#because its on the nose and self aware

[leahthedreamer]

The line in Barbie “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back and see how far they’ve come” causing so much discourse is so stupidly funny. 

Like you cannot honestly tell me you don’t understand or I fear you’re being purposely dense and comprehension and literacy is at an all time low.

[raspberry-gloaming]

All these fobwatch fics atm make me want to write

[longagoitwastuesday]

Do you have favorite actors for the various roles in "Cyrano de Bergerac"? I would love to hear your thoughts!

I do! I actually rambled a lot about this while I was watching the different productions I could get my hands on (I tagged it "Cyrano de Bergerac" and "I talk too much").

My favorite productions are the one with José Ferrer and the one with Benoit Solès, and those actors make the best Cyranos in my opinion. Though that's probably something in part beyond the actors' choice, their dynamic with their respective Roxane and Christian are the best ones, I think, and I find how Cyrano moves around these two particular characters at the core of a good Cyrano characterisation.

José Ferrer's use of his voice, which is arguably Cyrano's true most characteristic feature, is unmatched imo (although McAvoy does a very good job with this too), and he manauvers very well several of the different aspects of the character, such as his playfulness, his shittiness and longing. By the end of the play you believe he is the most beautiful man on Earth. Cyrano, however, is a bit pathetic (not just in a "pathos" way), and I'd say Ferrer gives off an air full of dignity very fitting of many scenes, but that eats almost entirely this aspect of Cyrano; Benoit Solès manages this very well, while also playing well with some of the other ones, such as the playfulness, the longing, the pain and the despair. Both Ferrer and Solès are hilarious, tender, a bit shitty, vulnerable, playful and sad. Albeit neither of them portrays 100% what Cyrano is, I think both come pretty close in slightly different flavours, and by the end of the play one ends up being terribly fond of them.

My favourite Roxane is Clara Huet in the production with Benoit Solès, but Mala Powers in the 1950 film is a close second. I think they portray wonderfully Roxane's spunk, and her mix of honest playful cheerfulness and her haughtiness, her intelligence and wit, and how much like Cyrano she is.

I've not come to love for now any Christian as much as I've loved Ferrer, Solès, Huet and Powers, but again I think the Christians in the 1950 film and the Solès productions are very very good. I love the dynamic they have with their Cyranos, especially the one Christian and Cyrano have in the 1950 film, enhanced positively by the added scenes (they actually work so well in showing their developing as friends, their deep love and care for each other!). I don't want to expand too much on this to avoid spoilers (beyond the already known 'Christian dies' ones I mean), but some things they do with both these Christians are a thing of genius, and both feel vulnerable, kind, ready to fight and truly desperate at times; I like when they do that.

There's an Italian production which has a Cyrano I truly enjoy as well, despite how they dumbify him more than I usually like my Christians. His mix of anger and deep pain when he discovers Cyrano's feelings for Roxane were so well made, and his physical presence makes you identify who Christian is even before the play starts.

The Podalydès production has two different Christians. The one in the version on youtube isn't bad, but @ride-a-dromedary likes Éric Ruf a lot. I actually adore him based on the clips and gifs she's posted of him, but I haven't been able to find the version with him online, so I can't know. But he truly seems one of the best. Based on what little I've seen, I love his intense gazes and subtle gestures.

I'm not entirely sold on any Le Bret, De Guiche or Ragueneau yet.

I think the German musical has a decent Ragueneau in vibes, and the 1990 French film does as well. I found his poem made song for what I think is a Spanish production (I'm not sure if it's a fan creation based on the Spanish production), and while I've not been able to find that production online, the song works well in vibes too I think.

The German musical's Le Bret in vibes is very good. He encompasses well his deep love and worry for Cyrano while also being done with his shit. They truly feel like close friends. The 1950 film kind of combines Gaston de Castel-Jaloux and Le Bret into one character, which sadly changes Le Bret's dynamic with Cyrano a bit, but that's a very good Le Bret as well. The one in Solès' production is pretty good too. He has my favourite delivery of the scene in which Le Bret chastises Cyrano for risking his life sending letters.

De Guiche is complicated. I think productions often make him too pathetic and laughable or too bad, so bad it makes the last act kind of not make sense. The 1950 one, the 1990 French one, the Kevin Kline one and the Solès one are all good, but I am not passionate for any of them either.

And basically that's it!

[parfaitblogs]

peace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you self isolate, and spencer knows better than to let it get too bad. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. suicide ideation? ("i want it to end"). depression. lots of stuff that coincides with that. brief mention of reader not eating/having no food. please be aware of your triggers. i think i mention reader as a girl somewhere? word count: 1.9k a/n: i finished this then relistened to peace (taylor swift) which was the og inspo for this, and added a section in the middle so if it feels weird its because i failed at integrating it! this was supposed to be out two days ago. all my relationship insecurities in a fic. lol how embarrassing here's my heart tumblr dot com!! anyways enjoy ily all

also posted here on my ao3 !

Three consistent raps against your front door was the only sound that got you up that day, pyjamas that you had not shed from your body in a week hanging off a frame that could probably be described as lifeless — with the nearly dead-looking face to match.

In fact, the only thing to prove you were still a living human being aside from your movement, was the pink hue around your eyes, on your nose, and above your lips, indicating how much you had cried recently. 

Usually, it isn't this bad. You just need a day or two of rotting in your apartment and doing nothing but scrolling on your phone until it died, staring at the wall, or — on the better days — watching reruns of a 90s sitcom that you don't really watch. 

But it was exceptionally bad this time around, for some odd reason, and not one part of you actually wanted to get up and out of bed for long enough to be productive about your day. Your phone had died again, after charging it two days ago, which meant you were on day six of no communication with anybody. Which might partly be why it was so bad now. 

You had a blanket wrapped around your body, dragging against the floor as you wiped your eyes and let out a small sigh, unlocking your front door and opening it, completely unsurprised by the person standing on the other side. 

He was the only one who ever paid enough attention to your disappearing act when you were like this. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you — which is kind of amusing, considering you thought you looked like death reincarnate currently. 

Neither of you said anything as you stepped aside to allow him in, the door clicking shut behind him as he placed down the leather bag he had slung over his body, turning back to you as he finally allowed the frown to appear — one you knew he would've had the entire way here.

"Have you eaten today?" was the first thing to break the silence — the question coming out so gentle you were sure you'd break down again at some point in the next few seconds. 

You wordlessly shook your head, and he nodded his own, saying nothing else as he walked into your kitchen, knowing you'd trail behind him no matter what. 

He opened your fridge first, before closing it when he was greeted with the alarming sight of nothing. Doing the same with your pantry, at which he turned around to look at you.

"Angel, you have no food," he said. And while it held no malice in the tone of his voice, you could tell he was slightly annoyed at the fact. Your heart ached. 

"I know. I'm sorry," you mumbled, and his eyebrows creased inwards. 

He didn't mention your apology — arguing with you about your vast use of 'sorry's' is futile. "Do you want a pizza?" he asked instead, and even though you, mentally, did not, you knew he wasn't actually asking. So you only nodded your head, and found a place at your countertop, the blanket falling from your body and pooling to the ground in a heap.

He ordered a pizza, and then he was nudging your knees apart, standing between them while you stayed sat on a stool, his chin atop your head, that was buried into his chest. 

And he said nothing, as he held you like that until the pizza arrived. And then he ensured you had at least eaten two slices, the remainders going in your fridge for the next meal you needed to eat. 

He was so kind to you, with his every movement, as he dragged you into the bathroom to help you shower. 

It was heartbreaking, the love you could see in his eyes. The tenderness in every stroke of his fingers against your scalp as he washed your hair, the softness in his touch as he did the same to your body. He gently dried you, told you to stay there, disappeared, and returned with one of his many t-shirts left in your apartment drawers. 

That was when you cracked. When he pulled the shirt over your head, that smelled so painfully Spencer and you. The mix of his clean scent and your own laundry detergent that you were so accustomed to, triggering something in you.

So, you crumpled to the floor of your bathroom, and he followed soon after, his arms wrapped around your body once more, firm enough to keep you still as you sobbed into his chest. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that for. Long enough for your head to hurt, and your eyes to sting, and hideous snot bubbles to stain his cardigan. 

When your sobs subsided, he spoke. 

"You wanna talk about it?" he said, quietly, and you shook your head. 

"Don't know what to talk about," you mumbled, and he knew that all too well.

He nodded his own head. "Did something happen?"

"Lots of little things."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me about them?"

You hesitated, because you didn't know where to begin. But then you nodded your head wordlessly, swallowing the lump — and, by extension, the sob — in your throat. "I fell down on the stairs at the train station in front of everybody. And then I missed my stop, and I was late to work. And I had a huge project due, but I didn't finish it, and I forgot I hadn't finished it, and I was anxious about it all day. And I think my friends are just pretending to be my friends, because I keep trying to make plans with one of them, and she keeps blowing me off for her boyfriend. And I'm just really sick of being sad all the time, Spencer. I want it to end."

With the onslaught of your bad vignettes throughout the past month coming back up, you broke down, again. Another sob escaping your lips as you pushed your fists down into the tops of his thighs.

If it hurt, he didn't say anything; simply continued to hold you against his chest, on the floor of your bathroom, that, if it were any other time, he would be having a field day rambling about the germs you both were currently sitting on. 

He also didn't say anything for a while as you sobbed, instead his fingers entangled gently in your hair, and he peppered kisses along the top of your head. 

"I don't want it to end for you," he finally said. His hands slid down from your scalp to your face, holding your cheeks with such tender, pulling you back so he could look at you. 

You sniffled. "I'm so exhausted."

"I know, my love. I know," he sighed, thumbs caressing over your cheekbones. "Ending it won't fix that. You know, logically, however you die is the state you'll be in, in the afterlife. So if you die while you're exhausted..."

"You don't believe in the afterlife," you answer, but his words still cracked through your tearful expression, and your lips twitched with a small smile. 

He returned the small smile, nodding his head. "That's true. But I also don't know anything about post-death. I could be wrong."

"How terrible," you mutter, and he laughed, quietly. 

"I know," he mused, falling silent for a few moments longer, with only both of your quiet breathing to break the silence. 

His fingers ran through your hair once more, and you sniffled audibly, your brain wandering away from the small content you had felt in that exchange, and back to one of the many reasons why you had isolated in the first place. 

"Why are you still with me?" you said, slicing through the silence all at once. 

