That soccer mom nearly took my head off. I'd take a million tanks over her, any time. " " Never underestimate an angry middle-aged woman. " " Statistically speaking, you have to admit that it's an awfully big coincidence. " " You need us to figure out what kind of trick he's playing. " " It's probably a long and distinguished list. " " That's not terrifying at all. " " My memories aren't exactly fit for human consumption. " " I'll be respectful of your privacy. " " Shut up, or I'll turn you into a newt. " " We'll have to experiment and find out. " " You'll make it worse, and that would tick me off. " " We haven't exactly had the closest relationship. " " I might be a bonehead, but I can be taught. " " I guess I'm just as much to blame for our shaky relationship as you are. " " I can't believe I just said that. " " Down, boy. They're friendly. " " Were you hot? Was it windy? How did it smell? " " I'll burn all the hair off of your body, one strand at a time. I hear the eyelashes hurt the most. " " When someone messes with your head like that, it can break you. " " I'm going to miss this place. " " It's really just an excuse so they don't have to stare at your tragic expression and feel guilty over it. " " I won't bite unless you beg. " " You're attractive when you're angry, you know that? " " That's not what I meant, and you know it. " " I wouldn't have pegged you for a blind follower. " " You're lucky we're in my happy place or I'd pop your head off for saying that. " " You've got to understand my frustration here. " " This is a recipe for disaster, and you know it. " " I've done the calculations already. I don't like them. " " It's been hard to hold on lately. I'm angry all the time. " " You know I wouldn't beg if it wasn't important. " " Together, we can really throw down if we have to. " " I'm being dismissed, uh? " " If I come up with a brilliant idea overnight, I'll let you know. " " I need some time to think. "

[alphadaddyderek]

Dude, just get out! (we both live here dumbass!) (sterek fic, smut, college au)

Stiles was initially excited to go to college. The freedom aspect of it in particular is what Stiles was the most excited about. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad, of course, he does. He didn’t mind living with him, he liked seeing him on a daily basis. He’s all Stiles has. Well, Stiles has Scott, but Scott is attending university in Arizona of all places. Meanwhile, Stiles is going to NYU, so, there’s not a lot of opportunities to see Scott or his father in person.

Not to fret though! Stiles was ready like Freddy to meet new people and, hopefully, make new friends along the way. That’s what college is all about. Supposedly, Stiles wouldn’t know but if all the movies are to be believed then that’s what college is all about.

He and his dad spent days driving up to NYU and then spent hours moving Stiles’ belongings into his off-campus apartment and unpacking. Stiles got a full-ride —thank god— so there’s extra money for him to be able to live in an actual, nice apartment instead of the dorms. His roommate was nowhere to be seen at the time, but that was fine with Stiles. He’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know him. Stiles’ dad left to stay in a hotel for the night because there was no way he was starting the trek back to Beacon Hills this late in the day. So, Stiles was left to his own devices in his new apartment.

Well, he was for about twenty minutes, then his roommate came back and...he’s kind of a dick.

He has a resting bitch face and he hardly likes to talk. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the guy doesn’t like him or if he’s just the quiet type. He’s starting to think that the guy doesn’t like him because every time Stiles starts talking he looks annoyed. The dick’s name is Derek and coincidentally, he also goes to NYU. He did tell Stiles his major, but wouldn’t tell Stiles what his favorite color was, which is just plain rude.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t going to let this Debbie downer ruin his college experience, no way!

Stiles decides the best thing to do is to just ignore him. Which is hard to do because the guy takes up so much space, like, he’s actually huge. And he always seems to be in the apartment when Stiles comes back from classes. Which is weird because, dude, don’t you have classes to go to? Nonetheless, he’s always there which means Stiles has to see him all the time and Derek can continue being an asswipe for no reason.

For example, Stiles sometimes forgets to wash the dishes —sue him!— and Derek will chew him out for it. Stiles didn’t know Derek was such a neat freak, but now that he knows he’ll leave more things laying around because Stiles can also be a dick when he wants to be. Maybe Derek should learn to be more personable, then Stiles wouldn’t have to go out of his character by doing such petty things. They’ve only been living together for about a week and a half and there’s already a turf battle going on. Stiles isn’t sure who’s going to win this battle, however, the sight of Derek tripping over one of Stiles’ shoes and the subsequent curse that flies out of his mouth makes Stiles not even care in the end.

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

After about a month, it's way more than just a battle. The turf battle has evolved into a war and now, no one is safe.

Derek continues being yucky and Stiles continues to do things to intentionally annoy him, except, now Derek is doing things to annoy Stiles. Like, eating all of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts or, and this is a cruel one, flushing the toilet while Stiles is in the shower. Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek buys gross ass healthy food for himself, and Stiles couldn’t choke down that food to save his life. So, what can one do to even the playing field?

Derek is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some show about underwater caves. Stiles normally wouldn’t stick around because, despite what Derek might think, Stiles really doesn’t enjoy being talked down to by an abnormally grumpy man. This time though, Stiles sits down beside him. He can see Derek watching him from the corner of his eye, probably waiting to see what Stiles is going to do. Stiles likes to instill fear in Derek. Normally he acts like Stiles is nothing more than a bug he wants to squish under his overly expensive boot, but now? He’s worried. He should be. Stiles is going to pull out his ultimate weapon.

“So, whatcha watchin’?” Stiles asks, plastering a smile onto his face.

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles shrugs, smile still present. “I’m curious. This show seems interesting.”

Derek gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise, which is super insulting. Derek thinks all Stiles watches is Harry Potter, Star Wars, and superhero movies. Which is just wrong. But that’s okay. Stiles thinks all Derek watches are documentaries about how to be a functioning human in society, which, newsflash Derek, still needs working on.

A few minutes go by before Stiles decides to speak again. “So, you haven’t told me about your family.”

“That’s intentional.”

Stiles laughs. Derek thinks he can scare Stiles into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles has zero self-preservation skills.

“Come on Derek. We’re roommates. Don’t you want us to get along?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response —rude!— so Stiles speaks again.

“My dad is the sheriff of my hometown. Been that way for as long as I can remember. My best friend, his name is Scott, wants to be a vet. He goes to The University of Arizona. After that he’s not sure where he’ll go to get his DVM but he’s open to anything.”

Derek turns the volume up on the tv and Stiles bites his lip to stifle his laughter.

Ah, Derek. That won’t help.

“At first I was kinda skeptical about Scott becoming a vet. I mean, he’s a puppy himself, and I love him to death, but sometimes he’s ditzy. He’s a ditzy brunette. But after working at Deaton’s, Deaton is the town vet, for years he’s proved me wrong,” Stiles risks a glance at Derek and he’s scowling so hard Stiles is kind of afraid it’ll get stuck that way forever. “He and his girlfriend, Allison, are kind of having issues with long-distance but they’re high school sweethearts so I’m confident that they’ll work through it. They’re so cute together that it’s actually kinda nauseating. Like, sometimes their sappiness makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder when they’ll get ma-”

Derek abruptly stands up and walks out the room, slamming and locking his bedroom door, as if Stiles is the boogeyman who he’s trying to keep out.

