#being an annoying little shit is fun but being put in your place is better <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[lizardho]

I also REALLY wanna emphasize that part of the reason our stories are so weird and funny and whatever is because babs and I were tenaciously curious about EVERYTHING and we got REALLY into what we liked. And we got really into storytelling because we love stories, because stories are part of our upbringing and our cowboy heritage, and because they make more sense than real life. And one day I made the mistake (I say this jokingly because it’s actually a really good memory now) of telling my dad that I wanted to learn to write my stories. My dad, who had worked 12-hour swing shifts at the E.R. for my entire life up to that point, felt sad that his job had limited his time with us, and he put his whole pussy into making me a writer. He spent two weeks spending every spare second of his day looking into how to be a better writer. And one day, two or three weeks after I had told him that, he comes to me and tells me that he’s going to support my dream of being an author. And he tasked me with writing a LOT of stuff. Any story I made up, any thought or opinion I had, he asked me to write it down and then he gave me feedback on it. The same thing, or something similar at least, happened to Babs, fwiw.

This is the source of many of my happiest, best memories with my parents, and this was also REALLY annoying as a kid. I’d wanna tell my dad about the story I just made up with my l’il lego guys or whatever and he’d be like “write it down and I’ll give you feedback on your story in 2-3 business days” and like, sometimes I just wanted to yap (Again, looking back on it I have good memories of writing for my dad). But the thing my dad had learned by studying this for us was that the way to get better at writing was to write a LOT, to get a LOT of feedback on our writing, and to be aware of the important elements of a story. Because of this, me and babs have become gifted writers. We wrote a lot, we got lots of feedback, we studied our favorite authors, we studied the tips and tricks of the people who mattered in our lives, and we can fucking WRITE now.

So when we verbalize the little things we did in our lives, part of why it’s fun and funny is because we’re genetic freaks, and we’re not normal, and that makes our lives unusual too. A lot of the shit we did didn’t come naturally which meant we had to make conscious decisions, which in turn are easier to remember.

Another part of why it’s fun is because our dad helped us become excellent writers, and that means we can express ourselves well in writing (in-person is a totally different experience). And it’s always nice to read stuff from people who can express themselves well.

And the last reason it’s fun to read our stuff is because we were raised by a loving nerd-cowboy and a loving feminist supermom, both of whom are neurodiverse in some way. This meant we were almost always safe to share our thoughts and feelings because our parents were genuinely curious about our inner lives and feelings, and they were able to understand how our inner worlds were different from other people’s. It also meant that we were very loved and appreciated, which meant there was always at least one point in our day and one place in our life where we could safely engage in deep self-reflection and analysis. This was helpful for us in being able to uncover the little stories in our lives and really let them sink in. A lot of why we’re good writers is practice and hard work, and also a lot of it is a privilege we received not out of merit (it’s not like we deserved great parents and other people deserved crappy parents, we just kinda ended up with good parents) but out of blind luck and love.

To make this all succinct, many of our stories come from us being able to fully live in our own lives. We didn’t go out of our way to seek excitement - we actually were pretty serious homebodies so we often went out of our way to avoid it. Instead, we found ways to find the magic in the small silly things that happen in life, and finding the magic in simple, mundane, every day stuff makes it easier to add magic into it on purpose too. And if you do that enough it takes you to some strange places. I know both @inbabylontheywept and I have made decisions or done or said things that were unnecessarily complicated or kinda “going out of our way” just because we knew it would make the story of our lives a bit more entertaining or magical. Recognizing that you are living in a story can help you find your own stories. Finding the things that matter to you can help you do this too. And finding your stories can, in turn, make your life as enchanting and silly and bewildering and crazy as our lives have been. It’s an active skill to develop. It requires a willingness to see yourself as a character at times. It requires practice and time. It requires a willingness to make things silly for the plot. And it requires some unspecified amount of autism. But it IS doable, and it can make life more interesting.

How is your life so interesting

Normally, I just kind of laugh this question off, but I've been asked enough times I'm gonna take an honest stab at it.

So, the first thing worth considering is whether the story itself is all that interesting, or whether I am just a good storyteller. My most popular story is about cutting a lot of worms and half, and crying, and then being comforted by my mom. That's not a terribly uncommon or hard to imagine event. A lot of my stories more about the telling than the substance.

There are also some stories that are weird, but they're weird in ways that I also find, like, relateably weird? It might just be that I knew a lot of athletes in college, but I don't think eating raw eggs is that weird. Eating 15 in one go is, but I was roommates with a guy that ate like, three for breakfast, three in his in-class protein shake, and another three at dinner. That guy was attending ASU on a gymnast scholarship, but also, he genuinely ate 5 dozen eggs a week. That seems much more normal than eating 15 in one day.

To say nothing of eating raw onion. Tons of people eat raw onions. It baffles the non-onion eaters, but it's a super common thing. Especially in Mexico.

Some of the stories happen because I am better at noticing story-worthy events than most people. I can't tell you how many times I've been in public, and seen someone do some weirdass thing, and then had to nudge my wife and to get her to watch it too.

If I had to point to the parts of my life that are truly, genuinely, bafflingly weird, they would be my dating stories, and. I dunno. My general thermonuclear dumbass event posts. And I can break down why those two are interesting pretty simply:

I was unbelievably bad at dating. The majority of the time, that just meant that there was a few minutes of stilted small talk and never get a call back. But the thing is, Mormon culture strongly encourages dating as like, a social-practice thing, and I was very motivated to get good at it, so I just kept trying and trying and I think I went on at least 200 first dates before meeting my wife. I genuinely believe that if anyone went on 200 first dates, they would get some pretty incredible bad date stories too. Especially if they had autism. I know I write well, and I can sound very charming here, but it took me a very, very long to get decent social skills. I am just a disturbingly persistent learner.

I am very convincing. This is helpful when I am interacting with other people, because it can do things like, convince them to let me into their secret facility, or convince them to not vote Republican again, or to save at least put the company match into their retirement accounts. But when I'm just debating something with myself, my convincingness works against me: I am very good at tricking myself into believing that bad ideas are, somehow, actually good. This is part of why I have so much sympathy for the right wing lunatics that I work with. Every time I meet a crazy person I go, ah, but for the grace of God, go I. Anyway, this does an unfortunate thing where my excellent verbal skills drive my poor decisions, which results in the very odd combination of welll written, articulate stories about someone being A Fucking Idiot. Like the condom bomber story. I think this is also why most of the lawyers that I meet are insane in their personal lives.

Anyway, those are my theories! I'm gonna tag @lizardho because we mostly had the same childhood, but she has a better grasp on what normal people look like than me, and perhaps she'll have her own theories on the weirdness of our lives.

[s4pphicyearning]

it seemed like a good idea at first.

you decided to be difficult today. you countered her compliments with insults, you replied to her requests with "make me." you rolled your eyes, you turned away, you crossed your arms.

she caught on soon enough.

now you look up her with lidded eyes, tears gathering, breaths shaky..

she smiles at you, all sweet, all innocent, as she drags a finger over your bound wrists. "oh, my darling," she murmurs, "you just don't learn, do you?"

and now, with another sharp smack of her hand against your cherry-red thigh, she turns the vibrator to a higher setting, pressing it hard against you, then pulls it away just before you reach your peak for what felt like the hundredth time..

"i wonder how long it'll take you to start begging for it.."

..can you say it was worth it?

[sammigrll]

deadpool!

….as your boyfriend.

description: deadpool as your boyfriend!

pairing: deadpool x you!

contains: 18+, mentions of sex!

|an: just saw deadpool & wolverine.. couldn’t help myself.

- awful with emotions but always finds a way to make up for things whether through humor or sex.

- speaking of humor you’re never not laughing with him, or bickering, or fucking

- you’re the only person he can actually feel vulnerable and comfortable with, he cherishes that and he loves you so much for that.

- you’re his person, he would genuinely kill for you if it meant he would lose someone so important in his life.

- if someone makes you sad, mad or uncomfortable ooo…not his babygirl.

- he usually doesn’t keep people or friends in his loop often, they could find him annoying or over the top but not you.

- you love absolutely everything about him, his outlandish humor, his extroverted personality, his big ol’ mouth. you think it’s so hot.

- so hot when he’s mean to you so hot when he’s soft with you

- you literally bicker like two teenage girls all the time and he always somehow clocks your tea it’s ridiculous but you also find it impressive that he always has something to say that you cannot come back from😭

- god you need to pray that no man ever even has the thought of coming on to you… he’ll experience some banter with your boyfriend before it’s lights out.

- not only are you his but he’s yours! he’s super loyal and if he can’t get someone to back off , you sure will!

- you’re always having fun with him date nights are some of the best times of your life, he always finds a way to entertain you no matter what you’re doing.

- always gotta hand somewhere, your ass, a singular cheek, a titty, somewhere. how could you expect him not to! you’re all his.

- you literally have him wrapped around your finger, he’d do absolutely anything for you.

- also always bullying you he is so straightforward😭

“hon that has got to be the ugliest shirt i’ve ever seen on you”

“wade-“

“i know you got better in that closet that i snoop through and try on all your clothes when you aren’t home now go!”

- he’s so tall so if you’re short oh wow…you’re never catching a break

“soooo how’s the weather down there.” wade said, placing his elbow on the crown of your head.

“prick…”

…

“yeah that’s enough of that dirty mouth!” your boyfriend had announced before bending down and wrapping an arm around your behind, throwing you over his shoulder and positioning his palm on your ass.

“god, wade put me down!” you’d laughed playfully hitting his back.

“don’t make me have to spank you!” he said, lighting pinching your ass.

- do not get an animal bc it will quickly become his center of attention and he will defend it over you.

“wade, we’re having my mom over please put it in the room”

“ugh…she’s so mean isn’t she sugar?” he’d said stroking your pet, followed by a “yes she is yes she is!” as the animal licked his face.

sigh.

- good lord we got a cuddle monster on our hands!

- absolutely adores any type of affection and practically begs you for it 24/7. he loves being little spoon specifically. also loves it when u scratch or message his back, bc that also gets him going..