You watched the smile fall, and his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips part as he went — and hesitated — to say something. "What do you mean?"

"I'm difficult." Your voice is impossibly small, and it breaks a crack in his heart as his eyes soften. 

"No. You're not," he reassured. 

"Yes I am," you breathed out — and then the tears came back. "I get sad and then I stop responding and stop seeing you, and you don't get any warning even though I know you should, and I feel so awful every time but then that makes me feel worse. And I'm sad all the fucking time, Spencer. I mean, I get upset when you aren't at home and you have to deal with all those messages and calls even though you hate texting, but then you get home and I'm isolating myself because I'm sad, on top of all the other things that make me sad, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you their all and—and—"

"Hey," he cut you off, as did the sob that was ripped from your throat. "No. That's not what we're going to do. Do not sit there and tell me what I do and don't deserve." 

"But you do deserve better."

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead on your own, warm breath fanning across your face that usually made you scrunch your face up and pull away, now comforting you. "Do you love me?"

"What? Yes, of course I do. Why would you even—"

"—That is the only requirement I have for you," he said, oh so simply. When you didn't reply, he pressed, "Okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, and he relaxes a little.

More silence fell between you, your tears subsiding and your shaking body relaxing a little more. 

Then, "Did you hurt yourself when you fell down?"

You nodded your head, reluctantly pulling back from him so you could show him. You pointed to a yellowing bruise just below your knee, and the grazes on the bottom halves of your palms. 

"Oh, wow. Look at these," Spencer said, running a thumb gently over the grazes on your hands. "You're braver than me. These would've taken me out."

You laughed, and you saw his face light up at the progress he was making with you, and your mood. 

He then pulled you back into his chest. More silence, but less anxiety, and you sat comfortably in his arms for a few moments longer. 

"Did I worry you?" you say. "Not responding?"

You were so close to him you could hear his breath hitch, and you prepared yourself for a lie about how he wasn't worried at all. Except; "Honestly? Yes."

"Oh."

He exhaled, shakily, and you were kind of glad he couldn't see your sadder expression, half-buried into his chest. 

"You've never gone that long without checking in," he then explained. "The first two days I got what was going on. By the fourth I figured you still needed space. Today I just had a gut feeling."

"Just a gut feeling?" you echoed, and you felt his head nod against your own. 

"Thought you might need someone."

You sighed. "I hate that you're a genius."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

His fingers entangled in your hair again. "I also didn't figure you needed me here because I'm a genius."

"No? Then how?" you asked.

"It's simple," he murmured, tugging your head back oh so gently so he could look at you again — puffy eyed, and tear-stained cheeks and all. "I just know."

"That's the most illogical sentence I've ever heard leave your mouth."

He laughed, and you smiled again.

"Come on," he then said, untangling your limbs and pulling the both of you up to your feet, hands ghosting your waist to hold you steady. "I am willing to sit through whatever awful movie you want me to watch."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[wonysugar]

fuck you stupid | ning yizhuo

synopsis : you thought you’d seen it all with her, but no, she somehow managed to surprise you even further.

pairing : bimbo!ningning x fem!reader

genre : bffs to... fwb?? idk they just fuck,, so obviously smut too! xx

tags : yall got lost help, fingering, degradation, belittling, dumbification, car sex, she's so stupid but she fucks you good so it's okay, very slight cunnilingus, she slaps you like once so impact play!

warnings : none!

word count : 1.6k

you, y/n l/n, weren’t exactly smart, but you also weren’t exactly stupid. like yeah, you weren’t a genius per se, but it’s not like you were brain dead either. average was the term you always used to describe your intelligence.

you unfortunately couldn’t say the same about ning yizhuo, your best friend. 

you loved her, like that’s your bitch, of course you love her! however, you’d be lying if you said that she was intellectually capable, because she just wasn’t. god, she was just so, so painfully stupid?? clumsy??? careless???? all of the above applied when it came to this woman. not even to be mean or anything of the sorts, just, yknow… natural selection at its finest.

she was aware of that, though, and even thrived in being the self proclaimed bimbo everyone knew and loved. (to which you wholeheartedly agree with, by the way) and honestly? you just couldn’t stop teasing her about it whenever you two hung out. things similar to “stupid hoe” and “dumbass” always escaping your mouth as you two laughed, probably moments after she bumped onto something on the sidewalk whilst spilling all the tea to you. 

in summary, she’s done stupid shit before, but nothing, nothing could ever top what she had done that day.

the day she got the both of you lost in some random parking lot at like, 2 am.

“ning, we’re fucking lost.” you told her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you watched her giggle nervously.

she grabbed her cellphone and hovered her finger over the power button, “oh come on y/n don’t be like that, i can just go on google maps and we’ll be out of here in no ti-“

a black screen.

she cleared her throat hesitantly, sighed, then pressed the button again.

nothing.

she kept doing that, giving longer presses to the side of her phone in hopes of a miracle . your patience was running thin and you were quite frankly not far from panicking.

after the 27th-ish try, you finally snapped at her.

“fucking hell ning do you not charge your damn phone??” 

“sorry that i forgot to?” 

oh she had to be joking. 

“girl oh my god what the fuck?? we’ll stay stuck here for only god knows how long and it’s all gonna be because ‘ning yizhuo forgot to charge her phone beforehand’ for fuck’s sake.” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. trying to calm down, you ignored ning’s gaze.

her stupid annoying yapping wasn’t helping at all. like, at all.

“oh so we’re once again blaming me, got it. y/n you didn’t even bring your own phone, how do you have the audacity to put the blame on me.” she said back, her eyebrow raised up as she threw her phone down on her skirt, sighing exasperatedly. 

“because someone told me it was her turn to get the aux.”

“where in that sentence did i ever tell you not to bring your phone??”

“god, ning just- just stay quiet. okay? just- please shut up, i’m trying to think. we can’t rely on you for anything.” you told her, exasperated.

in response, she scoffed, “no?? no i won’t, actually. you’re always putting the blame on me and it’s seriously starting to piss me the fuck off. yeah i’m a bimbo, whatever, but does that mean that you have to talk to me like i only have two barely functioning brain cells??” 

“oh please, saying you have two functioning brain cells would be wayy too generous. you’re always doing the stupidest shit out of the two of us. i mean fuck, you literally drove us here, in the middle of nowhere. you’re not a bimbo, you’re just fucking dumb, ning.”

when you looked back at her, she seemed hurt. like, 

a wave of guilt quickly washed over you upon seeing her pained, pained expression. she looked into your eyes, frustration and sadness clearly showing into her own. yeah, she looked pissed. you wanted to apologize almost immediately, and you were going to, 

if she didn’t suddenly press her lips onto yours before you could even get a word out. 

-

how do best friends make up after a fight?

usually, they talk it out, they go out, hug it out then get milkshakes or whatever, hell, sometimes they just go a day or two without talking then eventually forget about it.

this? this was none of that.

since she planted a kiss on your lips, you, instead of doing anything stated above, were fucking.

like, yeahh you were still lost, but at least you were getting your pussy ravaged. the situation could be handled later; when you weren’t drenched.

throwing your head back as you moaned out ning’s name, you were straddling her in the backseat of her car, feeling her two fingers deep inside you and stretching you out. she looked up at you with lustfully hooded eyes as she kissed and left very visible marks all over your neck, all the way down to your collarbone, her free hand fondling your tits, lazily playing with the nipple. 

“f-fuck ning keep going i’m sososo close- fuckfuckfuck..” feeling yourself getting pushed closer to the edge by the friction you felt, you bucked your hips faster onto her digits. the knot tying in your stomach felt like it would’ve snapped any second now, that is,

until she stopped moving her fingers altogether.

frustrated, you whined loudly, “ninggg please let me cum pleaseplease-” 

“oh yeah? so now you wanna rely on me for something, and it’s to make you cum?” she laughed. “fucking slut. i’ll make you cum whenever i want to, got it, bitch?” she added, pressing her thumb on your swollen throbbing clit, smirking condescendingly and watching how pretty you looked when pleasure contorted your face.

you unintentionally clenched at her words, nodding shamefully. it was embarrassing enough having your best friend knuckles deep inside of you, having her call you names and whatnot, but the real embarrassing part? 

enjoying it thoroughly.

she knew this, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger at that moment and oh was it such a power trip for her. seeing you be so needy for her touch, you almost started riding her fingers yourself, too. she was always the one being treated like a dumb bitch, it was nice being on the other side of things, for a change. 

she kept twisting and pulling on your nipple with her free hand as she slowly started to slide her fingers up and down your walls again, giggling and paying close attention to how your body shook and twitched at each and every one of her slow movements. what a sight to see. 

“you like being fucked stupid hm?”

and that’s what she did,

seconds,

minutes,

what felt likes hours,

you were sloppily bouncing and grinding on her fingers, speed ranging from a painful slowness to an overwhelming rapidity. 

you gripped her arms tightly, as if you would fall into some sort of void if you didn’t hold onto her for dear life. resting your head on her shoulder, you whined, losing yourself onto her. her fingers were still pumping in and out of you at that moment, faster than they were before, by the way, so it took you all of your body strength to not just cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back. for her, you held back and took all of it. every minute passing, every single motion feeling like it was threatening to make you go insane. 

“ning pleaseplease let me cum i wanna cum so badly fuck- pleasepleasepleasepleaseee-” you begged, looking down at her with pleading teary eyes.

“fuck, look at you. calling me a dumb bitch all the time, yet here you are, acting oh so stupid for my fingers. such a brainless needy little whore for me, hm? does my idiotic, pretty girl wanna cum?” 

you nodded eagerly as you whined, tears actively running down both of your cheeks, so desperate for release that you quite honestly didn’t care for how ridiculous you looked to her at that moment. you just wanted to cum, so, so, so badly, and you were ready to give up your dignity for it.

the sound of her hand slapping your cheek resonated in the car.

“say it. you know damn well i don’t accept pathetic sounds for an answer.”