Stiles snickers and grabs the remote to change the channel. Derek gets annoyed when Stiles talks, well, he shouldn’t have started this war then (it doesn’t matter that technically Stiles started it). Stiles has weaponized his ability to talk people’s ears off. So, Derek better watch out.

Hopefully, Derek won’t murder Stiles in his sleep.

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

Okay, so, Stiles thinks maybe this whole turf war thing is getting out of hand.

It’s been a total of 3 and a half months since they’ve been living together and Derek and Stiles are on edge around each other 24/7. Stiles has to shower around eleven o’clock at night so that Derek won’t burn him alive by flushing the toilet. Derek doesn’t have access to Stiles’ snacks anymore because Stiles hid them in the back of his closet. Derek stays in his room all day just so that Stiles won't have any opportunities to talk to him. They’re at an impasse, but Stiles has a feeling that the worst has yet to come.

A really bad feeling.

Stiles comes back from a particularly grueling day of classes to see Derek sitting on the couch...and he’s smirking.

That doesn’t bode well for Stiles.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Uh, hey dude. Why do you look like a supervillain?”

“‘Cause I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound good.

“Actually, I am a-okay. I really don’t need the surprise. I appreciate it though,” Stiles tries to make his way towards his room but Derek keeps talking.

“I normally don’t snoop through people’s things, it’s really not in my character, but after you left to go out last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was trying to ignore it at first, but after a while I went to see what it was. I was going to mention it this morning but you woke up before I did and by the time I had woken up you were already in class.”

Stiles had stopped in his tracks but he still hasn’t turned around to face Derek, because if Derek is going where Stiles thinks he’s going, Stiles is going to need to be able to book it into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek didn’t seem too perturbed by Stiles’ silence since he continues with his story. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was your laptop making that noise. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that porn was playing, but what I was surprised at-”

Oh god.

“-was that the video you were watching was titled ‘bear fucks twink with huge cock’. And now I can’t help but question your hatred towards me.”

Stiles’ face is burning. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life, which is really a great feat because Stiles doesn’t get embarrassed by much. It’s not that Stiles didn’t notice Derek was hot, like, come on now, Derek is gorgeous. He’s not that much taller than Stiles but the size of his biceps? They’re easily the size of Stiles’ thigh. Derek is bigger than Stiles in every aspect.

Well, he’s not sure about every aspect. Stiles has never seen Derek’s dick outright, but he’s seen him wear sweatpants, and ooh boy, that bulge gives Stiles the impression that Derek is hung like a horse.

Stiles still hates Derek because Derek still has his asshole-ish ways. Case in point: right the fuck now. But, you can hate someone and still want to fuck them, right? Hate sex exists.

Derek is patiently waiting for Stiles to respond, and Stiles has never been good at staying silent, so it’s only a matter of time.

Stiles finally turns around to face Derek and clears his throat. “That- that means nothing. People watch shit like that all the time. Plus, you hardly qualify as a bear.”

It’s a weak excuse but, hey, Stiles is grasping at straws here.

Derek tilts his head to the side in agreement. “True, but if that was the case, why do you seem so nervous?”

Stiles can’t think of a reasonable response in time and Derek knows it.

Derek smirks again and Stiles really wants to knee him in the dick.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. What the fuck is his endgame here? Why is he being such a dick?

Oh yeah, because Derek is a fucking asshole.

“Fine,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “I find you attractive. I watch porn about big, hairy men fucking twinks because I want you to fuck me. Are you happy now? Jackass.”

Stiles storms into his room and slams the door. That’s a perfect example of why people can’t be pretty and nice. It’s genetically impossible.

Stiles lets out a sigh and dumps his backpack on his bed before stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. He stands under the spray for ten minutes, just praying to the cosmic gods out there that a black hole will appear and suck the whole human race into nothingness. After waiting for a few more minutes, and his prayers going unanswered, he washes himself then gets out to dry off. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Derek standing outside his bathroom door. He shrieks (a very manly shriek by the way) and covers his chest with his arms, not that that’ll hide much.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek’s eyes do the slowest sweep in fucking existence down Stiles’ body and Stiles feels his cheeks flush. Ugh, why are the cutest guys always assholes?

“I came to apologize. I was being a dick-”

“What else is new?” Stiles interrupts. Stiles is rewarded with another smirk.

“-and I took it too far. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second. They’ve never apologized to each other when they did shit, and even though Stiles didn’t take it as far as Derek did, Stiles can’t stand here and act like he wasn’t also an asshole.

Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry too. I was also kind of a dick. Not as much as you, but still.”

Derek laughs a little, and Jesus H. Christ, how is a laugh sexy? “Apology accepted.”

Stiles holds his hand out for a handshake. Derek puts his hand in Stiles’ and they shake on their newfound not-friendship-but-also-maybe-not-complete-dicks-to-each-other-ship.

“So,” Derek starts after they drop their hands. “wanna have sex?”

Stiles might’ve actually choked on his own fucking spit, because what?

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex.”

“Where is this even coming from? You hate my guts. Every time I talk you look like you’re going in for a root canal.”

Stiles is so confused, he’s also getting hornier by the minute, but right now, the confusion is outweighing the horniness.

“I don’t hate you. Yeah you talk a lot, and it was so annoying at first, sometimes it still is, but I got used to your incessant chatter.”

Stiles knows he looks dumb, his mouth is gaping and everything. “I think maybe there was something in the water because I must be high. We’ve lived together for over 3 months and you’re telling me that you actually want to have sex with me?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. Just because you can be kinda annoying that doesn’t mean you’re not cute. Plus, people have sex all the time, that doesn’t mean we have to, like, date or whatever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek’s so romantic, how has Stiles been able to resist jumping his bones for this long?

“You just embarrassed the hell out of me, why would I ever want to have sex with you?” Never mind the fact that Stiles definitely does want to have sex with him.

“Maybe you don’t. If not, then fine. We can just go back to how things were. If you do, then we’ll have a great time.”

Stiles is still struggling to wrap his mind around all of this. Derek wants to have sex with him? In what universe does that make sense?

Apparently in this one.

Stiles does this sort of shrug that basically portrays well, what the fuck? Okay then. “Okay. I guess this is happening then.”

Derek smirks for like the fiftieth time in thirty seconds and if Stiles was a stronger man he definitely would’ve kneed Derek in the dick, but clearly, Stiles is weak.

Very, very weak.

“My room or yours?” Derek asks.

“Mine. Since it’s right there,” Stiles points behind Derek and, lo and behold, there’s Stiles’ bed.

Grabbing Stiles’ hand in a surprisingly gentle gesture, Derek walks the three feet from the bathroom to the bed to lay Stiles down.

Derek gets on top of the bed and is sitting on his knees by Stiles’ feet. He pulls his shirt off like he’s in Magic Mike or something before throwing it onto the floor without a care in the world. Jesus, it’s like his muscles have muscles. Stiles starts feeling a little insecure about his body. He’s got muscles, but, he’s not, like, ripped like Derek is. Stiles likes to think he has somewhat of a swimmer’s body.