- speaking of, you got this guy rock solid 24/7

“hungry for seconds?” he joked, hugging you from behind and pressing his hardened cock against your ass.

“we literally jus-“ you’d started just to be interrupted mid sentence.

“so! cmon baby throw a dog a bone.” he muttered, hand already gripping your inner thigh.

you’d sighed, god you can’t resist him.

- it doesn’t matter what you’re doing he finds anything you do hot i stg

- a M-U-N-C-H! for life, literally came in his pants from eating you out once! he loves making you feel good.

- a goofball during sex he cannot do shit seriously😭 he be talking you and your pussy thru it!

- again, if you’re petite god help you bc he is large.

- babe, you better match his freak because yall doing anything.

- trying a new thing every night multiple times bc that sex is never vanilla and that dick is never tired! at some point he’s just making positions up😭

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[theorist-fox]

Paint

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Previous << || >> Next

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You and Simon share a cigarette. He slips up, and shares something more.

18+

CW: suggestive, non-explicit smut. kissing. smoking. angst. hurt/comfort. miscommunication. mutual pining. sexual and non sexual intimacy. and guess what, my favorite tag, simon ghost riley is bad at feelings.

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

“Need to rest?”

You doubt he hasn’t heard you arrive, even if he’s facing the opposite way. It’s true, you could’ve gotten rid of at least the Kevlar vest or taken off your boots—but being in a safehouse doesn’t mean it’s literally safe, and you don’t like taking risks. Plus, there’s no time for getting dressed if there’s an emergency.

That's why you're sure he's heard you: boots thudding against the floor, the bulletproof vest scraping on the cotton of your uniform, the carabiners hanging from your tac belt, or the gun on your hip that clicks when you walk.

Normally, those sounds are muted; muscles and bulk don’t necessarily mean you move like a bull in a china shop. But you know the beast, now dormant, that is sitting on the floor right at your side.

Fucking bat.

He could move exclusively through echolocation, eyes closed shut; who knows? You wouldn’t put it past him.

You think you should start spreading the rumour, just to watch people shit their pants even more when he walks past. It’s already a sight you swear by, the way their faces pale while you stride beside him, dipping your chin to your chest to hide the quiet giggles—why not add some spice to it?

However, your fun thoughts are interrupted by the man himself.

“S’my turn tonight.” He replies listlessly, eyes locked on the door—armoured, triple-bolted, locked handle, and trip wire at the entrance, courtesy of Soap. He wanted to be safe, he said. Sure—being in a safehouse doesn’t necessarily mean you’re safe, you agree, but Simon always likes to take things to the next level. And Price only feeds that urge, twice as paranoid as your not-so-friendly Ghost.

His watch has started three hours ago, and would you look at that? The door is still there. Closed. Bolted shut. Unexploded. Shocking.

You wonder why the five of you are even bothering with rotations when the place is quite literally a bunker a few feet underground, and if someone were to walk in unannounced, their arse would blow up to bits thanks to Johnny’s intricate wire trap.

But oh well. Simon is like that, and Price is even worse, so you’ll give in to their wishes like Kyle and Johnny did and take it the way it comes.

Then again, sleep isn’t apparently in your plans, and four eyes are always better than two, so you plop on the floor next to Simon, legs outstretched in front of you, mimicking his posture.

You nudge his ankle with the tip of your boot, because he’s freakishly tall, and your foot won’t quite reach his. He bends his knee enough to nudge you back.

“I can take over,” you tell him, knocking the back of your head against the wall. “Can’t sleep anyway.”

You feel his eyes on you, lingering like the muzzle of a gun to your temple, but it’s just a threat—you know he won’t shoot. Though hatred is permanently carved in his eyes—some leftovers of a past life—it feels more like a burning weapon poised to pierce your head, one that never quite follows through.

He’s kinder than he looks.

“Nightmares?”

“No.”

“Go on, then.” Simon says, with a jerky nod of his jaw your way.

“Feel a little restless, I guess.” You reply with a shrug, as if this is your daily routine by now. “Not exactly a comfortable place, this one. Plus, cap snores.”

He snorts. You smile.

“Loud engine, tha’ one.” He comments, returning his eyes to the door.

“You do too, y’know? Well, you don’t snore much, but,” you gesture with your finger at your mouth, “you grind your teeth at night.”

“Ain’t snorin’, tha’.”

“Still,” you purse your lips in a cheeky smile, “Annoying—that.”

You watch him give you the side-eye of the century. The blueprint of it. But it lasts a second before he returns his focus to the door, as if afraid it might run away or something.

"No one’s makin’ ya, y’know?" he drawls. "Don’t have to sleep over—could always jog on after you’re done.”

After you’re done, he says—as if it’s a chore.

You hate when he takes ten steps back after he’s taken one forward. One day he’s all up in your business, worrying his mind and his heart, and the next he tells you to go take a hike after you’re done.

It makes your belly churn and melt like he’s pouring acid over it—you’re in too deep, and you know it. But you're too much of a coward to drag yourself out of the muck of this relationship. You’d rather sink into its depths and be swallowed whole than face the thought of never seeing him again. You’ve already come to terms with that truth—it doesn’t get easier at all, though.

Instead of biting back, you roll your head his way and smile, small and genuine.

“I like sleeping with you.”

His shoulders tighten as if he’s startled by the way you replied so transparently, but he keeps his eyes on the door, giving you nothing else to work with.

“You don’t?” You venture.

No feelings, Sarge—you can practically hear him say in the silence that hangs tersely between you. Simon will die on that hill; you’re sure of it. Even if sometimes he slips and cares, says words you’d never think to hear from his mouth, fucks you too slowly for it to be considered just sex, it’s just the way it is, the way he says.

You know he’ll never leave his shell. Where he’s comfortably lonely, where he’s secure and safe. Whether he cares for you or not, the wall’s too high to climb, too thick to blow.

But the awful person here is not him for behaving the way he does; it’s you for putting your heart through the meat grinder knowing fully well it’ll come out like butchered meat.

If you're looking for someone to hate, Simon isn't the one.

“Negative.” He drawls.

You shift uncomfortably next to him, subtly pulling away a few inches from his leg.

But then he adds, “Toss an’ turn too much. Hog the covers.”

You stiffen and scowl. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Well, you could always yank them back,” you reply, sounding a little too petty for your age.

Simon finally turns his head your way, but now it’s you who’s glaring holes into the (shockingly) still unmoving door. His eyes linger on your profile for a second too long, and you’re just about ready to bite back with some snarky comment about him taking a picture so it’ll last longer when he speaks first.

“Don’t have the heart to wake you up.”

You feel something inside you soften and melt. Gingerly, you turn your head his way.

Your eyes lock, and his are creased at the corners—not with a smile, but with tender attention, as if he’s taking in the details of something worth his time, his concentration.

You plaster on a smile that’s both embarrassed and pleased, as your cheeks warm over.

A soft huff to blow out the heat gathered right under your skin, and then you’re nudging his shoulder with your hand. He dramatically lolls sideways.

“That must be the nicest thing you’ve ever told me.”

He nudges you back, and you dramatically flop on your side. He snorts.

“Don’t get used to it.” He says, and gently curls his fingers around your forearm to lift you up.

You’re unexpectedly pulled in until you’re tucked in his side. The team is right behind a thin wall, and the knowledge initially turns your body into stiff marble. While their snores signal that your privacy is safe, you don’t want to repeat past mistakes. No matter how alluring those memories are.

But still—you don’t fight Simon’s hold around you; you don’t dare.

You trust his judgement and progressively melt into him, nestling your cheek on his chest as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. Nice and comfortable, in spite of how hard it is with all this stupid gear strapped on both of you. The Velcro on one of his front pockets scratches your skin, but the rest of you is so cosy that you don’t care. You toss one leg across his, and he doesn’t flinch or pull away.

“Can’t wait for evac to come get us,” you sigh. “I’d kill for a smoke.”

Simon squeezes your shoulder. You decide to take it as a green light to rest; your eyes flutter closed almost automatically, as if he’s pressed a button the moment he pulled you in. Grateful, you bask in this brief show of care—allowing Simon to take that one step forward, fully knowing he’ll just take ten steps back the next chance he gets, because that’s simply how he is.

He doesn’t add anything to your comment, probably registering it as further small talk, and you know he doesn’t care for that. He has a sort of internal threshold about how much mindless chatter he can tolerate in one sitting. You're aware of it, and you don’t mind, instead taking the quiet moment for what it is: a fragment of peace.

His heartbeat is faint to your ear, too many layers between you and his chest for you to hear it clearly. His thumb swipes softly on the fabric of your uniform. And he’s warm, like a furnace rumbling with rekindled fire. Suddenly, sleeping sounds much less of a hassle and more of a treat.

Simon’s chest rises softly under your cheek. The buzzing of the neon lights overhead turns into pleasant white noise, much like the obnoxiously loud snoring coming from the bedroom behind the wall where you and Simon are leaning.

It’s only after a few moments that he shifts—imperceptibly, like the subtle man that he is. But you catch it anyway. Spec Ops and their senses, right?

Yet you trust him, so you don’t bother opening your eyes. You count your blessings, and they are few: Simon holding you to his chest while hostiles run rampant right above your heads is at the top of the list right now, and you won’t let it slip.

But then—a tap on your nose. A featherlight touch of something papery that finely crinkles when it meets your skin. You scrunch your face and force your eyes open to see…

…a cigarette.

You blink yourself awake, though you hadn't fallen deeply enough into sleep for it to be startling.

“For me?” You ask, craning your neck to look up at him, only to find him already gazing down at you.

“If you’re polite ‘bout it.” He replies, tapping the tip of the cigarette on your nose again.

You smile. “Please?”

He hums approvingly and slots it between your lips. Plucks the Zippo lighter from one of the front pockets of his vest. Swiftly flicks it open.

The flame dances before your eyes, blue hues growing into yellows and oranges. You lean closer, allowing the tip of the cigarette to hover right into it, until the white paper burns dark, until it finally glows red.