“fuck— your idiotic pretty girl wants to cum pleaseee let her–”

she hummed, smirking at your response. incredibly amused by your behavior, she took her fingers out of you, picked you up by placing her hands on your thighs, then gently put you on the empty seat that was next to the one she occupied. upon seeing you sat comfortably, she proceeded to kneel down on the empty space between the front seats and the backseats. y’know,

the ones a grown woman couldn’t possibly fit in?

it’s okay though, like, yeah she would most definitely complain about back pain later, but right now?

she needed to feel you cum all over her tongue.

and that’s exactly what she worked towards, her tongue driven by the scent of your arousal to roam all over your folds and clit, kissing and sucking on every inch of your core as she attentively listened to all the sweet noises that came out of you. it really did not take long before your moans reached octaves you didn’t even know you could achieve before, an overwhelming wave of relief hitting you like a truck. you were 100% sure you would pass out afterwards.

at the end of the day, yeah, you both were still stranded in the middle of some unknown parking lot, but at least, the stress of it all evaporated in the air.

while you were trying to catch your breath, you made a mental note;

never underestimate ning’s intelligence when she was in a bad mood! or, do. depending on if you wanna get fucked stupid that day or not.

[sweetadonisbutbetter]

Adam hcs but the third time IS the charm

The moment his girlfriend heard about what happened to his past wives she vowed that she'll be the best lover for him, and she delivered

Please, give this man a happy ending because I need to see him happy

JSD;GDZF i wanted to do this sooo badly when i was writing the harlot reader HC's AND NOW I CAN RAHHHH fr tho the amount of soft adam ask are seriously making me giggle and spin around my room plz keep sending them. If you haven't read it, ask is referecing this post

You and only you | Adam x Fem!Reader

Relationship: Romantic Warnings: NONE ADAM JUST ADAM AND HIS LOVELY GF (you)

You didn’t know why Adam was so clingy. From the moment you woke up, Adam was around you. 

Not that you didn’t enjoy his attention, you relished it. However, he was ever clingy, and hovering over you. It was beginning to get overstimulating for you.

It took you to the point of almost snapping and asking him what his deal was. Instead, you took a second to calm down and talk to him. It didn’t take long for you to get your answer.

“Adam, please. I just need a moment.” You say, rubbing your temple with a hand as you push your boyfriend off of you with the other. He whines and pouts as he moves across the room, no longer near you. It took you a bit to realize that he was in the corner, only realizing it when you heard a sniffle. You look at him, concerned. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

You make your way to your boyfriend and bend down to the floor. You try to peek at his face, but he turns away. You notice that he used his hand to wipe something on his face and put your hand on him to comfort him. He doesn’t say anything, as he begins to cry a little more audibly now. Alarmed, you touch his face and turn him to look at you. Now facing you, you see that he has tears running down his face, his nose runny and red. Wiping away his tears, you look him over.

“Babycakes? What happened?” You coo, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. He avoids your gaze, finding the floor interesting as you pull his face in closer, trying to get an answer. With a huff, possibly out of embarrassment, he answered.

“I just felt…similar to how I felt before Eve ended things.” You looked at him stunned. While you had been dating for a few years, you both never inquired about your past relationships. You and your ex-husband ended things healthily, willing to say hello as you passed one another. Adam knew that there was nothing between the both of you. You never had to explain to him in detail what happened, just that your marriage from when you were alive was no more. On the other hand, you knew nothing of Adam’s relationship with Eve or even Lilith. You obviously never met Lilith, only hearing about her from word of mouth, but Eve was nowhere to be seen. All you know about his relationship with her is that she was the one who initiated the divorce. “'m just scared you’re going to leave too.” 

You pull him in for a tight hug, shocking him. He takes a moment before hugging you in return. You both hold each other for a while before he breaks it. Sniffling, he rubs his nose and looks at you, the soft smile that was reserved for you on his face. You give him one in turn and hold one of his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He does, he tells you about his relationship with Lilith. How in the beginning, he wasn’t the massive dick he was (to which you think at least he is self-aware) and loved Lilith. Both of them were headstrong, yet they loved one another, or at least he thought they did. When it was revealed to Adam that Lilith had gone behind his back and formed a relationship with an Angel, causing them both to fall, he was heartbroken. 

It took the angels promising him a new wife to even get slightly better. But by the time Eve was born, Adam wasn’t the same person and didn’t treat Eve as he ought to. Not that he abused her, but he wasn’t the nicest to her. When she proposed the divorce, it still hurt him. He knew that the relationship was on its downfall, but he didn’t think it was to the point of no return

He confides in you about his insecurities, and how he believes that he is the reason for his past relationships' downfall. How no matter how much of a dick he was, he didn’t want to risk losing you.

You spent the whole evening holding him as he bore the very essence of his being to you. Becoming the man he once was, before he died, before Eve, and before Lilith. He cried like a baby that he never was, and you were there to soothe him.

That night, as you both held each other in your arms, you couldn’t help but make one wish to heaven and the stars. A wish that you didn’t think the heavens could support alone. You wished for the help of comforting Adam, restoring his broken confidence in love.

From that day on, you vowed to be the very best lover that Adam ever had. 

You figured out that his love languages were words of affirmation and physical touch, so you set out to do small things for him. Giving him small gifts, kissing his cheek when he wasn’t expecting it, and complimenting his body. 

You encouraged him to have more conversations about what was bothering him, giving him the space to open his chest whole for you to glimpse into his essence. 

Eventually, he began to return your actions by complimenting your love languages. He was even less of a dick, which allowed some of the saints to actually hold a conversation with him. 

Through your love and work, he was slowly becoming a better version of himself.

You fixed your outfit and hair through the mirror. Both you and Adam had gotten into the routine of having date nights, some in your shared home, others out at a nice restaurant. Tonight was a night that Adam had planned all on his own, just telling you to get ready. You were done getting ready, now waiting for your boyfriend. 

“Adam!” You yelled to him, who you assumed was in your bedroom. “Are you sure we are going to make it?”

“Relax sugar tits,” He says, entering the living room. He was dressed similarly to you, wearing a maroon color that matched your outfit. Long gone was his mask, now showing his handsome face, his scruff trimmed and his hair slicked back. He had a thin jacket for you and his regular leather jacket draped over his arms as he walked up to you. Kissing you on the head, he looked at you through the mirror as you looked over yourself once more. “We will get there. Reservation isn’t for another 45 minutes.”

You turned to look at your boyfriend, taking in his features. You brushed off some imaginary dirt off his shoulder as you placed your arms over his shoulders. Resting your forehead on his, you let out a breath.

“Sorry. I just…don’t want to be late. This the nicest restaurant in heaven, and I don’t want our evening to be ruined because our table was given away.” You say, closing your eyes. You feel Adam move his head as he kisses for forehead once more and lifts your head to look at him. 

“Don’t worry about it. Even if our table is given away, we can always have a lazy night in.” He puts his hand on your cheek, a touch you lean into. You both stare at one another before you lean in for a kiss. Adam smiles into the kiss and puts his other hand on your waist, pulling you in. You hum and try to stop the kiss. Reluctantly, he pulls away from the kiss, his lips now red and glossy from your lip stain. “Or…we could fuck the restaurant and just do each other.”

Wiggling his eyebrows, you laugh and hit his shoulder.

“No. You planned tonight, and I don’t want to miss it.” He shrugs and backs away a bit, no longer pressed up against you. Grabbing your hand, he begins to lead you out of your home. You talk with one another as you leave, you unaware of the box in his back pocket, inside a ring of your favorite gem with an engraving on the band.

‘You and only you’

also so sorry ig he is OOC 😭😭😭 everytime i write him, he strays further from canon LOLOLOL

[revelboo]

Everything is Alright Pt 14

Soundwave x Reader- company

• It’s almost maddening, the chaos in that little, organic head of yours. The hurt and frustration that he can’t shut out. While Soundwave doesn’t know exactly what happened that night, he’d felt the immediate shift in you. And it’s worse now as he lets himself into Starscream’s quarters, those intrusive thoughts snaring him. Exhausting him. Wounding.

• His gift, his curse, makes it impossible to not know when something’s wrong. Mostly, he just needs to know if whatever storm is brewing is just a little squall or a hurricane. This isn’t anything major. He shouldn’t care. You’re Starscream’s pet. Or maybe project? Who knew, but the SIC isn’t faring much better. And he’s taking his frustration and anger out on everyone he can. Which is a problem for morale.

• You don’t bother looking up as Soundwave enters and approaches the desk. He lays a single servo on top of your head before shifting it to ever so carefully bop you on the nose, somehow not breaking it in the process. You still jerk back in surprise, eyes narrowing as you stare up at his visor, your own scowling, unkempt self glaring back in the reflection. Oh. Do you really look that rough? Turning your back on him so you won’t give in to the urge to use his visor as a mirror and try to finger comb your hair, you stiffen when he picks you up and sets you on the floor.

• And you can’t help but look at his huge peds. Starscream always keeps you trapped up high, sure, but it’s also safe from accidentally being stepped on. You bite into the inside of your cheek to keep from pleading to be put back. Down is good. You can try to escape if you’re not stuck on his desk. That’s what you want. Right? You’re not entirely sure and you hate it.

• “Eject,” Soundwave says from above you, that chest compartment he’s put you in before opening so huge cassettes can be launched out. Mouth falling open as they transform before hitting the ground, you stare at four smaller Decepticons. They’re still much bigger than you, but they can’t step on you at least. And he just carries them in his chest? You’re not sure why weird alien stuff still throws you at this point. Two look like bipedal robots like Starscream and Soundwave. One seems to be a big bird, an image it reinforces by tilting its head to stare at you. The other appears to be a panther. Looming over you and these new Decepticons, Soundwave holds up a single servo. “Behave.”

• What? He’s leaving you with them? Apparently so as he strides for the door and you just gape after him, protests catching in your throat. “You are tiny. Breakable.” A hand grips your arm, lifting it and you spin in alarm. Because the breakable comment has made your stomach lurch sickeningly. Soundwave wouldn’t have just ditched you with these mechs if they’re going to hurt you. Right? The purple one is frowning at you as he compares your hand with his own. You’re only able to yank out of his grip because he lets you and you’re well aware of that fact. “So, what do you for fun around here?” He asks, grinning down at you while you flounder.

• Your boring lack of fun doesn’t really impress them. Frenzy, Rumble, Ravage, and Lazerbeak aren’t interested in hiding in Starscream’s quarters or doodling on the data pad. So you find yourself dragged out into the halls. Literally. Frenzy pulls you along by the arm in their wake and no amount of struggling or digging your feet in is stopping him. If anything, he finds your panic funny. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be out here,” you say, reluctantly giving up your pointless struggle since it feels like you’re going to dislocate your arm long before he gets tired of dragging you. There’s no winning.

• “Definitely not,” Ravage mutters, glaring at you when you stare, because he can talk. Why it surprises you after everything, you’re not sure, but it does. Maybe your brain is finally starting to reach its ‘nope’ limit. And that limit is talking mecha panthers.