Looming over him like a fucking creeper, Derek stares down at Stiles. “You know, you’re very pretty.”

Stiles refuses to admit that he blushes at that because he’s not pretty. If anything he’s handsome, some may even say gorgeous.

“Can you just get on with it?” Stiles throwing a scowl in Derek’s direction.

“Bossy. I kinda like that,” he strips his sweatpants off and throws them down too. Now he’s only in a pair of gray boxer briefs and, god, Stiles wants to suck his dick so badly. Which is weird because he’s really not all that experienced with blowjobs, he’s given maybe two blowjobs in his life. Whatever, Derek has a great dick okay?

Derek tugs at the towel around Stiles’ waist. “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods and then the towel is gone, and Stiles is laid bare for Derek to gaze at his leisure. And boy does Derek gaze. He does another slow sweep down Stiles’ body, except this time it’s even more intense because now Stiles is naked.

“You’re not a virgin right?” Derek asks while rummaging through Stiles’ bedside drawer and pulling out the lube. First of all, it’s rude to go through people’s stuff! Second of all, how the hell did Derek know his lube was there? Although, where else would lube be?

“Nope. There will be no deflowering of the Stiles today. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek shrugs before popping open the lube. “I’m not one of those weirdos who pops a boner at the thought of popping someone’s cherry.”

Stiles chuckles, like actually chuckles. Who knew Derek was even capable of being funny?

Stiles pulls his legs up and hooks his hands behind his knees. The position exposes Stiles’ hole to the extreme and it makes Stiles blush. Just because he’s not a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get nervous or embarrassed during sex.

Derek knee-walks closer to Stiles and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He puts one hand on Stiles’ right thigh while the other one gently and slowly breaches his entrance. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thicker than Stiles’ that’s for sure. Stiles definitely isn’t shy about fingering. He fingers himself all the time, but it’s been a while since someone else’s fingers were up there. Stiles is nervous and excited about it all.

Derek doesn’t spend too much time with the one finger, quickly adding a second one and that’s when it starts feeling good. Derek’s fingers are about an inch away from his prostate and Stiles is about to curse him out until Derek presses both fingers against his prostate and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop the loud ass moan that almost escaped his mouth. Judging by the look on Derek’s face, he knows he touched Stiles’ prostate, and being the asshole that he is, he has a cocky smile on his face.

After scissoring those two fingers inside Stiles for a few minutes, Derek adds a third finger. The stretch is definitely there, but hey, Stiles likes a little pain with sex. He can be kinky sometimes.

“Okay. I’m ready, come on,” Stiles says. He was starting to get impatient. He just wants to get dicked down already, damn.

Derek gently removes his fingers and gets off the bed to pick up his sweatpants. He reaches into the pocket and retrieves a condom out. Stiles’ mouth drops.

“So you just knew I’d have sex with you?”

“I didn’t know. I just hoped.”

That smarmy little bastard.

Derek gets back in bed and, finally, removes his briefs and...

Holy mother of god.

Well, maybe not the mother of god. That’s blasphemous as fuck. But! The sentiment is the same because wow. Stiles is glad he didn’t knee him in the dick because that dick is too gorgeous to cause serious injury to. He’s not like porn star big, but it is big and long too. And it’s uncut, which Stiles has a weird sort of kink about. He loves uncut cocks. Yeah, that’s a good-looking cock right there.

Derek unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his cock. He then grabs the bottle of lube that he placed on the bed and squirts more out before slathering a generous amount onto said cock. He makes Stiles move his hands before replacing them with one of his own, the other is at the base of his cock, lining it up to Stiles’ hole.

“You ready baby?” Derek asks.

“Call me baby again and I’ll dropkick you in the throa- oh fuck.”

Of course, Derek chose when Stiles was mid-threat to start pushing his cock inside. Geez, that is seriously a big cock, even the fingering didn’t make it burn any less. Derek gently pushes his cock in deeper before pulling it out, then he pushes it in a little deeper than he did at first before pulling it back out again. He repeats that until his cock is seated all the way inside, his balls to Stiles’ ass. Then he stops and waits. There’s sweat gathering above Derek’s eyebrow and some is even rolling down his temple. Needless to say, Derek isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to be. Which makes Stiles feel kind of great actually.

“Okay, you can move now,” Stiles informs Derek. And when Stiles says Derek goes to town, he really means that.

Derek puts his other hand behind Stiles’ left knee and pulls out all the way, not even the tip is inside, before thrusting back in. Hard.

Stiles’ breath gets forced out of him at the movement. This truly is hate sex, kinda. Derek said he didn’t hate Stiles, but he certainly doesn’t like him all that much. At least, not yet. Who knows what will stem from this. That’s something to think about when Derek isn’t pounding him into the mattress.

Derek delivers a thrust that nails Stiles’ prostate dead on and Stiles makes this super embarrassing sound, like a high-pitched keen. He knows he’s not going to live that down after this.

After that, Derek is consistent with the hard abuse on Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is getting close to orgasm embarrassingly fast. He isn’t too sure he’ll be able to last much longer. Although, Derek doesn’t seem like he’s going to be able to either. If the grunts and groans he’s letting out are anything to go by.

“Unh, fuck. Derek-!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come?”

Stiles frantically nods his head and grabs his own cock to start stroking himself. Derek thrusts harder if that’s even possible, and within a few seconds, Stiles is coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans and thrusts one, two, three more times before stopping with a deep, guttural moan. He almost sounds like an actual bear and Stiles can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek gives him a weird look but his lip quirks up in a maybe sort of smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin.

And since it’s already been established that Derek is an asshole, he grinds and his cock brushes against Stiles’ oversensitive prostate causing Stiles’ whole body to convulse. He slaps Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls out and lets go of Stiles’ legs. They’re sore from being in the same position for so long but Stiles can’t even care. He’s sated and all he wants to do now is take a nap. Stiles stretches his whole body like a cat while Derek disposes of the condom.

“Okay, that was fun. If you want to annoy me, I’ll be in my room.” And with that, Derek walks out of Stiles’ room to go to his own.

Derek was definitely a dick, but Stiles could deal with him. Especially if they continue to fuck like that.

Holy (not) mother of god indeed.

[elvensorceress]

I had too many feelings after yesterday’s episode. So, here. Have an angsty snippet of angst. 

Everything Is Fine

It’s not the loss of light that bothers him, or even the whole station living on top of each other for days on end. It’s the unending heat. Constantly sticky, constantly sweating, constantly too much. But he wants to set a good example for his newfound probie protégé, so he does what he does best. He wears a smile and keeps track of what he can control and shows the world that he’s fine. 

Everything is fine. 

Except that nothing is. 

The blackout, the power outages, the zoo escapees, the sad food, the lack of his own cellphone — that he can handle. All things considered, they’re nothing really. Especially after last year. It’ll be over eventually. Those aren’t the things that keep gnawing at his insides and flooding him with worry and visions of a hospital ICU. 