The first drag you take feels like a warm hug. Not often do you have the chance to sit back and smoke while on the job—the glowing cherry is like a big, fat, neon arrow pointing at your head for eventual snipers. Too dangerous to even try.

But six feet underground (quite literally), inside a windowless, armoured bunker, you’re safe from unwanted scopes and deadly bullets. And your cigarette is your prize right now, so you savour it like you should.

You groan in bliss, smoke leaving your lips in foggy curls.

“Lifesaver,” you murmur, returning your head to his chest.

He squeezes your shoulder. “Easy to please.”

You snuggle closer, and he holds you there in comfortable silence. But he’s incredibly tactile tonight: fingers draw mindless circles on your shoulder, while his other hand has found purchase on your thigh, thumb swiping back and forth along the inner seam of your trousers.

It’s not sexual. You think you’d recognise when Simon’s touch turns into something carnal and covetous. No, now he’s just… touching. Sensing. Testing the softness of the meat of your thigh between his fingers, feeling the curve of your shoulder with his pads. It feels like he’s blowing softly at the cinders of a fire that’s been smothered by the more grievous events of this long operation. It torches your belly; rekindled flames gently lick at your skin, until you feel soft and malleable, warm and weightless.

You smoke peacefully, eyes occasionally fluttering closed. Subtle shivers run through you when his hand travels to your side, right where the bulletproof vest doesn’t cover. 

Three or four drags in, a gloved hand appears before your eyes. He beckons with his fingers.

A breathless chuckle. A fond roll of your eyes. You tap the column of ash off the tip and place the cigarette between them.

Simon uses his thumb to lift the mask off his face until it bunches up on his forehead. You shift enough to sit upright and tilt your head his way.

His cheeks are flushed red, irritated by the continuous rubbing of the balaclava. Slivers of paler skin stretch across his cheekbones and upper lip—knotted scars that have always been there, disrupting the growth of his stubble and the smoothness of his skin. Yet now, after tracing them time and time again, they blend in so seamlessly that you have to focus to even notice them at all. Lost their shock value, they have. Now, they’re just small pieces of a puzzle—insignificant in the grand scheme that is Simon.

He brings the cigarette to his lips. His cheeks hollow as he takes a lungful of smoke. It puffs out of his lips a moment later, as he sighs with the same relief you did moments earlier. Just like that, his apparent tranquillity infuses you with the same peace.

“Don’t finish it.” You murmur, very aware that if he did, you wouldn’t mind.

His mouth twitches, and his pupils swivel down to where you’re nestled in his side. Honey lashes fan his cheekbones, eyelids smeared with black greasepaint that makes the chocolate of his eyes look like the warmest of browns. Dark ripples mottled with gold.

“Learn to share.” He drawls, but contrary to his words, he brings the cigarette to your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the orange filter, brushing briefly with the pads of Simon’s gloved fingers. Another intake of smoke has your shoulders relax, but before you can breathe it out of your system, Simon tilts your chin up with his thumb and leans in dangerously close.

Not that you haven’t been this close before, of course. You’ve had him kissing you silly, mouthing at your skin, or drowning between your legs. But to your poor battered heart, every time feels like the first. A blessing, because you’d never trade this feeling for anything in the world. A curse, because it’s a lonely one.

Smoke billows from your parted lips into tendrils that travel upwards and sting your eyes. You don’t close them, but your eyelids fall a little heavier—though you don’t blame it on the smoke.

He nudges your nose with his, instructing you to tilt your head back.

You do.

His thumb tugs your chin, gently forcing your mouth to part. Your stomach flips and twists, leaving you dizzy and unsure of which way is which. The flames from before are melting you inside out now, burning liquid pooling at your lower belly. It makes you muscles clench, your thighs squeeze.

Simon’s eyes stay on yours as he brings the cigarette to one corner of his lips. He takes a purposeful drag. The burning paper crackles. The sound is ten times louder to your ears.

Your blood pumps madly—you feel it run and collect in the apples of your cheeks, in your head, spinning and spinning, until your thoughts are blurry and disconnected.

The arm coiled around you curves so that he can trace your shoulder, following the outline of your gear, and then his hand settles around the side of your face. He keeps you still, fingers flexed at your jaw and thumb dimpling your cheek. The cold leather of his glove should counterbalance the warmth blooming right under your skin, giving you some sort of comfort, yet it’s such a jarring contrast that it only causes the air to lodge in your throat.

The intensity in his eyes, masked by the usual indolent display, is not lost on you; he makes it impossible, unthinkable, to look away. The air around him is stuffy, almost suffocating, and the haze of the smoke, with its pungent smell, doesn’t help. Yet somehow, it makes him look so unbelievably soft, like everything around him is dimmed and unimportant. Like his eyes are all that matters, or the shape of his lips and the slight crook of his nose.

The hand holding the cigarette goes to rest on your thigh. It tenses under his touch, and he squeezes it until it softens right under his palm.

Smoke leaves his lips, then, billowing right into yours. It travels down your tongue, pungent and hot, even richer in taste after it’s been in his mouth, too.

Something tightens in your belly. Makes your head spin further and your hands tremble, as they lie rigidly at your sides. Tension spreads through your body something fierce, muscles coiled in beautiful anticipation, but the lines in your face are smoothed down when Simon brushes his thumb on your cheek.

You inhale. Nicotine travels down your lungs and inflates them with the earthy notes of tobacco, the subtle hint of mint of a gum he must’ve chewed on before, the humidity of his warm breath.

“Like that,” he breathes hoarsely, abandoning the effort of sounding even remotely unaffected.

You blink slowly, exhaling a fleeting cloud of smoke back into his mouth.

“What?” You ask, so quietly you can’t even hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.

The cigarette is presented right next to your face, once again. The column of ash at the tip is longer than the portion still available to smoke. As Simon brings it to your lips, you see it crumble onto your trousers in your peripherals. You don’t care.

“Learn to share,” he repeats hoarsely. “Just like that.”

And he nudges your lips open by slotting the filter between them. His gaze falls on them like it’s inevitable, like his eyes are metal and your mouth is a magnet.

You take a slow drag, watching his face with hooded eyes. Simon follows raptly the way your cheeks sink, how your lips curl. He’s lost his subtlety now, more obvious when you notice the heaviness with which his throat bobs.

Gingerly, you raise a hand to hook your fingers at the shoulder straps of his vest, pulling him in. He slowly follows your lead, inching closer once more.

Smoke flows from your mouth to his, a wave of soft grey tendrils that tethers Simon to you. And he breathes it in, breathes you in, closing the gap.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that couldn’t be considered one for how faint it is. But his arm, still curled around your shoulders and holding your face steady, tightens just a fraction.

Simon brushes his nose with yours. His head cocks sideways, and he presses his mouth to you again.

You feel like every nerve ending that’s being touched is set ablaze, synapses overriding in the poor attempt to concoct a thought, a word, a breath. Nothing leaves you, if not a trembling sigh that stings with nicotine.

Simon pulls back. You whine pathetically, and you don’t care, as your eyes flutter open—you hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them at all. You trace a path from his lips upwards, studying intently the lines in his face and the way the camo paint hasn’t managed to settle in the wrinkles around his eyes, in the furrow between his brows.

Pinched, they are. As if that kiss has worried him more than any bit of sex ever could.

Your heart clenches at the thought. Writhes pitifully, as if it could talk him out of his spiral, bring him back to you, burn his lips to yours until they merge into a single fucking entity that’s impossible to tell apart.

But he nods softly, then. Your chest unravels, lightens. You nod back.

The cigarette in his hand falls forgotten on the dark concrete floor. His palm lands on your waist, fingers delicately tugging at the bulletproof vest.

His lips find you again. Softly, like he’s testing waters he’s already more than navigated—conquered, even. Mouths slot perfectly like they’ve been trying to do this thing all this time, all along.

You return his kiss with the same caution, trying to quell that fire ignited in your belly. Soft pecks echo in the quiet room, drowning the sounds of your teammates sleeping just behind the wall, the flicker of the lights overhead. Focusing on Simon’s lips, on his taste, and the slight twitch of his brow pressed to yours.

You busy your other hand by hooking it around one of the front pockets of his vest, where a magazine sits. His chest rises heavily under the press of your palm.

Without ever breaking apart, you shift until you’re on your knees, gaining the rare advantage of height. Simon tilts his head accordingly, resting it back against the wall. Your hands initially settle on his shoulders, then on the slopes of his neck, thumbing gently at each side.

He holds you uncharacteristically tender, a hand on your waist and the other on your thigh, where he pats once, twice, until you’re following silent instructions and end up straddling his lap.

Simon’s kiss never stops, nor does it deepen. He teases your lips with his own, leaving gentle pecks that have your stomach erupt in butterflies, your throat tight and suddenly parched.

You wonder if this is the moment in which he slips one hand under the waistband of your trousers, like he always does. Whether he’ll settle on teasing the blooming wetness on your knickers until he’ll feel merciful enough to travel past the cotton and plunge his fingers into you. Or if he’ll simply skew the gusset of your panties to the side and touch you, formalities set aside.

He does none of that.

Instead, his hand settles at the back of your head, the other one on your waist. You flutter your eyes open, only to find his completely shut—and if Simon Riley dares to look so peaceful, you’ll allow yourself that blessing too.

You lose yourself in him, sharing unhurried kisses only framed by the ripping sound of velcro being unstrapped—his fingers working deftly with your tac vest at your sides. You help him out, lifting your arms so he can take it off.

Simon tosses it behind you. Pulls you back down to him again, with long fingers keeping you still by your nape, while other hungry ones untuck your shirt from your trousers so they can feel your skin. Your stomach ripples when he touches it.

His palm explores, follows the curve of each fold, of each line, tracing a path that warms up under his hand and pitifully freezes when he leaves it unattended. Until the tips of his fingers reach the underline of your bra. You sigh softly in his mouth.

“Yes?” He breathes.

“Yes.” You reply.

It must make something tick in his brain, because his painfully obvious tent pressing up to you twitches under your weight.

Simon kisses you slowly as he palms at your breast right above the cottoned bra, causing your sex to flutter around nothing, yet not in a way that feels unfulfilling.