• You’re so distracted you almost miss the huge, bright green Decepticon rounding a corner for all of three seconds. Then you’re trying to hide behind Frenzy as its head tips down and it sees your little group. Its lip curls to flash denta and a foot lifts in a very obvious threat to squish you. “How’d that thing get in here? Don’t you know how fast they multiply?”

• ���Stick it up your tailpipe, Scrapper,” Frenzy snarls, his seeming indifference for the fact that while he’s bigger than you, he’s still absolutely able to be stepped-on sized to the other Decepticons. He either really isn’t worried about retaliation or he’s just that dumb and you’re not sure which. The distinction seems very important, though. “You really think a human just wandered in? It’s supposed to be here.”

• And you’re being dragged past the big mech, who looks uncertain. Surely it’s not that easy? Frenzy tugs on your arm and you stumble forward, his hand pushing you forward so you’re in front of him and behind Rumble. Maybe he is worried then, you crane your neck to stare at the big Decepticon as it stares back in perplexed silence. “Don’t run, but walk faster. Even if he’s not the smartest Constructicon, he’s likely to scrape up enough processing power to wonder why a human is supposed to be here,” Ravage hisses softly and you’re hurried along deeper into the Decepticon base. Previous Next

Did I go watch TFO a third time this past weekend because it’s amazing? Yeah, I did. Go watch it. It’s just this gorgeous love letter to G1.

[satorhime]

. ･｡･ self checkout ࿐ nagi seishiro.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content ㆍ﹒fluff, aged up!nagi, pro footballer!nagi, height difference (reader is shorter than nagi), shopping trips, slightly suggestive, established relationship. f!reader. w.c. 2k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis ㆍ﹒nagi enjoys running errands if the two of you go together. & ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: baby’s first blue lock fic !! honestly i’m supa nervous bc i haven’t written 4 them before n i’m still figuring things out but i hope u enjoy reading this anw <333

“this date is so tiring,” nagi laments for the fifth time since you stepped through the automated sliding doors of the neighborhood supermarket. he blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks, sounding as if he is on the verge of collapsing while you browse the shelves for pantry essentials and late night snacks. “when can we go home?”

a trendy song from a summer spotify mix croons over the tinny speakers overhead, its bubblegum pop lyrics interrupted every now and then by a cheery voice advertising new items and upcoming discounts. the supermarket is busier than when you and seishiro usually stop by, which isn’t all that surprising considering it’s the end of the day. college students carry armfuls of instant ramen and sugary sodas for study sessions and old ladies browse for medicinal teas while parents push full carts of groceries, ignoring their wailing children who press their little noses against the frosty glass of the freezers, begging to be given overpriced ice creams locked away inside.

and you resist the urge to roll your eyes with exasperation, glancing over to where your boyfriend leans heavily on the handle of the cart he has been tasked with pushing for you— his long fingers tapping away at a mobile game on the screen of his phone.

“that’s because,” you begin, wagging a finger at him when you turn around and toss an item into the bottom of the cart. “it’s not a date, sei. i told you that i had to run errands today and you insisted on coming with me when you hate it.”

“‘s’boring at home when you’re not there, so it seemed like a good idea at first,” he shrugs, rolling the cart further down the aisle when you’re on the move again. slothy, midwinter gray eyes drag lazily over your body— taking in the way your faded t-shirt (which is, really, just one of his old ones) rides up a little on your body, exposing the cute little dimples in the soft part of your back as you stand on your tiptoes, struggling to reach one of the higher shelves in the freezer section.

you are well aware that nagi hates daily tasks. things such as making the bed in the morning, washing the dishes after dinner, or visiting the laundromat once a week requires too much energy from your drowsy footballer boyfriend, but it makes you happy to know that he tries, even if he falls asleep while doing it; that he will do anything if you are involved, and nothing if you aren’t.

like right now, he abandons his mobile game and the shopping cart in the middle of the aisle without care to come over and help you, making a mother of two-under-two glare at him viciously. he snorts, sliding his hand into the back pocket of your denim shorts, a romantic comedy habit of his when the two of you are walking anywhere together. nagi’s head tilts cutely to one side, blinking owlishly up at the shelves. “which one d’you wanna get, shortstack?”

“i am not short,” you huff, twisting your mouth to one side at his teasing, but you point to the item you want— an assorted pack of ice lollies. “shelves are designed against short people. and i dunno— are we in the mood for ice cream or popsicles?”

it’s hard to make a decision because freezers full of summer treats line both sides of the aisle. tubs of gourmet gelatos, variety packs of creamy ice candies, and an endless selection of mochi with custard fillings in the middle that make your mouth water at the thought of bringing them home with you.

“i’ll eat them no matter what anyway,” he shrugs, unwilling to be the one to choose, but then his gray eyes glance down at your lips, then back to the items in front of you. you swear that his eyes darken to a stormier color, even though his expression never changes. “you make cute sounds when you suck on ice pops, and you always taste sweet after. get those.”

and then he faces forward, browsing the selection of ice creams with interest, as if his words didn’t short circuit a current in your brain. you’ll never understand how seishiro can say the most outlandish things so casually, only to return to what he’s doing while you’re left attempting to calm your fast heart.

“ice pops it is,” you say, a little winded. “make sure to get the second pack, and not the first.”

“mhnn, why’s it matter? the second one’s farther back. they all look the same to me.”

“they’re not. the first is one everybody has touched or returned.”

“that . . . makes sense,” he considers it, then he nods, lips formed into a little ‘o’ shape. “okay, we’ll get the second one.”

you watch as he steps forward, pushing the first pack of ice lollies aside to select the second as you requested, reaching the item with ease and heavens, it’s moments like these when you are reminded just how much bigger seishiro is. he’s always towered over your shorter height and it’s so, so unfair how he uses it to his advantage, making your tummy burn at the sight. frosty air wafts from the open door of the freezer, bringing chills over your heated skin. “‘s a good thing i was here, since you’re so little— there was no way you could reach it.”

“‘m not little,” you mumble, all pouty because nagi is squishing your cheeks between two finger pads. “you’re just so tall. it’s unfair.”

“want me to be shorter?” he asks, and before you can ask what he means, nagi drops the pack of ice pops into your hands and deflates dramatically, bending down to drape himself over your frame. his head tucked against your shoulder, the footballer’s milky fringe tickling the skin of your neck as he closes his eyes. “man, now ‘m even more tired.”

“seishiro, you’re heavy.”

“i know,” he sighs, eyes shuttering below thick lashes, but he makes no effort to move away from your body. instead, his hand slithers under your shirt. making you shiver because his fingertips are dewy and cold from the arctic blast of the freezer and the frozen treat he picked up. you hiss, squirming under his touch as his fingers trail across your belly. “but i’m tired ‘n’ you feel s’soft, like a pillow.”

“nagi, off,” you wheeze, his extra weight making it hard for you to properly breathe. it’s easy to forget how solid he is, straight lines of athletic muscle that usually has you cow-eyed and cooing, as long as it’s not weighing you down in the middle of a supermarket. you try to shake him off, but the midfielder only squeezes you against his body even tighter, his slightly damp lips pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “we’re never gonna get anything done like this, you lazy boy. if you don’t wanna walk, go wait in the sitting area with the grandpas.”

he sighs in defeat and shakes his head, pressing his lips together in that cute frown he pulls whenever he’s thinking. then, he’s dropping his arms from you suddenly. “mmhn, got a better idea.”

“and what’s that—”

you face nagi, only to catch your boyfriend with one foot in the shopping cart as he tries to hoist himself over the railing and inside of the basket.

“sei, you can’t fit in there—!” your eyes flicker between him, and the elderly man judging the two of you at the other end of the aisle. “you’re too big.”

“you’re always saying things like that,” he says, and the innuendo intertwined in the words flies over your pretty head because with one boost, he’s hopping over the railing and sinking into the cart, the metal rattling in protest. you stand there, dumbstruck as he settles. “now i can stay with you without walking.”

“yeah, but now that means i have to push you,” you grumble. “i should leave you here and get a new cart.”

but it’s hard to refuse when your boyfriend is that cute. his impossibly long legs are folded against his chest so that he can fit inside the shopping cart comfortably, taking extra care not to crush any of the delicate items surrounding him. the lower half of his face is buried into the collar of his soft hoodie as he absently chews on the drawstrings, but you can still see the sanrio bandaid you put on him yesterday after he got a nasty elbow to the cheek during football practice.

even though you two are already receiving strange looks from other shoppers passing by, you grip the handle, pushing the cart and your boyfriend dutifully, rolling it onto the next aisle.

“you look ridiculous,” you tell him, but you’re grinning. “but here, you’re on list duty. what do we need to get next?”

nagi’s eyes dutifully scan over the shopping list open in the notes app of your phone, his fingernail scrolling the screen lightly.

“it says ‘ramen because my greedy athlete bf keeps eating it all’ so y’need to get . . . oi, you mean me—”

“i wonder who wrote that there,” you whistle innocently, plucking the device out of his hands, wheeling him away fast.

the rest of your shopping trip is a blur, except for you turning a corner too fast and nearly dumping him out of the cart or the weird looks shoppers continue to give you because by the time you’re lining up in the queue, nagi is buried under the items because he takes up too much space. there’s a bag of rice on one shoulder, a pack of ramen on the other and fresh radishes sprouting from the snowy peaks of his head. not to mention, he’s still holding the pack of ice pops, condensation dripping over his hands.

“you’re making them melt, sei.” because he runs hot a heated blanket in the summer, and you can sympathize with the poor popsicles being defrosted in his big hands.

“‘m gonna eat one so they won’t— oh, hey this one is lemon,” he says, prying open the cardboard lid and tearing open the plastic wrapper of a lemon cr��me ice pop. tongue peeking out to lick before he’s holding it over his shoulder for you to taste next. “try it. i don’t sound as cute as you when i eat them.”

“sei, you’re not supposed to open those before we—” but nagi pushes the cold treat between your lips insistently, your eyes rounding wide, whining in protest as the ice pop hits your sensitive teeth. but it does taste good— creamy, sweet and sour flavors coating the surface of your tongue. “oh, it’s sh’good. we should get another pack.”

“see? y’make the cutest sounds when you suck it.”

“shut up, seishiro.”

you begin placing the items on the conveyor belt, listening to the irritating bleep, bleep, bleep of the scanner as the cashier rings up each product. you’re not frugal, but you peep at the total on the screen every now and then with a wince.