Every time he closes his eyes. Eddie is pale, intubated, unconscious, fighting for his life. 

What if his heart is broken? What if the extreme hypovolemic shock and blood loss and trauma to his body weakened his heart? What if there’s residual damage? What if he had some kind of underlying condition that was aggravated when he nearly died four months ago? What if he suffers an attack or his heart starts failing and they can’t get him to a hospital this time? 

There is no chance in any sort of hell that Buck will just drop it and move on. 

He knows Eddie’s been carefully avoiding him the past few days. Not enough to be obvious. Not enough to make it seem like it’s anything out of the ordinary. To anyone else that is.  He still smiles when they’re near each other and sits beside Buck when they eat like they always do.

He’s just not talking. About anything more than work. 

And after something clearly happened when his girlfriend stopped by with salad and Christopher, Buck is done. He’s done. It’s not okay. He’s not ready to be a single parent. He’s not ready to watch Eddie crash and slip away from them. Everything around them is sweltering, suffocating, and he can’t bear to watch Eddie stop breathing. 

So, no. He’s not going to give up. Ever. 

He’s also not sure what to do with the revelation that Eddie is having panic attacks so intense and visceral that 1) he has to see a cardiologist and 2) are over the thought of his long term relationship becoming serious. 

Eddie and Ana are supposed to be great. They’re supposed to be doing well together. Eddie is supposed to be happy. He has to be because if he’s not then all of this is so much worse than Buck ever could have imagined. 

He’d been working on his relationship with his parents. He’d upgraded himself, turned a page, started a new phase. He’d been thinking about the future he wanted. 

Dr. Copeland told him to make a list — they could be goals, they could be dreams, it didn’t matter how far-fetched or ridiculous they seemed. She told him it was good to figure out what he wants his life to be and what he wants out of it. It would help him take steps toward those things. 

He knew it wasn’t possible. He knew it was a future he could never have. But it was a dream that existed, okay? 

When he looks at the smile on Christopher’s face, when he thinks of the way Christopher turns to him for help, when he feels the way Christopher hugs him and melts because he’s safe and loved and happy when Buck holds him. 

When he thinks of his own safe person, of reassurance, of compatibility, of comfort, of happiness, there’s no one he can picture but Eddie.

He can’t imagine a future without them. He doesn’t want a life without them. 

But he can only have so much. He knows that. It’s fine. Everything is. He just filled his nights off with an endless string of first dates that went nowhere instead of playing video games and watching movies and cooking dinner with his favorite people. 

He didn’t think about being replaced. He’s not a Diaz and never will be. He wouldn’t be missed. He had plenty of things to do on his own. If a lot of them turned out to be listening to Albert talk about the people he’d met while out clubbing and the ones he’d kissed or wanted to kiss, it was Buck’s fault for asking what he was up to. 

His loft was so quiet without roommates. Too quiet. When Albert was gone. When everyone was gone. 

But it was supposed to be worth it. Because Eddie was supposed to be happy. 

How the fuck can he stay with someone, knowing she is probably in love with him by now, when he knows he’s not in love with her? When he knows the thought of being with her and having a future together is something that literally, physically hurts him? 

How can it be enough? How can he live through giving up time with Chris? Time with Eddie? If this is what he gave that up for?

He stepped back. He made room because Eddie wanted someone and should have someone, and Buck knows there’s nothing on the future list for the two of them as anything more than what they already are. 

And that’s fine. He can live with that, too. As long as they still have each other in some way, as long as Eddie is alive, as long as Christopher is still somewhat his, Buck can accept it. 

But not like this. Not when Eddie is miserable and hurting himself and hurting someone who probably loves him. It’s not fair to any of them. 

“I have been Ana,” he says before he can ever rein in depth and layers of unrequited love. Maybe it’s not fair, but neither is holding on while you have one foot out the door or your whole entire self on another continent. 

Abby let him love her. She knew Buck loved her, wanted her, wanted to be with her. If she’d asked, he might have even followed her. But she didn’t ask and didn’t want him in return. Didn’t even tell him. In the end, he’d fallen in love with a ghost. A shadow. She confessed she wasn’t herself with him, and he wanted to say he didn’t know and couldn’t feel it. But he could. 

He’s not sure anymore if he’s ever known what it’s like to be loved by someone in that way. 

It hurts worse than the truth. The uncertainty, the knowing but having no confirmation, the suspicion and doubt. It breeds insecurity and jealousy and he already lacks in the department of self worth. 

If Eddie asked, there’s no question, no limit to what he’d give.

But he won’t ask. He wants to stick it out and hurt every single one of them. 

So, Buck leaves him to contemplate while he goes outside in the roasting sun. It’s too much. Too much heat and not enough relief. Too much always, always pulsing in his chest. The air smells and tastes even more toxic. Metallic, noxious pollution hovering within everything. 

It’s not fine. He doesn’t know how Eddie can be okay with it. 

[missymurphy1985]

Nobody's Perfect (part 6)

Warnings - smut / slight breeding kink maybe?

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers

The morning light woke you gently, alongside a soft hand caressing your waist. It tickled the skin lightly, followed by gentle kisses on the back of your neck making you shudder.

"Morning you..." He whispered.

"Morning... Love waking up next to you.."

"We can do this every morning, there's nothing stopping us now."

"You're really going to talk to Steve?"

"Absolutely. It'll be fine, I promise."

"Should I come too?"

"I don't see why not." You turned round to face him, your legs becoming entangled in his.

"You'd really do this for me? Because you know you don't have to, right? I will happily walk away from Peaky if it makes your life easier?"

"Shut up..." He silenced you with a kiss and smiled. "It's happening. I texted him last night. I'm seeing him in an hour."

"We best get ready then.. god I'm nervous..."

"Shut up..." He laughed and kissed you again. "We talk to Steve, film our last scenes, do this wrap party tonight and fly to Ireland together tomorrow morning. How's that sound?"

"Perfect Mr Murphy."

You sat in Steve's trailer an hour later and glanced at Cillian nervously. Steve emerged with a coffee for each of you and sat opposite you both.

"Must be important if you've called to see me alone Cill on the last day of filming, what's going on?"

"You've heard the rumours?" Cillian asked. Steve nodded.

"Well they're true. We're together. Have been since the start of series 1. And I appreciate you might not find it professional, or appropriate given the 20 year age gap, and the press are going to eat us alive, and the focus might be taken away from the show - " Steve raised his hand to silence him.

"Cillian I'm not daft, nor am I blind. The sly glances at each other? Spending time with each other off set? You're the most reclusive person I know, and you're actually socialising with people.. I knew something was going on. As for how I feel about it.."

You reached for Cillian's hand and Steve smiled.

"It's wonderful. Truly wonderful. You two are perfect together, you know that? On screen, your chemistry is something else - the fans will adore the fact you're a real life couple."

"What about James?" You asked, squeezing Cillian's hand. Cillian then told him what James had been doing, threatening with the press and telling y/n it was going to ruin her career, she wouldn't be in series 2...