He spares no more seconds to hook his fingers around the central seam of your bra, pulling down.

He cups one of your breasts as it spills out—feeling its weight in his hand, thumbing softly at the nipple until it hardens, until you feel just enough out of breath.

You think you feel him tremble when he leaves your mouth to travel with featherlight kisses down your jaw, nipping right under the bone, where your flesh is plumper. You shiver and tilt your head to give him more room to work with, offering your neck to satiate his appetite.

His kisses are open and wet, but no less patient, as if he thinks he has all the time in the world to savour you until he’s content. He doesn’t; you know it, but you can’t summon the courage to remind him of where you are, of the possibility of onlookers.

No, because he’s tender, he’s kind, he’s bordering on reverent, as he kisses your neck, as he touches your chest.

His hand follows the indent of your spine, settling at the base of it and toying with the hem of your shirt only to lift it up and brush your skin. Hairs all over your body stand on end. You breathe heavily and slow, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders—your fingernails digging in as if that might help you quiet down.

“Y’ taste good," he whispers to your skin.

Your lips twitch in a smile.

“Haven’t showered in days,” you reply just as quietly.

He bites into your neck. Your spine arches in brief shock, and he keeps you from falling backwards with his palm at your back.

“An’ yet,” he drawls, pulling back just to lift those dark eyes at you, “Sweet as a peach.”

The softest grin spreads on your lips almost reflexively.

“Flattery will get you—”

“Anywhere,” he interjects, lifting your shirt to expose your chest until the fabric bunches right above your breasts.

You let him, perhaps proving him right. Even so, you cup his cheeks when he eases in closer, leaving open kisses at your sternum. The paint over his eyes transfers to your skin, leaving darkened streaks of sweat and black grease.

You briefly wonder if your neck looks the same, or if there’s any residue left on your face. If he’s unknowingly marked you in such a spontaneous way, simply because it was meant to happen. The quiver in your chest becomes easier to understand then—a sense of belonging in the shape of messy grease marks left in Simon’s wake.

He murmurs something you can’t quite place, hushed and lost in the haze that has been building in your head, in the thunder of your heartbeat. You hum inquisitively, brushing your hand through his dampened hair.

He repeats himself. You hear him now. You do—quite clearly, actually.

“Missed you,” he says.

The poor thing that’s your heart cracks fiercely. You wish it were a neat fracture, easier to piece back together, but it’s jagged and dangerously sharp instead.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. It’s a plea, because there are only so many lies you can take in exchange for a fuck.

His hands connect with each side of your waist, grasping at the flesh to keep you still. He doesn’t use that grip to grind your hips to his own, he doesn’t use it to relieve the tension of his hardened sex.

He uses them simply because he can. Because he wants to. Wants to feel you, touch you, sense where you are, while his lips explore somewhere else, where your flesh is softer and plumper, more sensitive.

“I did.” He insists breathlessly, careful not to raise his voice. “Fuck—I did.”

You push at his shoulders, but he doesn’t let up.

“You didn’t,” you repeat through gritted teeth. Tears build in your eyes much too rapidly, fuelled by the frantic beat of your heart.

He latches on to your nipple. You choke on a whine as he tugs at it softly, grasping it between his front teeth. His arms come to hold you entirely, wrapped like vines around your middle. Slowly, you surrender, ceasing your futile attempts to push him away. 

But you cry. The sting in your eyes finally finds relief as you allow fat tears to roll down your cheeks. Simon doesn’t look up at you, maybe because your sorrow translates into his guilt. However, he stops tasting you with a weary sigh, gently resting his forehead on your chest as he holds you steady.

“I did,” he croaks. "I do."

You hold him too, encircling your arms around his head and resting your cheek on top of it. His hands go from still to hesitating until he is the one who gives in, this time, and brushes them soothingly down your back.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, but judging by the lack of movements from your teammates behind that thin wall, it’s probably been only a handful of minutes. Regardless, Simon holds you through all of it. Until he feels the soft stutters in your chest quell, the sniffles abate.

Only then does he lift his head. Only then does he cup your face in his hands. Thumbs brushing your cheekbones, collecting dried-up tears. They glide on smoothly, which makes you think that maybe his greasepaint has transferred onto your skin there as well.

It shouldn’t, but your heart flips at the thought anyway.

“I'm not a good man, love.” He murmurs, eyes dark and unusually sad. “But I'm no liar.”

The earnestness in his voice almost makes you choke up again. 

You swallow it down. Inhale.

Recollect yourself. Exhale. Lean your cheek in his hand.

Your eyes are downcast, staring at the dark streaks of camo paint fading and blending on your chest.

“I know,” you croak, unsure but wanting to believe him. Almost needing to.

Simon’s hand leaves your cheek. It’s so much colder now that the air brushes your damp skin, but the ice sublimates suddenly when he taps your chin.

You lift your head and lock his eyes. They shine with something unshed, perhaps tears, perhaps words he can’t place, ones he can’t say.

“No lies.” He subtly shakes his head. “Not to ya, ya hear?”

You nod softly. “No lies.”

"Missed ya," he says again, his voice cracking in a way that makes you think this is harder on him than it is on you. "You gotta understand that. There ain’t a day goes by that I don’t."

You swallow thickly. Throat dry, tongue stuck to your palate. Eyes fixed on him, once again unthinkable to look away, but for different reasons entirely. Perhaps this is more than one step forward; perhaps this is a whole new path from which he can’t backpedal. You don’t raise your expectations, you don’t dare—but hope is as much of a bastard as it is beautiful, and it flickers back to life.

“Okay,” you reply, not feeling like you can say it back, not feeling like it could stand in front of the way he’s said it—so viscerally that it ripped at your heart.

He kisses you again, soft like before. His hands return your bra to its place, your shirt down to your hips.

You kiss for a moment more, saying everything your voices can’t, as touch returns to be the only language you both understand.

He helps you off his lap. No more words are exchanged as he dresses you up—tucking the shirt back in your pants, putting the vest around you again, making sure it fits just right when he tightens the straps at your waist.

Wordlessly, Simon invites you back to where it all started, that night. Next to him, with his arm around your shoulders, your leg across his own, and your head on his chest. His eyes on the door, focused. His watch is not over yet.

You fall asleep, coaxed by the soft brushes of his hand on your shoulder, the rise of his chest each time he breathes.

Your hand in his own, his paint on your cheek.

[gallusrostromegalus]

So, uhh, genuine question.

Do you recommend getting into Bleach, and if so how? Anime, Manga, a little bit of both, secret other thing? Your posts about it (and especially about AEIWAM) have definitely piqued my Interest, but I have pretty much 0 knowledge about the topic and heard very contradictory takes & reviews before, so I wanted to ask for your advice on the topic.

Cheers and have a nice day!

So a couple people have asked me this and I'm going to be as honest and fair about it as possible:

Bleach itself is mid.

...which is why the fan works KICK SO MUCH ASS.

My theory is that the ideal habitat for transformative fan work creators is mediocre series. It has to be good enough to be worth engaging with in the first place, but it's the plot holes and dropped developments and intriguing characters that don't get enough time and shoddy-to-unexplained worldbuilding that make nice little holes for fic authors and fan artists to crawl into and built a home, like sponges growing on a dilapidated subway car sunk into the Hudson river.

So yes. Bleach is mid. More under the cut:

It's also really two series: the manga and the anime. There's more anime than manga because bleach suffers from the late oughts horror known as "the filler arc" where the studio would make shit up while waiting for the author to catch up. Not ideal, but better than the current state of "cancelling a fully written five-season show after two because it wasn't making enough money for the oligarchy" but I digress.

To grade both the manga and anime on the Weeb-Ass-Shit scale:

Weeb: how familiar do you have to be with the tropes of anime/Japanese culture in general to be able to enjoy the series? This is one of the things Bleach does REALLY, REALLY WELL, in that you can go in knowing fuck-all about anime and have a good time, but the more you know, the more fun it is. My favorite thing Kubo does is that if you look up the meaning of the characters used in everyone's names, there is a TON of jokes, foreshadowing, themes etc. baked into every name. A+ work.

Ass: how much gratuitous fan service is there and how annoying is it? So. It's not the worst. But it's really, really obvious that Bleach is written and illustrated by a straight man who is hella into tiddies. As a bisexual, I can appreciate The Tiddy (and tbh, the men in Bleach have pretty great tits too), but there are a lot of humor bits about Kon being a perv/author stand-in, orihime has medically alarming knockers for a teenager and gets groped kind of a lot. There's also a predatory lesbian stereotype character in the early episodes, and some pretty awful transphobic caricature characters. The amount of horny isn't that much for a shonen, but it's pretty gross IMHO.

Shit: how well- made is this series?

Mixed. Both the manga and the anime (esp the recent Thousand Year Blood War arc) have some absolutely gorgeous art, banger character designs, and deeply entertainingly choreographed fights. It is really nice to look at.

Unfortunately, both also suffer really badly from pacing issues that are pretty much entirely the fault of the insane demands the industry puts on the artists. If you've ever read/seen a shonen manga/anime from the late aughts through early teens, you're familiar with this bullshit- fight scenes drawn out to absurd lengths, filler arcs while the animation studio waits for the author to catch up, repeated plot arcs, minimal focus on characterization, The Friendship Speech (TM) etc.

Pacing and repetitiveness are Bleach's main quality issues, but the art is pretty baller and the Japanese voice cast is pretty fucking great IMHO. (I have APD and have to consume shows by subtitles, so the sun is usually more legible for me than the dub).

If you are coming into Bleach from AEIWAM... You're likely to be a bit disappointed. I put a shitload of work into the worldbuilding because Bleach does not, I write almost exclusively slice-of-life character moments rather than big battles, and I have made some pretty fucking radical changes to some of the characters. An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy is an entirely different genre than Bleach, and that's ok, because fic usually is radically different than it's source material. But also be prepared.