“that’s it for you, or are you buying the man in your cart too, ma’am?” the cashier asks, glancing at nagi as he finishes off the melting ice pop in the shopping cart, chin resting on top of his knees.

“no,” and you giggle, cheeks warming as you roll your eyes in exasperation. “this one is already mine.”

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

⌗︙・⚠︎ being intimidated by love-struck and obsessed wriothesley ⚠︎ ♡⸝⸝

Wriothesley is aware of how intimidating he is.

Sometimes he doesn't even mean to be, and he feels a bit guilty about it. Given his stoic and less-than-inviting expressions, he doesn't blame the average person for flinching in his presence whenever they notice him in the vicinity. Hell, he's accidentally given the staff at some of the restaurants he frequents a bit of a fright from his tone and expression alone. And all because he had been simply inquiring about his meal, as it had taken longer than usual to be brought out.

But his seemingly unapproachable manner doesn't mean that Wriothesly doesn't attract his fair share of admirers and potential suitors. He'd have to be a fool to not see the lovestruck stares that were thrown his way by certain individuals, to not hear the hushed whispers of admirers fawning over his attractive features and squealing whenever he'd coldly glance their way for a split second. He isn't one to let all of that admiration inflate his ego, let alone pay much attention to it, to begin with. If at all, he'd rather avoid people's attention, much preferring to enjoy the quietness of solitude.

But he doesn't care about any one of them. Wriothesly only cares about you—his eyes are reserved for you and you alone.

Love-struck gazes on your form are often what he finds himself doing a good majority of his time, his heart beating so hard—so painfully loud—that he feels dizzy by just looking at you. Wriothesly looks at you as if you're the very reason he takes each breath, the reason why he wakes up and gets up out of bed, the very reason why he lives on. Sometimes if he catches himself passing by a mirror after having seen you, his cheeks and even ears are tinged with blush. To the unsuspecting eye, the dark haired male is more akin to a happy dog having received a treat for being good, his gentle smile and softened eyes making him look nothing like the intimidating man he is supposed to be.

But his lovesick puppy gazes fade away upon seeing you with somebody else, somebody else making you smile and laugh in a way that makes his belly fill with warmth but is quickly snuffed out once he remembers that your sweet laughter is not for him. Jealously rears its rotten, ugly head within Wriothesly's gaze, sick thoughts coiling to fruition within his mind. He cannot stand the thought, let alone the sight, of you interacting so merrily with someone that is not him. If looks could kill, then the bastard would have long since torn to pieces, left as a bloody pile heaped upon the ground long ago. He ends up crushing the fragile tea he'd been holding in his hand to pieces from the raw anger surging through his veins.

But it is not just possessiveness that fuels his obsession with you. It is envy—envy that others could make you laugh and grin so merrily in ways that he cannot. You are uneasy around him, unwilling to spare him one of your smiles that renders him a clumsy fool.

Self-hatred festers inside him every time you flinch in his presence, how when he does manage to ease a measly excuse of a conversation from you, you don't even look him in the eyes—the dust gathering in the dingy corner of a room is far better than looking at him. He supposes that your less-than-stellar first meeting has something to do with your wariness around him, as well as his frightening demeanor and voice—he sometimes forgets that he comes off as scary to you even if that was far from what he was intending.

But Wriothesly can only hold in his suppressed feelings for so long. He's only human, and even he has his limits too after all, no matter how standoffish and collected he appears on the surface. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in your warm embrace, bury his nose in the side of your neck and soak in the tranquility of being so intimately close to you without having to worry about scaring you off once again. Those daydreams that leave him shuddering with need and wanting more can hardly suffice anymore.

Wriothesley is uncertain for how much longer he could possibly hold in his festering feelings.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[wyvernest]

would you be able to write something about chubby!reader having body issues and thinks she doesn’t deserve miguel because he’s so sculpted and beautiful, but miguel reminds her how perfect she is? (in whatever way you think is best)

i just love reading these types of fics and they really help boost my confidence 🥹

tysm! <3

hope you like it<3

aphrodite

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings: fluff, established relationship, body dysmorphia

summary: you start feeling self conscious right before your date, and miguel isn't having any of it

translations are at the end

Miguel had finally made time to take you out. You are well aware of the fact that he is a busy man, and had decided against pressuring him to abandon his work overtime.

But tonight was for you. He had planned out the perfect date, from the restaurant, reservations, to the tiniest details; what day would be best in terms of weather, your job, and his duties. 

To say you were overwhelmed with excitement was an understatement. He had always been so caring and considerate, looking for ways to make you feel valued and appreciated even when time itself stood against his efforts. Finding unadulterated joy in asking you out like it was your first time getting closer to each other over and over again, the 'honeymoon phase' spark never once leaving your relationship, contrary to popular belief.

And so here you are, in your shared home, getting ready for yet another date with the most handsome man you've ever seen. 

He's already fully dressed, fixing himself in the mirror. His black suit sits oh-so perfectly on him, hugging the shape of his large back and shoulders, tight enough around his biceps, so that they still bulge through the material when he brings a hand up in his hair to tame some dark strands that had fallen out of place. It accentuates the line of his abdomen, having his large thighs finish off the whole look. 

He stands in front of the bedroom mirror, in his striking royal height, the man that ancient Greeks probably had as a muse when they sculpted the ideals of the male body. His dark, cocoa brown hair is brushed back, silky and soft. His perfectly contoured face is dimly lit by the low, warm bedroom lights, his features prominent: the bridge and line of his nose, squinted piercing eyes along with a downright intimidating set of brows His sharp jaw is held up high while he works with his tie, expert hands skillfully experimenting around an array of various knots, pondering upon which fits best.

He truly is quite the sight, you melt at the tableau before you, holding back a sigh seasoned with nothing but the very heights of being irrevocably enamoured.

His whole presence screams strength and mature dominance, with a hint of incontestable luxury.

Resuming your own outfit, your own body still only adorned in nothing but a pair of panties and a bra, you head to the closet for the one dress you have been imagining yourself in for the whole week since he offered you the invitation. You couldn’t be more excited to finally try it on and admire yourself with it, have people look your way while wearing it, with an arm hooked around the one and only Miguel O’Hara. 

Putting it on and adjusting its stretchy fabric over your curves, your smile starts to fade. This isn’t what it looked like the first time I tried it on, you mentally conclude, and the more you look at it, the more things you wish you hadn’t noticed. You pull at the material, the hem, the sides, the neckline, anything you can think of that maybe, just maybe, could fix it. Panic starts to drip into your nerves, what will you do now if it just won’t look good? Screw it and go out with it anyway, and then feel all eyes on you for the rest of the evening? What will people think when they see you, merely decent, next to him? And otherwise, what other option is there? To pick some other dress that can’t possibly be more appropriate for the occasion, since you had bought this one specifically for the place you’re going, and still not look the part?

Your breathing starts to quicken as you keep fumbling with the textile around your shape, attention half directed to the open wardrobe, scanning every shelf and hanger for a second option. 

Suddenly, the floor creaks, bringing the echo of incoming footsteps. And there he is, standing behind you, hands on your tense shoulders. You almost despise the image before you; his impeccable, calm and stoic image, next to you, discouraged and deeply insecure in evident comparison.

“What were you thinking about just now?” his words river down over the shell of your ear on a hot breath that has shivers shot down your spine.

“Nothing, I’m getting ready”, you cover it up in a sing-song voice, not wanting to dig deeper into letting him know that you don’t deem yourself pretty enough for him, let alone expect him to find you more attractive than you do yourself. Unfortunately, he’s too smart for your little diversion.

“Don’t lie to me.”, his tone serious, voice deep. His eyes rank up and down your body in the mirror, and you feel an acute need to just disappear. “Que guapa.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, and you feel rosy heat rise to your face.

Your mouth speaks before you think.

“Does it look good?”, he senses the hesitancy in your voice.

“Baby, you’d look like a goddess wearing a potato sack.” he speaks matter-of-factly, as if his statement equals water is wet, the honesty in his declaration evident with the speed with which the words left his mouth. You can’t help but let a giggle break through your disconcerted face, surprised with the association.

“What, like Marilyn Monroe?”

“No, mi alma, like you.” He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you back into his embrace as you look at eachother in the reflection before you. His expression softens, visibly relaxed and happy to have you close to him. 

“These curves, every part of you, I know them as I know myself.” His palms slide over your hips, and all the way back up to your shoulders, effectively chasing away any hint of doubt and worry, cleansing you of anything that isn’t love.

“Eres la mujer de mis sueños.” He bends down, his lips reaching the crook of your neck. “No hay nadie como tú."

You let yourself fall back into his tempting embrace, knowing that he’s exploiting your weakness for him speaking Spanish so low and deep into the vulnerable skin of your pulse point, completely forgetting about the date and the dress. 

“And if you don’t like the dress, I’ll gladly rip it off.” He exhibits his talons as a warning, the curved edges of the claws grazing your bare shoulders intently. “If anything, the dress isn’t good enough to be worn by you.”

translations:

que guapa - how beautiful

mi alma - my soul

eres la mujer de mis sueños - you're the woman of my dreams

no hay nadie como tú - there is no one like you

a/n: again, if any native speakers see anything wrong with my Spanish please let me know🤍

[kiyoramen]

buy me coffee?

pairing: hq!atsumu x reader

Atsumus's eyes widen as he spots you through the window of the cafe you were supposed to meet at hours ago.

Classic atsumu, he forgot, again.

He frantically enters through the glass doors and removes his cap with shaky hands. he stands still in front of your table as you type in your laptop.

As he expected, you refuse to acknowledge his overwhelming presence, your eyes glued to your screen and your focus on him through your peripheral vision. in reality, ever since you saw his big coat briefly, you've already started typing incoherent sentences full of nonsense.

Atsumu sighs, he feels bad he does, he takes the seat in front of you and fiddles with the lid of one of the cups on your table. he takes note of its weight and how you probably ordered it for him, expecting him to come.

He tries to grab your hand but you slap it away. he flinches. you don't feel bad. he stares at you. you stare at him and sigh.

"We agreed to meet at 3:00 PM, as it was the time most agreeable for both of us, I'd be finished with classes for the day and you'd be finished with training, and you promised that you wouldn't do extra."