"He's an idiot. Only hired him because his dad is my best friend. I'll speak to him y/n. You'll be in series 2, there's no doubt about that. Cillian's executive producer, can't exactly bin his girlfriend off now can I?" He laughed. Cillian smiled at you. You blushed at being called Cillian's girlfriend.

"Told you he'd be fine, didn't I?"

Your final scene was ready to go - Clara's wedding night with Tommy. The two of you were stripped and sat on the bed together, wearing just a robe each to cover yourselves while the director cleared the set of any unnecessary people - privacy was always key in scenes like this. Just Anto and the cameraman remained as you both climbed under the duvet and removed the robes. Cillian now behind you. You sniggered slightly at the thick, padded underwear you were wearing. The bump you wore tightly wrapped and concealed to hide the straps holding it in place. Cillian leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"We need to do this in one take, because I don't think I'll be able to control myself if we have to do it twice..."

"Hmm... That sounds interesting... Be a shame if I messed it up, wouldn't it..."

"Not funny..." He chuckled, just as the director called Action.

His body moved against yours, as you groaned. He stayed silent - typical Tommy mode now. You felt his hands underneath the duvet, where others couldn't see, snaking over your hips and thighs, squeezing lightly. Burying his face in your hair, he whispered into you so no one could hear him.

"You're getting it so fucking hard when we're back at the hotel... You're not gonna be able to walk straight when I'm done with you..."

His words only turned you on more - you had to fight to remain as Clara so as not to arouse suspicion but you could feel your core throbbing with need.

You were desperate for Anto to call cut, and luckily it wasn't long before he did. You put your game face on and redressed into the robe, Cillian doing the same with his. Finishing up a few things with Anto, he winked at you and headed out. You bit your lip in anticipation of what awaited you back in your hotel room.

You unlocked the door to find him sat on the sofa watching TV. He tilted his head to you and smiled as you made your way over to the other side of the room, hanging your dress bag on the wardrobe and makeup bag, straighteners and hairdryer on the dressing table.

"You know you don't need all that, don't you?" He said, eyes all over you as you sat next to him on the sofa. You leaned into him and linked your hand into his.

"So you say.. I need it to make me look less tired!"

"Something keeping you awake all night y/n?"

"More like someone..."

"Who's that then?"

"This hot older guy... Dark hair, piercing blue eyes... he promised me a good time earlier.." you moved your body slowly onto his lap. He brought his hands up your legs, resting them on your hips.

"Did he now... What did he say to you?"

"He said I wouldn't be able to walk after he's done with me..." He lifted you off him and back onto the sofa, lifting your t-shirt over your head and kissing down your neck. You lifted your hips to allow him to pull them, and your underwear, down, throwing them to the side of the room. Placing small kisses on the inside of your thigh, as his hand squeezed the other, approaching your core slowly making you squirm underneath him.

"Fuck... Cillian..." You arched your back, aching for him. You gasped as his tongue found your clit, circling over it slowly, pushing a finger inside you, pumping it gently. You hands in his hair, urging him on.

"You taste fucking incredible, I'm gonna make you come so hard..." His words turning you on further, as he continued his attack on your clit, two fingers pumping into you now, moving around inside you until he felt you flinch. Found it.

Your core was on fire as he pushed that spot inside harder, increasing the pressure and speed of his tongue, making you writhe against him. You couldn't help but ride your hips against his face as your orgasm built up quickly.

"Cill... Cill... Jesus..." Breathy little whimpers of his name were all you could manage, as you came hard, your juices flowing and coating his chin, dropping onto the floor underneath you. He grinned against your mound, arching his finger upwards again making you shudder. He eased out and pressed his lips against your belly, sighing softly.

You pulled him up to kiss you, before he pulled you to your feet and moved you both to the bed.

"I promised you wouldn't be able to walk..." He whispered in your ear as your fingers pulled at the buttons on his jeans.

"Give me what you've got baby..." He pulled his jeans and boxers down, opening your legs, lining his erection against you. You were soaked, and he thrust inside powerfully making you scream and clutch the bedposts behind you. No build up, just pure, primal thrusts.

"Fuck.. seeing you with that bump today did things to me I didn't expect..."

He turned you slightly on your side, legs together. Fingers digging into your hips and thigh, sure to leave bruises but you didn't care - you were crying his name, begging for more.

"One day Cillian... I promise you that..."

He lay you flat again, bringing his body down to yours, kissing you softly, his thrusts pausing for a second.

"Needed a minute, the thought of you being pregnant nearly sent me over the edge for a second there..." You chuckled before clenching your core around him.

His thrusts picked up again, as his lips found your neck. His pace slower now, but you weren't complaining. His thrusts were now slower, more passionate. Your hands wrapped round his shoulders as he moved.

"You feel so good... You're perfect..." Your mouth kissed his neck, leaving little bites and sucks as you felt your orgasm approach.

"Oh god... Cill, I'm gonna..." He lifted his body from yours so he could watch you unravel underneath him, his thrusts speeding up a little to get you there.

"Do it.. come on... Keep looking at me..." Your back arched, calling his name as he came with you, never once taking his eyes from yours. As your breathing came back to normal, he rested his forehead on yours.

"Fuck that was good.." you sighed as he fell next to you on the bed.

"Yeah, I'm well aware you can still walk, I'll make it up to you," he laughed.

"Don't be daft, that was perfect. Now though, we have a party to get ready for. Come on, shower time." You got up and pulled him into the ensuite.

************************************************************

Stepping out of Cork airport, you clutched Cillian's hand as you walked towards the waiting taxi. A few people had recognised him, but no one bothered him thankfully, both of you were still dealing with slight hangovers from the party the night before.

"You okay?" He asked as you got into the taxi.

"I'm nervous Cill, what if they don't like me?"

"What? You're insane, they're gonna love you as much as I do. I'm sorry we need to do the whole 'meet the parents' thing so soon." He kissed the back of your hand. Giving the driver his parents' address, you headed over there. It was his sister's wedding that weekend, you were attending as his plus one.

Arriving at his family home and unloading the taxi of your bags, he squeezed your hand tight before opening the door to the house.

"Cillian!!" A young, dark haired woman ran at him after the door opened and threw her arms round him. He held her tight, lifting her off the floor slightly. Putting her back down, he turned to you.

"Silé.. this is y/n. Thanks for letting me add her to the list."

"So good to meet you!!" She hugged you, a genuine, warm hug that instantly made you relax. "Come on, everyone's in the garden. Drop your bags in the living room for now, we'll sort them later!"

The garden was full of family members, all hugging Cillian and you in turn. Easily the most welcoming family you'd ever met, there was no awkwardness, it was like they'd known you for years.

"The Irish know how to make people feel welcome, y/n." He whispered in your ear before being distracted by a child's voice screaming at him.

"Unc Cill!! Unc Cill!" He turned to see the three year old running full speed at him and just about caught him before he ran into his legs. Lifting him up in the air, he blew raspberries on his belly, making him giggle before bringing him in for a cuddle.

"Missed you little dude. Wanna meet someone special?" The little boy nodded, glancing at you.