TL;DR: Bleach is mid and that's ok! My fic is different than it and that is also ok! I still recommend it with the reservations of : it's prototypical of its time period and contains many of the gross tropes from that era. It is also very much a horror shonen, just to be clear. Fucked up shit happens on screen, mostly cannibalism! Which is great IMHO, but you should probably take a stroll through DoesTheDogDie.com for more specific trigger warnings before beginning.

[tkdbimagines]

Hey so... Me Again lol (which one? You'll never know). I had to come back to your inbox since I enjoy reading your stuff A LOT! and I had a thought. Cockwarming... Who enjoys it, who can stay like this for hours, who can't and instead ends in boomshakala with, ect? Or just with one ghoul of your choice as a little os. Go wild. Go creative. I just love your stuff

A/N: alright yeah i can work with this, lets see what we got here

Cockwarming Headcanons

Stays For Hours

Jin: I'm a lil torn here actually but I think he'd definitely use it as some sort of punishment at the very least, and if that's the case he's got all the patience in the world. He'll probably snap at some point but he's making damn sure you do first and he'll still make you wait after.

Tohma: Probably the best at it honestly, he's nothing if not a patient man AND he likes annoying you and causing you problems. He just likes seeing your frustrated face and lil sounds and it just makes him want to make you wait even longer :c.

Alan: He's got better patience than I think even he will give himself credit for, honestly. Though, I think he's mostly in it for the intimacy's aspect, not the sexual one. He just likes how close you feel because of it. That being said, if you start squirming around and teasing him, I cannot guarantee your safety.

Sho: Oh he's a bastard sometimes, he'll do it just to tease you. This is a source of amusement for him, he thinks its hilarious seeing how worked up you're getting just by him being inside you. Don't think whining or complaining will help it just finds it even better. He'll give in at some point, but it'll be a while.

Ren: Honestly put a game in front of him he might even forget he's inside you to begin with. It's probably some sort of cute bonding activity except for the you know. cockwarming aspect but it's fine. However he is one you can easily goad into fucking you if you move around a bit so have fun!

Ritsu: I feel like he'd just check out and start thinking about the cases he's working on JHGHJKJHJK. Like he's a lil insane like that but it helps keep him calm and patient which is good because otherwise you might be driving him insane, it's so fine. Probably another one you can goad by moving around just not as easily.

Subaru: Sweet sweet boy just likes feeling close to you, this is definitely 1000% just for the intimacy aspect he's not trying to tease you or anything he just likes feeling you :c. That being said he will never deny you anything so if you want him to do something he will but if not he's perfectly content staying like this for as long as possible!

Haku: Kinda similar to Tohma and Sho here, he's definitely doing this because he likes teasing you KJHGHJKLKJHG. He'd be the type to whisper filthy shit in your ear too while running his hands across your body to really rile you up while he was at it. He's a lil insane sorry to say but don't worry even he has his limits KJHGHJKJH.

Ed: This annoying ass vampire pretends he's too old to move. You know he's not, he knows you know he's not, but he's just like this he's irritating. That being said he'll also hold you in place so you can't move, wrapping his arms around you because 'you feel so nice he doesn't want to let go'. He will not let you win and is probably the one most likely to go literal hours godspeed.

Rui: I'm a lil torn on him too because I'm not sure how much he's really doing this to begin with, but I think he could if you wanted him to. Living with Ed gives you a lot of patience after all but the second you want more he's all for it so he's really just going by whatever you want.

Jiro: I mean, are we really surprised by this? He's so chill about everything so naturally he'd probably have an insane about of patience regarding this as well. And if he gets to enjoy seeing you squirm and let out little noises because of him, well, that's just a bonus c:.

Gives In

Luca: I think he would give it an honest try. I think like Rui he wants to do whatever it is you want him to, and if it's cockwarming, well he might not quite get it but anything for you! However, the feeling of you wrapped around him is so... He apologizes but quickly asks if he can move pretty soon after, though he does last a little bit at least!

Kaito: Alright we all knew he was going here, I'm not sure he'd last even a minute before having to move. He'd want to give it a genuine try, he would, but well. You probably both knew how this was gonna end when you asked him it's fine. It's worth it in the end anyway you both get to enjoy it <3.

Leo: Okay much like Sho, he's a bastard, even more so actually. However, he also doesn't have a lot of patience. So what I think he does, is he talks big, acting like he's not gonna move for hours or that he'll edge you for just as long, but in reality he does just enough to drive you insane so that you'll beg for him to move and it'll look more like he's giving you what you want rather than him giving in.

Haru: Don't do this to him, he's already stressed out as it is. Plus, he's got so much energy I don't think he could sit still long enough for it if he tried. If you do try to do this expect him to try to work you up even more, to convince him to let him move that way he can make both of you feel good :c.

Towa: I don't think this is Towa's thing honestly. Maybe as a more relaxing thing than anything else but I don't think he gets anything out of it. He much rather prefers moving inside you or maybe you moving on him, the specifics don't really matter much just anything other than staying still.

Romeo: Ha. Another one to talk big only this time he actually tries to follow through but can't. It's not his fault you feel so good clenching around him! He'll blame you for him not being about to last without moving, thrusting into you roughly while complaining about how insane you drive him.

Zenji: I think he's like Kaito, he'd want to try it for your sake but in reality, he just can't do it. He'd apologize like a thousand times for not being able to give you what you want but well, it's not like you're mad at this outcome either. He'll more than make up for it with multiple rounds as well so ! Alls well that ends well.

Lyca: Oh, poor boy does not get what the appeal is. He'll tell you straight up too when you ask him, he does not see what's so great about it. Once he tries it he gets it even less, why would he torture himself like this when you feel so good and he could be moving right now to make you feel good too? Yeah the frustration takes over on this one but it's so fine.

Yuri: Romeo part two, he talks so big and acts so tough but like. He's giving in we all know he's giving in. Once again he's very frustrated with not being able to live up to what he was saying, but well. Now you get to make up for it since you've wasted his time he could've spent researching for this nonsense. Either way do you really lose?

Weird Taiga Category

Taiga: It largely depends on how Taiga's feeling at that exact moment. Sometimes he won't bother with it at all and just starts thrusting rapidly the second he's inside you. Other times, he's got you close to tears before he even so much as moves a single inch, laughing at how pathetic you sound. You really do never know what you're gonna get with him which is why he had to be in his own category.

[mysterymachine67]

PAIRING: Dean Winchester x M!reader

SUMMARY: Having sex while in a Scooby Doo episode? That's crazy! / Fucking Dean while in a cartoon Scooby Doo.

NSFW. Minors DNI.

I've had this idea for a while, and finally went with it 😭.

This was unexpected, shocking, and a whole other mix of words. How the hell did you guys end up getting sucked into a cartoon? You thought it’d be a regular day after the hunt. Winding down, relaxing, and enjoying the rest of the day. No. Everybody reacted differently, no shit. Dean was having a blast, Sam was…annoyed and irritated, and you were still in disbelief even after an hour of being there. Yeah, it was kind of cool, not something you’d see every day, but it was also unsettling. Talking and interacting with animated people that you’d watch on television? Yeah no.

At the moment, everyone else was asleep. Leaving you and Dean being the only ones up in a separate room. He was currently talking your ear off with facts about the episode you guys were in, what’ll happen next, and all the things he knew about it. Including every single small detail. And you listened. You really didn’t have a choice. But finally, after about ten minutes Dean stopped talking. So you brought up how it was late, or so you thought it’d be, and that you both should go to sleep. Dean agreed—moving to start getting comfortable in bed along with you. Once settled, he put his arm around you and pressed his forehead into your back. Letting out a sigh before shutting his eyes.

About after a minute Dean started kissing your shoulder. He moved his body closer—pressing his clothed cock against your ass. “Dean, are you seriously trying to fuck while we’re in a cartoon?” You voiced, a hint of disbelief in your tone. But another part of you thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“Hey! You said you’d stop saying that.” Dean nearly shouted. Clearly in disbelief that you said that ‘forbidden’ word.

“Sorry, sorry.”

After a few seconds, Dean started to push his hips into you again. A groan slipping from his lips. He moved his arm back to place his hand on your side. Getting a better grip to make it easier for him to grind himself against you. “Can’t keep it in your pants for at least a day, can you?” You teased. Hearing as he huffed.

“Can’t help it. Look at you.” Dean whispered. He moaned and whimpered into your ear with every move of his hips. But then you turned around to face him. Though the lighting was dark and you guys were in a fucking cartoon, you could tell Dean was flushed. And he still looked as pretty as ever. You moved to climb on top of him; straddling his waist. His hands automatically moving to your body. Although there was very clear sexual tension between you both, you couldn’t take him seriously with that gown on. Biting back a smile in hopes that he couldn’t see your face due to the darkness of the room. But it failed, and he saw.

“Don’t laugh. You’re ruining the moment,” Dean whined, but it wasn’t serious. “This is actually really comfortable. You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll take it into consideration.” You replied, knowing well enough that there was a fifty percent chance you weren’t gonna wear it. “But,” you pause. “Best part ‘bout this? It makes it easier to see you” You say as you push it up with your hands to reveal his body. Taking in the sight of the man below you. You wish you could see his actual body, not the animated version. But this will have to do. You leaned down, kissing up his chest before helping him take off the piece of clothing. Hearing as Dean let out gasps from the feel of your lips. You made your way to his neck. Kissing him but leaving a little mark by his collarbone. “Is this what you want? For me to fuck you while we’re in a TV show?” You murmured against his lips—eyes locking on each others.

“Seems fun, don’t it?” Dean replied, with a shit-eating grin displayed on his face. You scoffed, leaving back in to kiss him. Your hand trailed down till it got met with the waistband of his boxers. You tugged them down—lifting yourself so he could lift his hips to help get them off easier. Breaking away the kiss you looked down in between your bodies. His cock already leaking like a faucet as you wrapped your hand around it. Dean gasped from your touch, watching your hand on his cock moving up and down. It started slowly at first, until he started to buck his hips up impatiently and let out breathy whimpers. Hell, he even spread his legs, indicating what wanted. So you moved in between him. Telling him to keep them up but feet planted on the bed. Obviously in the process you let go of his cock. Which he complained.