"I know, let me explain-"

"Shut up."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose and type whatever on your laptop again. The screen is full of words made up of words stuck together to make incorrigible sentences. Somehow, it perfectly encapsulates the state that you are in at the moment.

click clack click

It takes you about 30 seconds to start talking again, Atsumu waits patiently, taking the hint that you want to express your frustrations first before hearing him out.

"My original goal was to finish this paper last night," you sigh, hitting the delete key multiple times, "but I decided that I'll finish it tomorrow since I wanted to look nice for once and not look like a walking zombie for today's date."

"You look incredible every day."

You ignore his flattery that tries to deescalate your bad mood, "And I made time because I really fucking miss you and I was actually going insane because of this stupid essay, and I spent half of my allowance on overpriced coffee for two but it went to waste because you didn't fucking show up."

"I can pay-"

You start keyboard smashing, "That's really not the point, atsumu."

click clack click

"The point is you have thrown me off the loop," your lips start to wobble, "I was supposed to finish this tomorrow but now I'm almost done with it AND we were supposed to have a nice date and take cute pictures but you decide to show up 5 hours later."

Corcodile tears start forming on your waterline. Alarmed, Atsumu stands up and kneels beside you, wiping away your tears with his handkerchief.

kendjwja delete sksjsjjajs delete owpwnsjriw delete disodbjwwj delete

"You didn't even text or call," you sniff, "didn't even inform me about this change of plans."

"I'm sorry baby," he takes your hand in his and rubs circles against your skin, "I've been so tired of training and helping Samu out in his shop that I lost track of the date and time. I know that's a shit excuse but that's what happened and all I can do now is make it up to you."

"But I'm tired too," you say softly, and it breaks his heart to see you slowly blinking, "but I still make time for you every day, I still squeeze you into my schedule. Stem is literally kicking my ass every day but I still do everything to compromise for you. Asshole."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pulls you in for a hug and plants a kiss on the top of your head, "I'll do my best to make it up to you, I'm sorry for not being the best boyfriend ever."

"Well," you say through sniffles, "it's good that you're at least self-aware I guess."

Click clack click

"Mhm," Atsumu stops your hand, "Stop that you might delete something important."

"Will you stay with me until I finish this?" you aren't really asking.

"I'll stay with you until class tomorrow."

"You'll stay over?"

"If you'll have me."

You act like you're thinking about it for about five seconds. In reality, you can't help but forgive Atsumu way before he even arrived. Your brain came up with multiple excuses for him all the while you're heart was starting to hurt really badly. You just can't resist.

"Buy me a coffee?"

"Of course," he loosens his hold on you and kisses your cheek, "the usual?"

"Yes."

[itsa-me-lily]

Hi hello, here’s a list of more Military Program Spouse.

This is based off of the suffering I’ve experienced at my own stupid choices.

Content warning;

Baby noises, idea of the supernatural, medical/disease discussion

Simon Riley, military lieutenant and member of the elite 141, had experienced the horrors of the world enough to fill at least half a dozen lifetimes. He knew what lurked in the shadows, waiting to snatch any form of life it could get its claws into. He knew what to expect from the world.

And yet he never expected to wake up in a fucking horror movie. Because why was he violently yanked from the edge of sleep by the sounds of a crying baby. As far as he was aware, there were no babies in this household, the…rodents not withstanding. But there it was, the sound of an infant crying rang through the house, so either you decided to partake in a late night kidnapping, or his new house was haunted. There was a possibility that the years of buried guilt and PTSD had finally caused Simon to lose his grip on reality, but he would always choose to disregard that possibility until he absolutely couldn’t.

So his brand new house was fucking haunted by an upset baby.

Simon didn’t know how to solve his brand new house being haunted by a god damn baby. Before he could debate his choices of an exorcist or simply ignoring the problem and hoping it chose to bother someone else, the sound was cut off mid cry. It was sudden and the muffled sounds of the pull out bed adjusting to a shift of weight filled the void the crying had left. Whatever was happening must not have been that frightening because a few squeaks followed what sounded like the shuffling of feet. Those not rats either had no sense of self preservation, or were the bravest god damn creatures on the planet.

Gettin up from bed he hovered by the closed bedroom door, slipping on his medical mask while trying to hear what was further going on. He heard you hush your pets, though what you were saying wasn’t discernible. There was more shuffling and grumblings, and he cracked the door open when the sound of a light switch clicked into the night. The living room was empty, the pull out showing all signs that you had been there once.

Sweeping his gaze he found you in the kitchen, hunched over the sink, the single overhead light there bathing you in the only ring of light in the darkness. You were fiddling with something in your hands, the only clues as to what the popping of a cap, a little robotic beep, and a click of something. He watched as you squeezed a finger and then tapped something against it. He was already through the living room and entering the kitchen when you stuck the offending finger into your mouth, staring down at the little device in your hand like it had personally affronted you.

In the daytime hours Simon would deny any satisfaction at seeing you jump upon realizing you weren’t alone in the kitchen. But it wasn’t daytime hours and Simon couldn’t help but feel a little smirk tug at his lips when your head had whipped up to look at him, he shouldn’t have to be the only one dealing with spooks in the night.

After what was, for all intents and purposes, a silent showdown, Simon nodded to your hands, his questions rumbling through his chest.

Diabetes.

You had explained that you were a diabetic, and the system you used to automatically monitor your glucose levels audibly alerted you if your levels decided to take a nose dive. Which would mean checking it manually. Okay that was fine. Another detail he would have known if he had actually chosen to read your file. He wouldn’t judge you for that. He would, however, judge you for choosing a baby crying as your alert noise. Sure it was affective at getting your attention, but he didn’t have to question the possible possession of ghost babies too.

He couldn’t help but glare up at the ceiling as he laid back in bed, pretty confident he wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon. Yes he knew staring at a screen was not helpful to falling asleep. Yes he was searching up facts about diabetes management. No he wasn’t worried about you or anything. He just liked being prepared.

He did have the fleeting thought about if he still had your file floating around somewhere on base though. Maybe taking a peek through it wasn’t the worst idea.

Edit

Listen the baby crying is very effective for getting your attention in the middle of the night, doesn’t mean it’s not disorienting as fuck. I hope you enjoy and as always feel free to send in an ask or something

[mins-fins]

˖﹙💌﹚DARLIN'

｡｡｡ silly little mark lee, well of course you're in love with him!

P ─  mark lee x m!rdr. G ─ fluff, university au, sleepover, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, self indulgent. W ─ swearing, mentions of drinking, depressive nightmares. WC ─ 2.1k.

mark is afraid he has some sort of psychic connection with you, he turns and creates contact with the wooden post of a bed frame.

he replies in a grunt, head beginning to pound with an indecipherable extent of pain. he bites back a wince, teeth about to sink into his tongue as a typical response, eyes struggling open as he observes his surroundings.

jeno has an arm thrown over his back, his snoring elevated as his proximity is much too adjacent, his nose scrunches up in irritation, the touch irking him. he’s just barely able to throw the arm off of him without causing a disturbance, fortunately jeno’s a heavy sleeper.

he’s unaware of why he’s awaken exactly, or how he even ended up on the floor with tangled blankets surrounding the circle of.. everyone. of course chenle decided to take the bed, he’s selfish like that (well mark guesses it’s his huge ass house after all, yet he left them to sleep on blankets? or did they fall asleep on the floor without realizing? he can’t remember). jisung’s crazily long legs tangle with donghyuck’s, no use in attempting any escape that way.

jeno rolls over and unconsciously begins cuddling jaemin, well of course, how cute.

renjun is the only one who appears comfortable enough, graciously embezzling everybody else’s blankets in order to create his own makeshift sleeping bag.

he squints, as if striving to capture a semblance of sight in the darkness, the door is cracked open, a crack of light permeating the small space. his back emits a tiny crack, he ignores it as he somehow stands on his two feet.

mark wobbles in the manner of a child taking their first steps, much too groggy, hands coming to rub at his eyes despite light being naught. he blinks down at his feet, narrowly avoiding his foot coming in contact with donghyuck’s heat, he trips over the uneven carpeting and stumbles himself out of the frankly claustrophobic room.

mark didn’t fret, he easily noticed the lack of your presence, he recalls you falling asleep right beside him, even with the muddled memories of the past few hours. he finally did wince once his eyes met the piercing lights of the extensive hallway, what was the point of even keeping them on?

either way, that happens to contain the least of mark’s concerns, he thinks he has a good idea of why you suddenly disappeared from the group you had fallen asleep with. he knows you well enough to scope out a definite answer.

and it’s exactly how it appears in his mind, you just so happen to be downstairs, fidgeting with a cup that contains nothing. mark blinks, catching your attention immediately. “y/n?”

“can you believe even his water tastes expensive?”

the question is passive, mark’s aware of the kinds that exist with you. it’s a cover up for something more, a bit of concern hidden behind the usually playful gleam of your eyes.

he’ll entertain you for a moment.

“really?”

you hum, clearly put off by the lack of an immediate inquiry,

because for as much as mark’s knowledge of you presides, your knowledge of him exists in the same boat. he surmises it’s a bit of a double edged sword, but then again, he guesses your friendship is an example of that very phenomenon.

yet the fondness he retains could never be replicated with one other person. “yeah, typical rich people bullshit”.

there remains a collection of cups clattered in the kitchen sink, unwashed, reeking alcohol just barely fluttering its way up into the air. mark has half a mind to scrunch his nose, and if the dishes were the main focus, he would’ve fully grimaced.

good thing they aren’t the main focus.

he slips by your side easily, yearning to grab ahold of your hand, but afraid of irking you when you already appear so skittish. he somehow crams the desire downward, instead gazing upon your trembling fingertips. “why’d you get up?”

he just barely deciphers the underlying whine in addition to the clearly desperate question, his eyes probably gleam with rashness, as if he’s your lover complaining about your decision to get out of bed.

well it is always warmer with you around, though mark lee cannot admit that to any person, not even you yourself.

you contemplate, mark notices the shift of your expression. a drop to his stomach, if you do feel the need to lie, then it’s possibly something worse than what he originally thought, unlike your typical streak of insomnia, it has to be something.. more.

and he’s just the slightest bit afraid.

“water”.

“really?”

your right eye twitches, mark fears the impending irritation upcoming. “yeah” you breath, averting your gaze as your fingertips circle the curvatures of this fancy looking glass, the reflection of your dark eyes visible in the silica sand.

he sucks his teeth.

the resounding action offends you, if the corresponding look mark glimpses once you whip your head is enough. “what?”