"This is y/n. Y/n, meet my nephew Dylan. My brother's youngest."

"Well hello there handsome man, I can see you got the Murphy eyes too!" He suddenly reached for you, taking you by surprise as you took him out of Cillian's arms and he wrapped his round your neck, giving you a huge hug. You could see Cillian beaming, as his brother Padraig brought you both a glass of champagne each, laughing at his son squeezing the life out of you before taking him.

"Wow, you're a strong boy!!" You coughed, taking a sip of the champagne.

"You're a natural, clearly." Cillian winked, clinking his glass against yours and wrapping his arm over your shoulder. You sank into his body, smiling as Cillian's Dad tired to fire up the barbecue.

Looking round at the whole family, who'd welcomed you completely and without question, you couldn't help but smile. You knew your future was here - with him. You didn't care about the press backlash you knew was coming, all that mattered was you were together. Everything else paled in significance.

"Someone help me light this fecking thing will ye?" His dad shouting in his thick Cork accent made everyone laugh, as Cillian and his brother rolled their eyes and made their way over to take over. Cillian's mum led you by the arm to sit with her and Cillian's sisters.

"He's a useless arse when it comes to cooking - needs to leave it to our boys!" She laughed, topping up your glass.

"Oh, Cillian can cook, can he?" You smirked.

"That he can, taught him myself - don't be believing him when he says he can't either!"

"Noted, absolutely noted."

You spent the next few hours with the ladies, them happily telling you stories of Cillian's childhood as Cillian watched from a distance, smiling yet slightly concerned at why the four of you were laughing.

You saw Padraig pull Cillian away later on that evening and you watched them head into the kitchen on their own. Cillian returned around 10 minutes later rubbing his eyes and visibly a touch shaken. You made your way over.

"You okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost?"

"Listen, there's something you need to know, and you're not gonna like it y/n." He pulled you into the kitchen and checked you were alone.

"Liane might be there tomorrow. At the wedding."

"What?"

"She's Silé's fiance, Damien's, sister. Damien had practically disowned her after what she'd done to me. But she knows I'll be there, and she's been threatening to turn up."

You took a deep breath before pulling his hands onto your waist.

"She clearly isn't interested in you any more though, so why would she?"

"Because she is still interested in me. She hasn't stopped trying to contact me since we divorced, trying to get me to go back to her. Mark dropped her ass and went back to his wife. She wants us back together. I should have told you earlier..."

"Wouldn't have stopped me coming Cillian."

"Really?"

"Really. Remember the scene we filmed when Tommy's ex showed up? Clara spent the scene making sure Tommy had eyes only for her?" He nodded.

"Game on Mr Murphy - you're mine now and I'm not allowing a cheating little scrat like her ruin a damn thing."

"You're amazing. You know that?"

"I know. Love you."

"Love you more."

[lovetorn]

drivers license [dream]

dream x reader

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: i wrote it. i kinda didn’t want to write for dream with this song considering the recent incidents with his ex, but idk dream just fits the fic kdjsfbhHSHkdf anywho, i hope i make you cry :)

disclaimer: i do not believe dream to be like this irl, obviously. so, remember, it’s all fiction! 

you look at the notification that popped up on your phone. the message makes your stomach flip: did you see the tweet? you know your friends are tired of hearing about him, but by revealing his wrong side, they’re making it easier to forget him. 

throwing your phone towards the other side of the couch, you stand up without answering your friend. with furrowed brows and the burning need to scream, you head down the stairs to the parking garage. rage flows through your veins as you slam the car door before you hit the steering wheel with your closed fist. 

bitter tears stream down your cheeks and onto your lap; they burn your skin and leave welts that can only fade with time; just like heartbreak. you glance at the small digital clock in your car; 11:38 pm. 

turning on the ignition, you sniffle and sigh deeply before pulling out of your apartment parking lot. the streets are empty when you turn onto the main road, the idea of your destination makes your grip tighten on the sheering wheel. you try to tell yourself not to go there; it’ll only make things worse. but you only see red as you drive. 

the red flags, the red lights, the stop signs. all things lead to no—don’t go any further. 

street lights and the shadows of palm trees pass the car, and you slow down in the middle of the road. the beach is feet away from the road, and the sand makes your stomach churn. where are you going? 

you know the road you’re taking and where it leads, but do you really want to go there? go there to yell at him, and scream about how much he’s hurt you? your answer is evident as you speed up again, turning right onto his street. 

clay’s apartment building stands out from the rest; its baby blue and the palm trees out the front of it are actually alive compared to the other blocks on the street. you pull into the curb, and turn off the car, remaining in the dark with your seatbelt still across you. do you really want to do this? right now? 

as you stare at his building, the blue eats away at your heart. the colour is intimidating, despite it being the palest shade, but it also provides you with a sense of comfort. you’d been here almost every day for the past year, and whilst it should bring you pain, it’s home. he’s home. 

your eyes widen; he’s home! the light inside his apartment switches on, and there are shadows peering out of the window, down at your car. you swallow thickly, and your nails dig into your palms; the sting distracts you from the growing anxiety that spreads across your skin and plagues your mind. 

as soon as clay hears your car, he knows you’re here. the grumbling of the engine is distinct in his brain, and he could recognise it anywhere. he throws a glance at the woman next to him; she’s older than y/n, and only a few years older than him too. 

clay doesn’t say anything when he stands to peer out of his window. and to no surprise, there’s your car parked next to the curb. he can’t see you from where he stands behind the curtains, but he knows you’re there. he comes up with a quick excuse to tell the woman where he’s going before he swings the front door open. 

clay nearly trips on his own feet as he hurries down the stairs. he knows how much he hurt you, and he regrets it profoundly and seeing you here, right now, tugs on his heart. he misses you dearly, but he knows there’s no coming back from what he said to you a month ago. 

stepping outside, clay sees you with your head resting on the steering wheel. he sees you hiccuping and sobbing, and he knows it’s all his fault. as he draws closer, you raise your head, freezing when you notice him approaching your car.

you go to put the car in drive when he’s knocking on the window. you recognise the snarl he wears, and you bite your lip in embarrassment. you flip the key to turn the car off and unclick your seatbelt slowly, although you can hardly move from the anxiety. 

clay’s green eyes drown in a fit of anger that you haven’t seen before, and his hair is a mess atop his head as you stand under the buzzing street lamp. his gaze on you is intense as you round the car to stand in front of him. 

neither one of you say anything as you stare at each other. the tension swirls above you like a murmuration of starlings, and both of your hearts ache in longing and pain. tears fizzle down your cheeks, and you know he wants to tell you to stop crying for his sake and your own. 

the soft yellow undertones of the street lamps make the blue apartment building look disgusting, and you can’t bear to look at the place where he brought you so much happiness. the feeling now frays at the edges and all that remains is gut-wrenching agony. 

clay brings his calloused hands to his face and runs his fingers over his eyes, masking himself from you. 

“who is she?” you ask, voice breaking. 

clay huffs, turning to look back up at his balcony. “nobody you know.” 

you roll your eyes. “that makes it worse.” 