There was no lube, considering this whole thing was not planned. So spit would have to do. You spit on your fingers, making sure it was enough till you pushed one into his hole. He couldn’t wait, already clenching and moaning. Rolling down his hips onto your finger.

“Be patient.” You voiced.

“Can’t,”

“Yes, you can. C’mon.”

“How can I? You’re— oh!” You curled your finger before adding a second. It shut him up for a moment till he realized that you indeed added another. “Fuck! Come on.”

“You either wait or you’re getting nothing. I’ll leave you here, in this room, by yourself, with a boner. Don’t think I won’t.” It was a threat. Yep. And he knew you were serious about it too. He was quiet the rest of the time, well, until your head pushed against his gaping hole. The stretch felt too good. Specially when you sped up your pace and constantly hit his sweet spot. Noises spilled from his mouth. Not even caring if he was to loud. All he cared about was that he was currently having the best sex of his life. You guys had limited time, but it was enough to fuck Dean stupid. The time, or night, in the animation seemed to go quicker than actual time.

You leaned down, lips pressing against Dean’s when you got close enough—swallowing his sounds. Your hands couldn’t find a spot to stay in, so they were constantly moving along his body. When you pulled away Dean got loud again, and with the sound of skin slapping you’re sure someone will probably hear. Surprisingly, the both of you got close pretty quickly. You helped Dean, though. Wrapping your hand around his cock again, and jerking him off till he was a whimpering mess and cumming all over himself. You kept going though. Even through his protests and jerks of his hips. He wanted more and you knew it. Knew him to well. But with one more quick shove of your hips you came inside of him. Just the feel of it made Dean whine and moan.

You huffed and panted, so did Dean. But with your hand still pumping his cock his were more breathy and filled in with quiet whines. His hips squirmed, jerked up then backed into the bed. He had no choice other than to take it. Well, he did but was he gonna stop you? Hell no. And with a few small ‘ah, ah, ah’s and soon a groan he came again. Once again cumming on himself. Even in a cartoon you can still make Dean Winchester into a mess.

Afterward it was quiet for a moment. Until one of you spoke up, and you got to cleaning up.

—

“Did you guys hear those sounds last night?” Daphne asked the group. In which everyone exchanged looks.

“Must’ve been a ghost!” Scooby howled.

Oh Scoob.

[hvnsinureyes]

You’re friends with Luka except it’s much deeper then that. Like when he first got drafted and moved to America you two became friends. So he considers you his first friend he ever made in the states and that’s really special to him. He considers your apartment the perfect safe space and is over there more than his own big ass house. He’s secretly been in love with you for YEARS, but will probably never tell you because this friendship is just too good to ruin and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you ended up leaving cause he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself. He def spoils you like you’re his girl too, he genuinely puts any other boyfriend or situationships to shame with his birthday gifts. Imagine trying to date a girl and her 6’6” millionaire nba player best friend giver her a necklace that’s worth more then you make in a year☹️. Ughhh he’s so down bad you’ll tell him you’re going on a date and he tries to plan other shit for yall to do together instead. Yap session over 💗💗💗

not even a request but i just had to write a blurb abt this like omg i'm in love?? thank u anon!!

it's honestly sick because everyone practically screams that luka is in love with you, but you don't understand where they're coming from!

when luka first met you, it was just so easy for him to get caught up in your world. you were so kind and accepting! while other people would make fun of his accent or barely make an effort to get to know him, you introduced yourself first and absolutely fell in love with his origin. whether you knew anything about slovenia or not, you happily listened to him talk about his home country. not with fake interest either, you actually paid attention. you didn't mind helping him get settled into dallas either. never shaming him for asking stupid questions, patiently explaining things over and over until he understood, and taking him out to restaurants and places where he could forget about basketball for a bit and have fun. so of course he's a little attached and maybe somewhat fell in love with you!

people look at you crazy when you say that luka stays over your apartment overnight or for a day or two (sometimes a week, to be honest). you always say that he should appreciate his house more, especially with how hard it is to actually find one nowadays, but he always brushes it off saying, "yours is more comfortable". when really, it's because he can't stand being in such a big home all by himself. you bring so much liveliness in every room you're in, so why not just stay with you half of the time?

since he's always around, even when you're going shopping, he insists on paying. it's almost annoying how quick he is to get out his card and slap your hand away when you try to pay with yours. over the years he gets really sneaky with it, like waiting until you go to the bathroom so he can pay by himself. what kind of best friend would he be if he didn't spoil you?

and yes, anon you are so right! there is barely any room for boyfriends and situationships because luka makes sure he takes up your whole space. they can try to butt in between you two, but it never works. none of them end up staying because they know they'll never be like luka. gifting you a whole vacation to cabo, buying you a birkin or cartier necklace like it's nothing? it's like that one druski skit where his girlfriend is getting better gifts from other people! he's watching them get all upset at you squealing over your new gift (knowing that theirs is next and definitely doesn't amount to his) with a shit eating grin like, "do better, bro." he is sooo evil.

and god forbid he finds out you're using tinder or going on a blind date. like hello? you'll be getting a 3 hour lecture about how guys can be either murderers/kidnappers, creeps looking for a hookup, or desperate old men. even if they're a normal guy, he still doesn't buy it. why not just have a movie night instead? or go to a restaurant? like don't be silly, just hang out with him instead!

he'll bring you to his games making sure you wear his jersey, post you on his insta, shout you out during speeches and everyone's like ??? are you sure you guys are just best friends? you're so smiley thinking he's just being sweet but no babe, he wants that cookie bad. it's so painful to watch because luka is so ready to be your man, but so much is holding him back? what if you say no? you guys could be friends yes, but it would never be the same. luka wouldn't know what to do if you weren't in his life anymore. you made his nights in dallas less lonely, making sure to appreciate his culture but also help him get used to a new one. giving him the comfort he needed, but couldn't get for so long.

ugh he's so cute i cannotttt :((

[cozmikvi]

Hey. You. Yes, You. Did you know there are ways to support your local punk scene without having to go to live shows.

now, I know the best thing to do when supporting bands is to show up to their shows, however, If you are socially awkward, people stress you out, if you got insane anxiety, or if youre a parent and work 2 jobs to survive, YOU ARE STILL PUNK. YOU ARE STILL AN ACTIVE MEMBER OF THE SCENE, if you use some of these little tips and tricks.

attend a show if possible ONLY when you can, even if you dont know who is playing, but always bring a friend who is a comfort post to lean on.

Find local artists through socials. Every single music venue around you has Insta/Facebook/Twitter/TikTok, and if they are awesome Bluesky/Tumblr, If you find a punk/harcore adjacent band flyer. SPREAD THE LOVE. share em around get more eyes on it, tag the venue and every artist listed, help them get people who can attend shows, Do some listen along content highlighting said bands and point your audience to the shows and their socials

Speaking of spreading the love. If artists around have any flyers made on socials, download the image, print/trace it, Make hundreds of those bad boys and put them up where the hell ever you want. IRL eyes attract IRL attention, and IRL attendance, and its a major fuck you to algohell.

BUY THEIR SHIT. So you found a small band that sound fucking awesome, They got bandcamp? Buy a single, Patreon? 1 month donation, Merch market? Get a shirt or Patch.

Make. A. Zine. They are STTUUUUPID SIMPLE, like mad easy and super fun. Dont gotta be this artistic masterpiece, just make a lil collection of doodles and essays and poems, List local shows, bands, socials for the bands, donation links, political activism, The world is your toilet, so throw some shit around!

Are you yourself an artist? See above, but also, DM local bands offer your services, Flyers, Album art, Logo design, stickers, shirts, DIY shit is awesome and if you got some design and drawing talent, [i know you do dont doubt yourself] bands make music, thats really it, some if not most arent fluent in other mediums, lighten the load, trust me, theyll love it.

Lastly; Dont sweat the dipshits. People online are legion. Lots of conformists or true scottsmans all over the damn place, If some slackjaw cishet [yes its mostly dudes, almost always against femmes in the scene] dingus is givin you shit for "nOt bEiNg pUnK eNoUgH" tell that dipshit to go fuck himself, its a much better use of both of your times. Dont listen to every lil tiktok rando, or annoying tumblrite, If you are punk, if you have punk values, if you are doin shit. Fuck em. Keep livin life, and struggle on, cuz for every dipshit chirper, there are thousands of awesome and cool peeps who are waaayyy worth your attention.

punk is a beautiful community full of talented people and unfortunately in an internet age, the most toxic and immature aspects are brought to the limelight, it is up to us as a community and individuals within, to not bother with this garbage, Putting people down, especially if they might be disabled, or anxious, or femme, or just "not cool enough for you", Is not "Supporting the scene" Youre just being a dick. To all the baby punks out there, Have fun, Struggle well, Stay Safe, Dont Die.

If you got anymore awesome tips, put em in the tags, scream em to your cat, tell a friend, share it, spread the love,

[rosepinks-world]

FUCK IT I LOVE YOU, I REALLY DO (cherry waves pt2)

summary: wade helps you patch things up with Logan via a party.

taglist: @justaleksss @fallout-girl219 @fandomsunited @midnights-afternoons

It had been at least a week since you’d last seen Logan.

You hated to say it but you’d been a wreck. The whole point of casual sex was that you wouldn’t get your heart broken and yet here you were with your heart broken. The fact you felt this way made you realise that you felt the same way about Logan. I mean if you were that bothered about not seeing him that had to mean something.

One weekend you were in a blanket cocoon on the sofa binge watching some shit reality tv when you heard a knock on your door.

Logan.

He was all that came to mind as you fixed your hair and outfit slightly. You excitedly whipped the door open to reveal:

“Oh. Hi Wade.” You said your smile leaving your face.

“Well fuck you!” He said inviting himself in dropping some flowers onto your counter. “I was chased by an old lady for picking those from her front garden so you better put them in the best vase you own.”

You laughed but returned to being a bit miserable.

“What are you doing here Wade?”

“I’m throwing a little get together and you’re invited! How fun is that?”

Really he came all this way to invite you to a party?