“what?”

your face falls flat. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“why are you lying?” mark rebuts, attempting his best shot at forbearance despite how bothered he is by your indignation. “it’s just me..”

your go to response is a dry chuckle. “i know that, it’s not like i’m scared of you or anything, it’s just..”

it’s just..

nothing.

because mark knows you won’t tell him, the pertinacity of your character consistently permeates no matter what, and mark loves you, so so much, but he can’t help his elevated apprehension. his fingers drum onto the porcelain counter before him, contemplation behind his eyes.

“it’s obvious something’s wrong”.

and from your corresponding look, you’re practically placing a curse on mark’s whole entire bloodline. he supposes certain things never really do change, even if that includes obstinacy.

mark adjusts his bracelet, stepping closer as he swipes one of your fallen eyelashes from your cheek. “you could make a wish..”

he’s stalling, stalling much more than you typically do, but he can’t exactly help it, if you don’t want to confess the deepest anxieties which make you awake at night, does he really have any right to dig deeper despite his clear intrigue? you’ve never been that kind of person, his intention is to always seek your comfortability, even if it slowly kills him inside.

you stare, tilting your head and blinking at his pointer where a fallen piece of your eyelash rests. “do you really believe in that shit?”

“i enjoy tradition”.

that earns a shy smile, you’re very aware of that one, it seems that you simply relish in the manner of mark’s reply. you remain silent, again focused on your very eyelash resting atop his fingertip. “okay, i made my wish”.

mark is staggered for a moment. “what? what do you mean?”

“i made the wish in my head”.

mark uncharacteristically pouts, now that is unfair. “you can’t just do that!”

you shrug. “it’s a secret”.

the whisper causes the click of his tongue, he presses his pointer finger to his thumb in a gentle action of getting rid of your eyelash. “fine, keep your secrets..”

he doesn’t exactly realize the double sided nature of that reply, and despite his disquietude in your displayed fits of seclusion, he keeps silent on the issue he has nothing of a bearable thought on.

still, your amusement prevails.

“you know, i think—”

well mark has no time to dwell on the end of his sentence, because you step forward and pull him into a staggering embrace. it isn’t staggering in an emotional manner, you typically enjoy hugs, it’s simply.. unexpected.

your arms practically cradling his upper body, you tuck the side of your face into his neck, as if striving for a degree of comfort only he could grant you. you take in a deep breath, yet you keep silent either way.

while he is stunned, his arms consciously squeezing around your waist, well now how can he not worry? you don’t just hug out of nowhere, especially if mark is talking first.

“hey, is everything okay?”

nothing of a verbal reply, you merely nod.

how you two end up on the couch? mark barely remembers.

there isn’t a lack of space, mark is sure this one is actually a pull out, but you two decide to squeeze onto it anyway, something of a natural warmth emanating from the embrace you so dearly cherish. mark doesn’t mind, it’d be worse if you were just avoiding him.

so really, this is the best case scenario.

“you know, you have to tell me when.. this happens”.

this could equate to several things, sleepwalking, nightmares, spontaneous depressive episodes, on an especially terrible level it could be all three, but he’s simply throwing darts at a board and hoping one of them sticks. “what is this?”

“whatever has you awake tonight”.

you have that puzzled expression on your face, an expression mark questions more than anything, now replicating it on his own features. you then quickly avert your eyes, which is difficult considering you find yourself pressed into him. “i know it’s just— i don’t know, i’m scared..”

and of course, honesty includes the scratching of your nails against any surface in immediate reach. mark can’t exactly stare elsewhere, you appear to fear even the slightest corners of this huge room. “of?”

you don’t answer that one.

so mark won’t press further, that’s enough of divulging for tonight he supposes..

“you don’t want a blanket?”

“it’s warm enough” in tandem with your response, you nuzzle into the side of mark’s neck. he can’t exactly disagree, and you obviously observe that part. “besides, we know you aren’t getting up any time soon”.

“you’re technically crushing me so what could i even do?” he inquires, lips taking an upturn at the glare you pair with a glare as your soundless reply. he winces at the pinch you decide as your go to, nose scrunched up in irritation.

“i could kill you”.

“sure”.

though you’re typically numbing, mark doesn’t want to let go, it’s as if you encapsulate the feeling of alleviation with just your arms around him alone. you two are lying together on a couch you could only ever dream of buying, somewhat chilly yet aided by the mellowness of your embrace.

usually the close proximity would irk mark, the affection would be so.. out of place if it wasn’t you. he guesses that the ‘favoritism’ donghyuck goes on about isn’t all a fallacy, but he isn’t all for admitting that.

mark gazes upward at the ceiling, crinkling his nose at the shade it’s painted. your reticence endures, not yet asleep, mark can still feel your fingertips scratching at the seams of his oversized shirt, you never sleep easily.

it occurs to mark that you probably have a few more things left to mutter, your tense, fingers trembling against the ends of this couch. “what’s on your mind?” he whispers, lips pursued.

you contemplate, clear distinguishing naught. for the first time in a while, you ponder with confusion written all over your features, a battle of your conscience and your heart, anxiety manifesting in the picking of your nails.

“don’t know why i let myself get scared of things like this anymore..”

“well you aren’t used to it” he runs a finger through your hair, an act which typically calms you down. “everyone is scared of something, it doesn’t just go away with age unfortunately”.

you manage to hide your smile, but mark can make it out the stretch pleading for you to just stop being stubborn for once. you again glance away, conflicted. “fucking hate nightmares”.

you then look up, and mark wants to fall. you stare into his eyes, mark maintains eye contact though he knows it’ll be bad for his heart, yet he does so anyway, egotism carrying his movements.

mark really wants to kiss you, it would be a perfect moment too. you stare with such a gentle manner, as if mark laid his life out for you instead of just offering a regular seam of comfort, and he wants to die a little.

well he could do that, and he does,

just not on the lips.. not yet..

he leans forward, lips pressing to your forehead. your eyes flutter closed, and whilst you don’t verbally react, mark is aware of how you feel.

“think you could go to sleep like this?”

you take in a deep breath, making yourself content on the couch with mark beside you. the hug keeps mark on his feet, he doesn’t want for you to let go, you don’t either, it’s as if you’re a perfect fit for each other.

your adjacent breathing steadily comes to a close, not sleep just yet, but mark is determined to make it happen. his hand rests on your back, warm and inviting. “thank you..”

it’s alright, it’s nothing, mark would do anything for you, the sight of your own contentment joys him to no end.

“it’s nothing..”

it isn’t, feelings can await the aftermath, he’s happy now, perhaps a bit in love as well.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

hello! how are you? I hope everything is ok, it's me again, sorry for the inconvenience!

But I have a doubt, maybe this can even become a chapter

After the reader returns from Teyvat, all injured, having lost some fingers and teeth (from what I remember from Fitzgerald's chapter), Yosano is the only one who knew the total destruction done to the reader's body (Fitzgerald theoretically also know after having heard Pantalone and Ningguang commenting), having to take care of the reader and having her ability, well, we all know how Yosano's ability works, would she feel bad about having to use her ability on the reader to help him recover (even though it's the only way), besides, being a doctor, she has a greater understanding of things, do you think the reader's situation would make her sadder? Because she understand more about injuries, etc.?

thank you for your attention :)

Count them

Self-Aware BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Akiko Yosano x GN! Reader

Description: Yosano found another reason to hate her ability.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Injuries.

Set during last bits of Lost and Found, during Reader being unconscious.

Short fic.

A bit of comfort at the end.

______

Yosano has a strange relationship with "Thou Shalt Not Die".

She wasn't fond of it. Yet, there is no way she will dismiss its usefulness.

The ability was powerful, but, Yosano wished, that it could be activated differently.

But, when she got her chance, she missed it. She choosed something different.

_________

Yosano looked at the screen of Ango's computer. He recently got access to game files and find a way to alter their abilities.

"So... I could either choose my ability be able to heal any decease, be it chronic, internal, or incurable by modern medicine, or have "Thou Shalt Not Die" activated without fatal injuries, but stuck with physical external injuries?"

Ango nodded.

"Yes. I am sorry, but, you can't have both."

Yosano closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

Ango smiles reassuringly.

"Of course, Yosano-san"

Yosano spent whole night, reading about diseases from real world. About experience medicine, about slim chances. And about not having chances.

In the morning, she chooses being able to choose any diseases.

_______

Yosano silently leave your room. She needs one moment to herself.

To write it down.

She returned to her room and took one of her books from the shelf.

A simple atlas medical book.

It took her few minutes to find pen and pencils.

She never thought about that part of her ability. About knowing what injuries her ability have healed.

You have many. And fatal injuries.

In no way it were good news, but, at least, there was no need for Yosano to hurt you more. To use her ability.

Yosano took a pen and opened the book.

Time to write them down.

______

Burned mouth

Broken ribs

Multiple burns on legs, arms

Cut off toes

Removed canines (all four)

Ear bitten off (old injury)

Shoulders were pierced (claws? old injury)

Multiple stabs in the chest (arrow, spears)

Left eye gouged out

Nose broken (not clear, if it was an incident, or from the hit)

All nails torn off

Patches of skin removed (all body parts)

Joint dislocated (rack?)

how dare they...

_______

Yosano hid the book with the list.

She won't show it to anyone.

She won't tell anyone about it.

The anger will fuel. Her anger already burns with rage.

They don't need to know. For nor.

Right now, they should focus on you.

And not on the desire to chop off everything that monsters have.

Right now, she should return to you. And wait for you to wake up.

_______

Yosano rubbed your feet.

"All toes are here." her voice was hushed and soft.

"All toes are her." echoed you.

Yosano carefully rubbed your knees.

"Your knees aren't dislocated."

"They aren't dislocated" repeated you.

It became your daily routine.

Yosano would point at every part of you, that were injured, showing you, reminding you, that you aren't injured anymore. That you are safe. That you aren't in pain.

Yosano finished with you and left for a moment to wash her hands.

When she returns, she sat down on the bed near you.

She squeezed your hand.

"[Y/N]... You will never be hurt again. You will never be scared again."

You nodded weakly. You still were scared. But, even so, you believed in Yosano's words.

Yosano carefully pet your head.

"Let's brush your hair."

Yosano helped you sit up and took a hairbrush from the nightstand.

Carefully and gently, Yosano brushed your tangled hair. You yawned. You had another sleepless night, and brushing made you sleepy. Yosano whispered.

"You can sleep, if you want. I will be here. We will be here."