“why are you here, y/n?” when clay says your name, you know he’s annoyed. 

“i don’t know.” 

clay’s lips twist in thought—he doesn’t know what to say. 

the lamps’ buzzing is irritating, but it’s a great diverge from the yelling that will occur soon. it’s relaxing in a way you two can’t comprehend; it’s almost soothing. 

the wind howls and distracts the two of you from each other, but the tension hasn’t blown away just yet. 

clay’s heart pulses in his ears when he hears your cracked sobs; his throat closing and his chest tightening. he is so tired and so are you.

“please go home, this isn’t fair on you.” clay pleas. the backs of his eyes threaten him with tears but he pushes them back with the sheer will to remain stoic. 

“i’ve never felt this way about anyone except for you, clay.” 

he doesn’t say anything. the silence is awkward, but you don’t care as you try to meet his eye. clay’s head hangs low, and his hands are at his sides, you could almost laugh at the irony of it all. everything he said about his ex-girlfriend, does he now mean the same for you, too?

“you have to move on, y/n!” 

“how do you expect me to move on, clay? it’s only been a month.” 

“why do you keep coming back to me when i’ve hurt you so badly?” 

“because i still fucking love you!” 

clay shakes his head in disbelief; he’s speechless. 

“clay?” 

you inhale sharply as your eyes dart towards the older blonde woman who stands on the balcony of his apartment. your throat closes up, tighter than before, and you clench your eyes shut in regret. fuck. 

“i-i gotta go.” 

“y/n—” 

he’s too late, you’re already in your car and hastily putting the key in the ignition. your tears make it hard to see, but you know the way to your apartment from here by heart, and somehow that makes you feel miserable.  

how is he okay with you gone? how is he fine without you? because you definitely aren’t fine without him. 

he said forever, and now you drive alone past his street and alone through your own. 

[kcatta-wodahs]

MC Who Does Not Fear Death x OM! Demon Brothers

Or maiming, or apparently any other consequences. You’ve walked into this situation with absolutely no filter and no fear. Time to tear down every structure of Devildom society.

Lucifer

You look at him with a withering stare when he tries to intimidate you into behaving.

“I was summoned out of my trashy apartment to this place, where literally anyone could snap me like a twig on accident. I’m just working on the assumption that I’m already dead.”

He sternly looks at you. “You’re under my protection during your time here. No harm will come to you.”

You snort derisively, which visibly irritates him. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t come back to haunt you if it happens.”

As you continue through your life in Devildom he keeps calling you out for meddling and all that, like usual, and he HATES that you literally *do not care* when he threatens you.

Like HE knows that he wouldn’t hurt Diavolo’s transfer student but YOU are supposed to be AFRAID of him dammit.

His frustration at this ends up turning into a form of respect. You’re about the only person who will stand up to him, and tbh like you’re so fucking fragile but you’ll yell at him all day? That takes guts. Annoying guts. But you’ve got guts.

But also STOP IT. He has enough stress in his life and now he’s constantly terrified that you’ve decided it’s a great idea to adopt a baby balrog

Which you did once. He’s just afraid that “Flamin Hot Cheeto” is going to come back since you somehow managed to imprint on it.

despite the fact that the BABY could easily tear your arms off on accident

Not to mention he gets the flack for EVERY SINGLE ONE of these following stories. You stress him out so much. Please. Please, stop. 

He’s almost to the point of begging. The Avatar of Pride is three steps away from either locking you away for the rest of the year or begging on his knees for you to calm down. 

 But you know you’d find a way out if he locked you up so no worries. It’ll be a good challenge.

Mammon

“Well you WON’T be dead because it’s my job to protect you! Are you doubting the Great Mammon?!”

Stupid human. Yeah, you’re fragile and weak, but that’s why HE’S your bodyguard now, and there’s no way in hell (lol) that he would let you die on his watch.

Lucifer would kill him.

You welcome the challenge, and he thinks it’s funny at first but quickly becomes a flustered mother hen.

“NO, we are NOT going out to Madam Scream’s at 3am! Do ya know what kinda CREEPS are out there at 3am?!”

And you sneak out the fucking window.

He has had more heart attacks in the past week than he has had in the last 100 years of life.

He starts agreeing to your ridiculous adventures JUST because then he can actually keep an eye on you. 

He adores the chaos of the laugh that bursts from you every time you narrowly escape death. 

He HATES how often you have to NARROWLY ESCAPE DEATH. So he will never tell you.

He almost doesn’t have time for his own shenanigans anymore, because all his time is taken up by trying to make sure you stay alive.

And you’ve figured out that if you turn *any* of your ideas into a money-making one, he will join you whole-heartedly.

So you bribe him because what’s money to you anymore anyway?

Leviathan

I mean he doesn’t leave his room much, so tbh he probably just gets texts from you that make him want to scream.

‘hey uh levi say if someone were to hypothetically be stuck in a succubus’ devil basement to become an unwilling sacrifice to asmo what would that person, hypothetically, do?’

‘probably die’ is usually all he sends back

You always come back, because he always sends a text to the other brothers. In that case Asmo came to rescue you himself and scold the succubus.

You become the friend that he makes funny throwing-shade reddit posts about. (Devvit? Devil reddit? Eh??)

‘Levi so this has nothing to do with anything but is there a cure for a dangerously potent ‘always win at rock-paper-scissors' curse? Asking for a friend’

‘Friend is being held hostage tho so maybe be quick about a response’

He didn’t even know that kind of curse existed. None of them did. What the fuck did you do.

How did you get taken captive by playing rock paper scissors?

He doesn’t know. Nobody does. He expects the play-by-play so he can recommend it as a new anime to his favorite producers. 

Somehow your chaotic plans end up with stories almost as great as TSL. 

Beelzebub

He physically carries you around.

He’s like “fuck this you can’t get into trouble if I’m holding you.”

If Beel’s on MC watching duty, he’s almost the only one who is successful, just because you physically cannot get away. 

But at the same time, he is very easily bribed. 

So yes, he’ll go to Madam Scream’s with you at 3am. Sounds like fun.

But he is very protective after losing someone he cares about (who you remind him of so much….) so he keeps you close when you’re out and about too.

If you start getting into a fight with some other demon he literally just takes the fight for you and wins with no trouble at all.

You like having Beel with you.

Especially finding street festivals! You’re in a whole new world and there’s a MILLION things to try. Beel is more than happy to try them with you.

But that leads to arguments about whether deadly creatures to humans are still deadly when dead. 

“No, you can’t eat that it’s on fire. I know even small fires hurt humans. I’ll eat it for you.”

“That hot sauce makes every demon I know cry. You really shouldn’t buy a bottle. Please. No, don’t try it. No, that’s too much for one-- oh. Oh no.”

He forgives you as long as you don’t actually get hurt and you give him your leftovers.

Asmodeus

“If I get wrinkles because of you I promise you will never hear the end of it. I will curse you forever.”

He swears on every single one of his lovers that you have started giving him grey hairs.

GREY HAIRS, MC.

Why can’t you just settle down and let them all take care of you? You don’t have to prove anything to the other demons!