“Wade you have my number why didn’t you just text me.”

“Okay you’re really missing the point.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Logan is doing my fucking head in.” He complained emphasising the ‘ing’. “He keeps moping around the apartment like he’s been told he can’t jerk off for the rest of his life and it’s got to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, “Wade he’s a prick I don’t want anything to do with him.”

He tilted his head pulling out a stool and sat at the counter.

“Okay you had argument apparently but I need more, tell daddy the drama.”

You cringed at the nickname. “Never say that again.”

“Noted. Now carry on!”

You huffed slightly annoyed and embarrassed about explaining what Logan had said to you.

“We were gonna have sex like usual. He ate me out…”

“Yum.” Wade said interrupting.

You gave him a look and he quickly apologised holding his hands to his mouth.

“When I … finished I hit my head on the bed it was funny so I started laughing and then straight after he… finished in his pants from just that. He got up to the balcony smoked a cigar told me we shouldn’t fuck anymore, went to leave with no explanation, then told me that we shouldn’t because he’s falling in love with me and it’s the last thing any of us needs.”

Wade for the first time in forever was speechless.

“So yeah forgive me for not really caring about his moping.”

Wade shook his head laughing, “Never would’ve guessed that Wolvie was the Boston cream his pants type of guy.”

You threw the flowers at him. “That’s not the point Wade!”

“Woah! What’s the point then?”

“He made me feel like I’m unloveable!”

You sighed and continued explaining your point.

“I would’ve accepted him worrying about catching feelings but he said it’s the last thing any of us needed. Am I that bad?”

Wade gave you a sympathetic look as he placed a hand on your shoulder. He thought for a moment thinking of the right thing to say when he gasped.

“Ohhh! I know what his problem is.”

You perked up, “What is it?”

He shook his head no. “I think it’s better if you work it out yourself.”

You threw your arms out aggressively. “What the fuck Wade?”

“Y/n. You’re an incredible, funny, kind hearted person with an amazing ass! Of course Logan fell for you. How could he not? He’s a really sexy but really complicated guy which is why, like I said you should be getting your answers from him.”

You didn’t say anything and Wade sighed.

“Look come to our apartment tonight. Wear something slutty and go get your man. Just warn me if you’re gonna fuck because I really, really, really want to listen.”

You smiled at Wades weird way of comforting you. “I’ll think about it.”

Wade nodded looking at his watch, “Well I’ve got to go and pick up Als coke. See ya y/n”

You decided to take Wades advice.

It was ten pm. Loud music thumped through the door as you stood outside Wade and Logan’s shared apartment. You had a ‘slutty’ dress on and you’d done your makeup to the way you liked it. You went to knock on the door when you stopped just infront of it. What the fuck were you doing?

You went to walk away when the door swung open as if Wade could sense you.

“Y/ns here!” He screamed to the large collection of people as they cheered. He pulled you through the room whispering about how he was proud of you and something about how your ass looked great.

As Wade got distracted your eyes landed on a familiar brown leather jacket. You smiled slightly, you couldn’t help it but it quickly faded when he moved to the side slightly to reveal a woman. She had opposite features to you and she stood in front of him giggling and touching his arms and face. She then leaned up to kiss him and you quickly turned away.

You were angry.

Furious to be exact. You weren’t official but he obviously didn’t fall for you that hard if he was kissing another girl. You snatched a drink from Colossus’ hand downing it as you went to find more.

You were pretty far gone. Not on the verge of blackout (yet at least) but the type of drunk that would explain what you were doing right now. You were on top of a table with a crowd around you as you threw your hips around to the song playing. The cheers from the crowd encouraging you to carry on dancing and to go even further.

You felt yourself reaching to the strap of your dress pulling it sultrily down your arm the top of your bra showing. The cheers only got louder distracting you from the random guy who leaned very close to the table. He placed his hands on the top of your legs grabbing your thighs. He reached his hands around and harshly smacked your ass. The flashing lights around you combined with the thumping bass and cheers were disorientating. You barely saw as the guy who’d grabbed you was harshly shoved away a voice bellowing out,

“Get the fuck out of here! What sort of people did you invite here Wade?”

You squinted to try and make out what was going on when your legs were swept off the table. You were hoisted over the man’s shoulder the front of your body draped over his back your ass extremely close to his face. You got worried for a second wondering who the hell was picking you up and whether the intentions were right until he spoke.

“What the fuck are you doing y/n?”

Logan.

The happiness of seeing him quickly wore off. God who does he think he is getting mad at you? You returned to being angry.

“Why do you care? I’m not yours to worry about anyway.”

He let out a sigh and kicked the door to what you now realised was his bedroom. You’d been there so many times that the fact you could barely walk in a straight line didn’t stop you from recognising it. He put you down on the bed gently as he went to remove your shoes.

If you had been sober you would’ve shrugged him off to show that you didn’t need him but all independence went out of your mind the minute he’d picked you up. If you had been sober you also wouldn’t make yourself seem so jealous but words left your lips quicker than you could think.

“Who was the girl you were with?” You asked as you kicked off your now undone shoe.

He looked genuinely confused. “What girl?”

You threw your head back on the bed annoyed.

“The girl that was rubbing up against you and kissed you.”

He smirked slightly, he couldn’t help but like the fact you were jealous.“Never seen her in my life. She came onto me, tried to kiss me I declined. She was pretty fucked up I think she got into Als coke so I called her a cab.”

Always a gentleman.

You rolled your eyes as he went to take off your other shoe. “Why are you so nice?” You huffed.

He smiled at the compliment. “Nice? I don’t think that’s me bub.”

You shook your head rather erratic due to the state you were in. “Nope! You are nice you just don’t let other people see it.” He smiled at your compliment.“Well you were nice until you made me feel like shit.”

He frowned guiltily as he helped you up to the pillows on the bed and placed the duvet over you. Logan stood back up and turned towards the door.

“You gonna leave me again?” You asked disappointed. God sober you would be so angry.

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be here with you when you’re like this. It’s not right.”

You laughed hiccuping as you did “You’ve literally been inside me multiple times and this is where you draw the line? We’re not fucking! Just lay with me.”

He looked skeptical until you tilted your head your eyes shining brightly as you grabbed his arm. “Please?”

How could he say no to you when you looked like that? He cleared his throat and sat next to you on the bed. “You want anything?”

“Yeah. I want you.” You replied not looking at him, eyes fluttering open and closed. You were exhausted.

He shook his head. “Bub, no you don’t.”

You tiredly laughed in disbelief. “What do you mean? I really want this to happen you’re the one that said falling in love with me is the last thing any of us need? Am I that unlovable?”

You wanted him? You were drunk but they do say drunk words are sober thoughts. He wanted to tell you how he felt but there was no damn way you’d remember any of it the next morning. “I’m not answering you when you’re drunk I want you to remember what I say.”

His answer lingered in the air with no reply. He thought you had given him the silent treatment but then he heard soft snores coming from you. He laughed a little.

“And that’s why.” He whispered pushing your hair out of your face.

He sat on the bed next to you the whole night. He didn’t even bother sleeping, too worried about what he was going to say to you when you woke up. The only time he left was to prepare you aspirin, water and some food he knew you liked.

You turned over eyes opening as you moaned clutching your head. Logan gestured to the items he gathered earlier and you fixed yourself up. As you downed the glass of water he spoke up.

“You remember what we were talking about last night?”

He didn’t even bother beating around the bush. You paused gathering your memories it didn’t take you long and you felt like your brain had caught you up to speed. You started to remember all the things you had said and did and groaned head in hands.

“…Yeah.”

He pulled his lips into a straight line.

“Right well, I’m really not good with things like this but I’m sorry for making you feel like shit.”

You kept a straight face wanting to see where this was going but you were grateful for the apology.

“Y/n… you were the one that wanted a casual relationship. For me it was great because I didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone or getting hurt but I fell for you. How could I not?”

Your eyes widened. Logan was renowned for being unemotional so you couldn’t believe he was saying these things. You were also flattered you thought you had flaw after flaw but to Logan you were perfect.

“You didn’t want anyone to love you because you didn’t want to get hurt. I’m a terrible person. The worst version of Logan. And I got scared because I don’t want to hurt you. I also really don’t want to lose you.”

You shook your head ‘no’ at his self depreciation. He felt at ease knowing that you disagreed but he continued, “And I’m an asshole for making you feel unloveable because god y/n how could anyone not fall in love with you?”

Wow. For the first time ever Wade got something right. You smiled at him swinging your legs over his body so you were straddling him against the headboard. You leaned forward studying his face whilst the pads of your thumbs gently rubbed his rough skin.

“Logan you’re worried about hurting me but you’re the first person I’ve met that’s made me feel the safest. And I’m not going anywhere- unless you kill me or something.”

He laughed at your joke. Another reason he adored you. He leaned into the touch of your hands.“So, fuck it Lo, I love you too.”

He grabbed your face with urgency as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. God you two were so stupid. Why didn’t you just tell each-other this ages ago? You went to tell Logan what you were thinking when a bang on the wall pulled the two of you away from each other.

“Guys! That was so much better than listening to you fuck!” Wade yelled through the very thin walls of your apartment.

“Have you been listening this whole time prick?” Logan shouted back.

The two of you were met with a silence that strongly suggested that the answer was yes. You laughed leaning your head onto Logan’s shoulder.

“I’ll kill him.” He announced pointing to the wall. Logan was half joking but you could tell he was a little embarrassed. To open up to you clearly made him feel very vulnerable, it was understandable he didn’t want Wade to see that side of him. You tried to make him feel better by playing with the tufts of his hair. “Kill him later. Just stay here for a little longer.”

He nodded obeying you as he drew random patterns on your back. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world. You who looked beyond beautiful at six am in the morning, you who brought light to his life and you who loved him no matter his flaws.

He really did love you and you loved him. Feeling slightly giddy he reached for his cigars and lighter with you still buried into his shoulder.

“Baby..” you started pulling away from his shoulder.

He paused a cigar hanging from his lips. “Yeah?”

“Do I look like a clown?” You asked referring to your messy makeup that hadn’t been removed from last night.