'I won't leave. You won't dissapear. No one will hurt you. There will be no need to use my ability on you. For me to count them.'

"Sleep, My Dear Dango. Don't be afraid. You are home."

You doze off. You had no dreams. Just a healthy dreamless sleep.

______

Tag list: @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu @izzieg3987

[transformers-spike]

Random!Blitzwing vore, but it's actually a glorified cunnilingus. Yes you gotta put this on the internet for everyone to see

Idk what to say. I personally don't do vore, but I know for a fact Blitzwing's random personality is into that (even if he doesn't know what it is) So here. Come get your mush

Inside the mines you were exploring just a minute ago, you shoot Blitzwing an exasperated glare as he brings you to his eye level. The face before you is a horror movie amalgamation of shadow creature and Tumblr Sexyman, razor sharp teeth cocked into a smile. “Can’t you just let me go?” you say, having experienced the same situation for the third time this week. Nothing has been clearly established yet, but considering the many occasions he’s fingerbanged you, you’re sure your fragile human self must mean something to the giant killing machine. Admittedly, judging by the overexcited grin he’s giving you, things are bound to get weird unless his other faces intervene. He tilts his head at you like a hungry tiger observing the mouse he just caught.

“Now why would I do that?” he asks, accent thick and clear. You have to remind yourself it’s because there’s something wrong with his translator, not that he’s a giant robot built by German officials to destroy Detroit and all its inhabitants as payback for the Second World War.

You point at the metal behemoth approaching through the mine’s entrance, far enough for you to look like a spec in Blitzwing’s hand, and you wonder for a moment if it’s safer for Blitzwing to splatter you against the wall or wait until his pal gets his two massive claws on you. In a moment of pure, unperturbed genius, Blitzwing flings you into his mouth like a kid chucking a bubblegum ball.

Whirling in the air doing a full, dizzying 360, you land face first against a squishy metal mass you assume to be his tongue. It’s too dark to see anything, the kind of pitch blackness only present in underground caverns. So, you do the right thing and fish out the fleshlight you brought specifically to explore the mine before your giant robot bitch plucked you from the ground. Flicking it on, you realize this could very well be a cave if it wasn’t for the stench of motor oil and exhaustion fluid prying your nostrils open. You wheeze and sputter, burying your nose in your sleeve as your teary eyes try to make sense of the other two paths perpendicular to your own, separated by a huge dark gullet at the center, deeper than the Mariana Trench. It’s then it actually hits you; “Oh shit, I forgot about the other two heads.”

Then the tongue below you starts to squirm like a worm being plucked out of the dirt.

You fall back on your ass and push yourself as far away from that thing as humanly possible, up until your shoulders hit the inside of his teeth. There’s a commotion outside, and try as you might, you can’t catch his attention by banging against the inside of his mouth while yelling “GET ME OUT OF HERE I DON’T WANT TO GET PROBED BY YOUR TENTACLE TONGUE!”

The lack of an answer leaves you vulnerable to the apparatus rubbing up against your legs. You snap them shut as hard as you can, but you’ve clearly underestimated its alien determination. With an impressive if not outright criminal prehensility, it slips into your pants. Hentai flashbacks fill your mind with giant DANGER pulsing bright red. You try to kick it away and conceal the arousal leaving you especially hot in the desert that is his mouth – humiliation growing as your attempts falter and you spread your thighs just a bit to let it slip down to your entrance.

You’re going to tear Blitzwing piece by piece with your bare hands once you get out of here, but for now you can only squeeze your eyes shut and whimper as it enters you over and over again, fully aware of the embarrassing wetness having built up when he first caught you sneaking around the place. You throw your head back and groan, forgoing any form of dignity as you fuck yourself with his tongue, meeting every movement of with jubilation.

As the noises die down behind you, you drill through your second rock bottom by taking off your pants and underwear. You tuck them under your arms like the world’s saddest security blanket and bite your lip as the tongue drags across your stomach and back to your crotch before slipping back in for just a second…

Before Blitzwing’s mouth opens up and he pulls you out. Dripping with your own fluids, the expression of shock on your face is replaced with one of righteous fury – then shame – then fury again.

“You…” you falter, red in the face, “you fucking degenerate.”

[andypantsx3]

nooo but 7 minutes in heaven with shouto 😳

Note: Characters are adults, 18/19, in their 3rd year of UA.

"This is a closet," Shouto says, his tone both flatly observational and mystified, as a giggling Mina shuts the door behind you.

You look up at him in the dim, only a narrow strip of his face visible in the light from the crack in the door. It highlights one electric blue eye, a raised red brow, and an impossibly high cheekbone. But you don't have to see his face to understand the question he's asking.

"The term 'heaven' is artistic license," you tell him, your face going hot even though you're aware he can probably barely see you. "It's supposed to be more about, like, the activities than the space."

"What activities?" Shouto asks. The strip of light shifts, showing one strangely pretty ear, and you can tell he's glanced around for some sign of the aforementioned activities, as if someone's hidden away a Monopoly board in the janitorial closet.

You laugh despite your nerves. It figures Shouto participated in the game without knowing what he was participating in, just to spend time in the company of his classmates. He's like that, just content to be part of the group—to watch people talk, to listen closely and carefully.

You might have known he knew nothing about the game, especially when he didn't show any specific reaction to you being chosen as his partner.

"Um, well," you say, your insides hot and twisting. "We can just talk. We don't have to get into the usual logistics."

The strip of light highlights Shouto's blue eye and the side of his perfectly straight nose, and he blinks down at you curiously. He's very warm and very close in the small space, and even though you can't see much more of him, you're altogether too aware of the shape of his strong, lean body, lingering somewhere near in the dark.

"I want to play the way it's usually played," he says, his tone low and a little bit pouty at being rerouted like that. You know that about him, too, that he's a little bit of a spoiled youngest child, likes to get his way, even if he's usually patient and understanding about things.

A tiny thrill of anticipation goes up your spine, but you know he doesn't know what he's talking about. You frantically squash down your nerves, pinching the skin of your forearm to ground yourself.

"Shouto," you say, searching for the most tactful way to set him straight. You come up blank. "It's—not like, a normal game. It's...maybe with a different partner you would want to but trust me on this, we should just chat!"

The strip of light flickers, and every nerve ending in your body goes on high alert when you feel Shouto's exhalation on your cheek, realize he's leaned down to try to see you in the dim.

"Is there a reason you would not suit?" he asks, tone curious.

Yeah. The reason is that he was the most gorgeous creature on earth and you were just some general course rando on the periphery of his friend group with a creepy little crush. It would not do to take advantage of his naivety like this.

"Yes," you tell him, deciding maybe he just needed to hear it out. "Because Seven Minutes in Heaven is about kissing, Shouto."

There is a moment of silence, condemning in its length. The light strip shows only the top of Shouto's head now, soft scarlet strands raked through with the tiniest fluff of white on his right.

Then, an exhale, horribly, thrillingly close to your mouth.

"You do not want to kiss me," Shouto says, as if he's come to an understanding.

It's the absolutely shocking stupidity of this statement that causes you to blurt out what you do next.

"Are you for real? Anyone would want to kiss you, you nut," you say hotly.

There is another moment of silence, like Shouto is processing this. The force of your embarrassment hits you like a freight train, and you think it's only the saving grace that Shouto can't actually see you that stops you from self-immolating.

Then Shouto shifts, and his voice sounds even closer when he asks, "Even you?"

You can feel the heat of him now, barely inches away. A hot shiver creeps down your limbs, partly the thrill of his proximity, and partly a wild, gut-churning rush of self-consciousness.

"Yes," you say, trying not to cringe. "Even me."

And you think that will probably be the end of it, except something makes contact with your shoulder, startling you. You realize it's Shouto's hand as it slides up, warm and long-fingered, trailing across your neck as if feeling out the shape of you in the dark. He catches your chin between his fingers.

You open your mouth to ask what he thinks he's doing—

Only for Shouto to catch the words in his mouth.

It takes your brain several seconds to realize you're being kissed, though your body seems to realize it right away, thrilling with the feeling of his mouth on yours, hot and soft and utterly delicious. You hear yourself make an embarrassing noise and Shouto's mouth twitches into a tiny smile over yours, before his fingers grip you a little more firmly, pulling you deeper into his kiss.

You go willingly, your hands finding those strong shoulders in the dark, lifting up onto your toes to get closer to him. Shouto kisses you so thoroughly your head spins, his tongue careful and probing at first, then teasing.

The thought that Todoroki Shouto has his tongue in your mouth has you fighting down a little shivery whimper, as Shouto walks you back to press you against the wall, his hands finding your waist, pressing himself firmly against you.

His body is hard against yours, lean and long and carefully honed by years now of hero work. You grip him more tightly as his mouth leaves yours to follow the line of your throat. It's ticklish and thrilling, especially when he finds a spot at the base of your throat and sucks, leaving what is sure to be a hickey, an imprint of his mouth on you for you to wear for days after.

"Shouto!" you manage to gasp, gripping a handful of that silky hair, and Shouto makes a low, appreciative noise against your skin, moving over a half inch to leave another one.

The temperature in the closet is suddenly sweltering, and you can't tell if it's Shouto's quirk acting up or the heat of your own desire. All you know is you want to tear his shirt off of him, tear your shirt off of yourself, desperate to feel the press of his bare skin against yours, and—

A blinding light suddenly sears through your eyelids, and you jump about a foot in the air as Shouto reflexively clamps you against him.

"Wha—?" you garble out, your eyes blinking open to find Mina, peering into the closet smugly.

"It's about time you two stopped dancing around one another," she says, a Cheshire-catlike grin cutting across her mouth. "I accept gratitude in cash, credit, or banana milk at lunch."

Shouto lets out a huff against your skin, before turning to look at her, still gripping you tightly. "How much for an hour in heaven?" he asks, his tone politely bland.

A snort escapes you, mirroring Mina's and she tosses back her pink curls, her grin widening. She taps her chin, pretending to think for a moment before deciding.

"For you? It's on the house," she says finally, laughing, and closes the door, leaving you in the dark with Shouto once again.

You feel Shouto turn back to you, his mouth finding yours once more. "Seven minutes is not nearly enough time," he says against your lips, as you grin helplessly against his, disbelieving that this is really happening. "The inventors will want to change it. I'll write a letter."

You laugh but don't correct him, your veins singing with happiness.

You just let him kiss you again, finding your way into heaven.