But you will. You’re living in Devildom now, and by everything unholy, you are going to live that life to its fullest extent.

He was thrilled at first when you were all for joining him at his nightclubs and parties. Now he hides every party’s date from you.

That time you almost threw yourself off a balcony to try and emulate a very drunk demon’s newest dance move.

“I need to stay TRENDY, Asmo!! I’ll be fine!!”

Ever since learning Demonus doesn’t affect humans you have challenged every single stuck-up tough boy to a drinking contest.

And every single time you win, Asmo has had to *narrowly* save you from being killed by said demon.

And you just say “he deserved it” every time.

And like, yeah okay, he probably did but YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE.

Somehow, you manage to out-party Asmo.

dON’T TELL THE OTHERS but he lives for the times when you practically fall asleep on his shoulder while coming home from a rager. You may not get drunk, but when you’re sleepy, you’re so affectionate and something in his heart melts.

Satan

At first, Satan was all for the rebellious “life life with no restraints” thought process you explained to him.

I mean, he didn’t like the assumption that he and his brothers couldn’t control themselves to not accidentally kill you, but also… fair.

But he didn’t realize that this mindset followed through for EVERY demon in ANY place.

Including RAD, where old and wizened demons were *really* not used to being contradicted

Which led to you “accidentally insulting” your 5000 year old Human Studies professor by giving them a pop quiz on current memes (which they failed).

And left Satan as the one who had to make sure that said professor didn’t kill you. 

And the thing is, this keeps happening.

You’ve written all over the school’s library books, pointing out every error.

You *continue* to argue with the demons who threaten to kill you when you say silly things like “No, Solomon did not learn his sorcery at Hogwarts because Hogwarts isn’t REAL.”

(Solomon, meanwhile, refutes you vehemently and seems to grow three inches taller every time you glare at him.)

Satan assures you that he values knowledge and truth and all that, but could you maybe find a less dangerous way to push it?

No can do, Satan, because you already had plans with Mammon to use a curse that writes the history of the actual Sorceric Academy that Solomon attended like 400 years all over the desks in Human Studies. It’s activated by anyone saying “Hogwarts”. 

No, no, Satan, it’s brilliant, because you can’t do magic. It can’t be you who did it.

Satan, no don’t tell Lucifer.

I thought you hated him. Satan, wait. 

You are the only person in the history of ever who convinces him to come to Lucifer for intervention. You wear that badge with pride and also deep, deep, bitter sadness. 

Belphegor

Like, through the plot your willingness to be a thorn in anyone’s side just to get more information really works for Belphie.

He’s like all I gotta do is ask? Sweet. Yeah. Go, human.

But then when he’s all big and threatening and “im gonna kill you” and you just kind of look at him and nod like “yeah, this checks out.” 

Frankly, that’s rude, MC. 

And then he keeps threatening to kill you and it doesn’t even PHASE you like. You just keep listening to him rant and going “OH i think i get it now”

He liked that you were always looking for more information when he was the one pushing you around, but now?

No. Human, he is going to KILL you here, STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.

And then you do the time-travel bit, and see that he *literally has killed you in one timeline* and you just like

Shrug it off and keep talking about Lilith???????

Tbh what probably stopped him from doing it again is just that you’re fucking insane, MC 

“MC, you literally just saw yourself dead in Mammon’s arms”

You wave your hand vaguely in his direction and say, “Yeah okay, but can we talk about the lack of communication in this household because it is tearing this family apart.”

What the fuck MC

When he’s back to normal, tbh he loves that side of you. He loves getting into shit when he’s not sleeping. He will 100% encourage you and be there to make sure that you *don’t* actually die again.

He’s the only one who doesn’t actually try to stop you. Who knew he was so into chaos.

But if you try to drag him to a plan when he should be sleeping he will be like Beel and literally just hold you down while he naps dammit. You brought this on yourself. He needs sleep.

[cyclone-rachel]

Notes on The Boys

Season 3 episode 3

so how old is Starlight now, if this was 17 years ago? maybe like 27? okay well her actress is 27 in real life, that tracks

her costume hasn’t changed a bit

poor girl

you’re not being persecuted, Homelander

where’s the Rust Belt?

is he getting off on compliments

is Butcher okay?

thank you for respecting Kimiko

jacking off with razors again?

Butcher is very much enjoying himself here

Hughie no

“The Bold and the Batshit” would be an excellent alternate title for this show

I really like Silver Kincaid, I hope we see her again

so here for Starlight taking charge

it’ll be interesting to see more of this Frenchie storyline

Aw

Oh that’s smart

still such a dumb costume

He’s back too, I see

Kimiko bonding with Ryan, we love to see it

My poor girl

of course it’d be Reagan

young Grace can get it

is this real history

this is a good song

wait is that their theme song

oh don’t worry, we know

so who are the TNT twins supposed to be like?

it’s really interesting that in the comics, Tek-Knight is a member of Payback, and he’s supposed to be this Iron Man/Batman knock-off, but here they’ve replaced him with Noir, who is also kind of a Batman knock-off, mixed with Conner Kent Superboy in the comics

young Stan can get it too

oh, so they were called Vought American

he could talk!

premier superhero team, huh?

oooooh, so this is a Blue Marvel in-universe, Ferro Lad out of universe situation, huh

big yikes

I can’t believe he just stopped that flashback

She does not love it

You don’t get to use that against her

I want to hope he’s not full of shit anymore

Fuck you, my dude

Who watches live TV anymore?

you are terrifying

“that little cousin-fucker hick town that Maeve’s from” yikes

also where is she actually from?

get a job, stay away from her, you big bitch

you literally said that as you were jacking yourself off

oh, does he have a mural of Poseidon in his room?

How long has it been since Butcher took the temporary V?

Poor girl’s at the end of her rope

He has a point

You have no excuse

again, feels weird for a kid to say that

oh no, how much does ryan know

oof

so what really happened there?

ooooooh nooooo

nothing says there can’t be more than one person being black noir, like one or more people wearing that costume over time

Is she lying?

poor Ryan

eyyyyy it’s the viking lady from season 3 of Legends

then what shit do you do?

I recognize that name

Homelander is SUCH an asshole

sure you have

you’re really mixing up your stories there

Like what?

is he really

eat the fucking octopus

can you really eat an octopus while it’s still alive

how does butcher know who she is

they’re going to Russia!

with that combined with the next episode’s title, does this mean we’ll see another version of Love Sausage

exactly what my reaction would be

surprised he even knows spanish

I hope we see both Moonshadow and Silver Kincaid being pissed at these results

shut up, Homelander

did he or did he not do the exact same shit to Maeve back in the day

Aaaaaand now he’s going to be presented to the media as falling for the right woman

wait, shit, didn’t the soldier boy propaganda film thing describe him as having found “the love of a good woman”, aka crimson countess, at some point? that’s gonna be an interesting parallel thing, especially if they reunite

also it may not end well

this is going to be a complicated situation

And that is a dumb ship name

God, it’s like Superman kissing Supergirl, it’s weird