“Yeah. Sexiest clown at the circus.” You cackled hitting his chest jokingly. He went back to his cigar when you started speaking again.

“Also.”

He quirked a brow up pausing in lighting his cigar bringing it away from his mouth. You leaned forward seductively inches away from his lips and paused.

“Don’t even think about smoking one of those fucking things in here.” You ordered smirking as you plucked the cigar from his lips placing it back on the table.

He rolled his eyes chucking the lighter next to the cigar saving it for later. He acted like he wasn’t but really he was happy. Now, he could put your hatred to cigars to a happier memory. He cupped your face. “That’s my girl.”

[thoughtsforsoob]

txt - you help them put on the condom :)

-

a/n: okay so this is actually funny because I’ve had some interesting experiences with this 😬 my ex bf wouldn’t put it on himself and since we were both inexperienced asf (aka: virgins) we had to look up a tutorial the first time 😭 anyways, he sucks but at least i got some material for this blog out of it :) please enjoy and as always, requests are open!

yeonjun

he thinks it’s so sexy to watch you do it for him

homeboy is just laying back, biting down on his lip, and enjoying the attention you’re giving his cock

I feel like he’d much rather just go raw but you asked him to put on a condom and he listens to his girl

“Whatever you say princess 🤤 just lemme hit”

(Rest of the members below the cut!)

soobin

Sana eobsin Sana mana shy, shy, shy

in other words, baby is shy

I know these evidence to prove he loves being led in a relationship(aka: dommed. Soobin, buddy, if you’re gonna hint to something, just say it :|)

Therefore, he enjoys you taking charge by doing this simple task for him

literally says thank you after before pouring the living daylights out of you :)

beomgyu

this little shit will be so fucking annoying

“That’s not how you do it 🙄”

just say something snarky back and put him in his place (this boy is just begged to be punished 24/7 do not fall into his trap)

“do it yourself then, loser”

he is being annoying but he thinks it’s so sweet that you continue to help him, but is slightly hurt you called him a loser

“Well you’re not any better. You’re about to let a loser fuck you into next week”

taehyun

Very mature about it but also kinda like yeonjun because he thinks it hot

“Baby, wanna put it on for me? Thank you, baby.”

He smiled at you while you do it and gently smoothes back your hair

gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead when you’re done to show his appreciation

“Thank you, doll. Now let me repay this lovely favor you’ve just done for me”

taehyun I am dizzy bc of you 😵‍💫

huening kai

if y’all thought soobin was shy, make way to this mf because he wins the shy contest

let’s just say it’s his first time and he has no idea how to put on a fucking condom

“it’s okay, hyuka. I’ll do it for you. if that’s okay with you?” Bat your eyelashes he will not be able to say no

he hands you to condom and watches intently to see how to apply it

he whimpers at the contact and it’s the sweetest thing

He also thanks you for putting it on him and gives you the biggest smooch before rearranging your guts in alphabetical order 🥰🥰

I had so much fun with this one (aka: smiled to myself every time I thought something was funny) so I hope you enjoy it !!!

[emelinstriker]

{Special Stranger} Nezha ♡ Pumpkin Carving

Art drawn by me + the AU itself is mine.

Very much rushed drabble and art just because I wanted to get this out in time for Halloween. So it's meh towards the end.

[TL;DR] The inside joke headcanon of Nezha being way too skilled at things shows.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

It was October and Halloween was fast approaching. And while it wasn't the first Halloween you were celebrating with your boyfriend, it was the first time you had a special activity planned.

And after several hours of work, Nezha finally returned home, clearly exhausted. He probably had to deal with a lot of unruly people again. You smiled softly as you greeted him from the kitchen door. "Welcome home!"

At the sound of your voice, his mood seemed to change. Nezha's exhaustion seemed to fade for even just a moment as he approached you. He pulled you closer, leaned in, and gave you a gentle kiss before pulling away. "It's good to be home." That's when he looked down and noticed you wearing an apron with a cute pumpkin on it. He raised an eyebrow as he comments, "New apron?"

You nodded happily, humming in confirmation. "I also got you one so we can match for the pumpkin carving!"

His eyes widened a little in realization as he pursed his lips. "Oh shit- That was today? I'm so sorry, blossom- I should've come home earlier", he groans a little, annoyed at himself for having forgotten.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. "It's absolutely fine, honey. I figured you wouldn't be home until late in the afternoon. So I already got everything ready for us." You reassured before you lead him towards the kitchen, where you had already set up the table. There were also the pumpkins the two of you picked the week prior.

Nezha glanced at the table as he let out a chuckle. "Man, all these things you do for me... Sometimes I really feel like I don't deserve yo-"

You quickly shut him up with another kiss on the lips. "Shush, love. You absolutely deserve me. And I'm lucky to have you in return."

He quickly melted into the kiss before eventually pulling away with a smile, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. He wanted to keep up the banter with you, but he knew you had a date involving carving pumpkins. The affectionate banter would have to wait until later.

You handed him his matching apron so he could put it on, before sitting down at the table next to him. He had carved a few pumpkins before to entertain some children from time to time, but he never got to actually play around with the design much. After all, detailed carvings weren't easy for children, so he used big openings for simple smiley faces whenever he taught them how to do it.

During your date, he decided to be a lot more ambitious though, just to test his own skills and impress you. All the while you kept trying to take glances at what design he chose. However, everytime he noticed you trying to take a peek in a not so subtle way, he gently shoo'd you back to your own side of the table. A lot of laughter was involved in your attempts to take a look and him trying to push you away to keep it a surprise.

You could tell he had fun as he seemed quite focused on whatever he was working on. Meanwhile you were struggling just a little with the more detailed parts of your own work. It took a while, but eventually the two of you were done. And as a little test and surprise, you placed one candle into each pumpkin. Once Nezha lit them up, you turned off the lights.

You couldn't help but stare in awe at his pumpkin's design illuminated by the candle. It seemed very detailed for the short amount of time you've spent on carving. It looked like a faceless image of yourself holding a lotus flower in your hands. The sight of him having created something so much better than yours made you feel a bit insecure as he eagerly looked at your pumpkin. While your own carving wasn't all that bad, it was rather simple and the detailed parts clearly didn't have the cleanest lines. But that didn't matter to him as he proceeded to compliment your work.

The rest of the evening was overall relaxing as you and your boyfriend decided to just watch movies and cuddle on the couch.

[ Masterlist ]

[diremoone]

the door with the floral wreath | r. sukuna

when sukuna gets a new neighbor on the third floor of his apartment complex, he’s pleasantly surprised to see who it is behind the door with the floral wreath. her two cats on the other hand, are a massive fucking problem.

w — honestly nothing? save for fluff and some cussing, slowburn-ish, implied boxer & sorta rich! Sukuna, implied polyglot(ish)! reader, cat! Satoru and cat! Suguru and both cats being in love, cozy themed again (I can’t help it), the formatting of this “fic” was how it was in my brain so I’m sorry if it’s a lil strange haha, this apparently became longer than I originally anticipated lmao, reader is mentioned to be partially Japanese but no physical appearances are ultimately described, mild angst at the end

a/n: not apart of the ‘make me (yours)’ universe but it’s definitely inspired by it

🌸 When Sukuna wakes up on a Saturday morning and opens his front door to leave for his morning run, the last thing he expects to see is a floral wreath on the door opposite of his. That can only mean one thing: someone has moved in. But if someone has, then why hasn’t he seen or heard the furniture being moved in? These aren’t exactly the cheapest apartments, so did they just not have anything?

It was weird, to say the least.

🌸 However, three months pass before he gets to see who the person who’s behind the door across from his.

🌸 Sukuna gets back from his jog a little early, the light sprinkles of rain turning into a downpour. That’s when he sees you leaving your apartment, locking the door to leave. Unfortunately, you’re not paying too much attention to your surroundings, and you two nearly collide into one another at the top of the stairs.

You narrowly turn in time to place yourself flat against the wall to avoid the behemoth of a man that was your neighbor from running over you and sending you both down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” came your instant apology.

“It’s fine,” follows his gruff reply.

But he knows he certainly wouldn’t mind running into you again. Just not where you two can fall down the stairs and potentially break your necks.

On a random day not too long after your initial run-in (and near subsequent dangerous tumble down some stairs), you two run into one another to get the mail at the front office.

You pop up behind him right after he opens his mailbox, staring up at him and his very impressive height and build and apparently scare him, because when you speak next, his shoulders jump. “Gosh, you’re tall. You must’ve played basketball or something in high school, yeah?”

He would’ve either been silent or retort something in an asshole tone like he was used to. He just didn’t like people.

He would’ve, if it wasn’t his cute neighbor.

“Volleyball,” he replies quietly. “Quit after graduation.”

You frown. “That sucks. You must’ve been good at it.”

“It was a pastime.”

“Sounds fun though,” you chirp, putting your own key into your mailbox. “I tried to get into sports, but uh, lack of things made it hard to do so. Did track for awhile, until my ribs couldn’t keep up.”

Sukuna lets out a snort but says nothing further. He goes to leave, but not before hearing, “G’bye, neighbor!”

Ah, shit. He hadn’t told you his name, had he?

Hopefully, there would be a next time.

🌸 Sukuna doesn’t see you again for another month or two after that, fate still having you two separated like an awful slowburn romance.

🌸 What he doesn’t like in particular is the fact you don’t know his name and he doesn’t know yours. He doesn’t like that; doesn’t like that he’s missed his chance to know you a little better. By his logic, he should know your name, have your phone number, and have at least had you on a date and in his bed at least once already.

🌸 Come early December, he hears your door begin to open and close a lot. It becomes annoying, very very annoying, very very quickly.

That goes on almost until Christmas time.

Until one day he manages to catch the little reasons why your door has been slamming shut so much.

Twerp Number One wriggles in his hold as he holds them both up to eye level. She grunts and huffs at him. “Put me down!”

To which he scoffs at. “And why should I do that?”

Just as Twerp Number Two decides to speak, your door opens. This time it’s you.

“You can let them down,” you say, clearly amused. “They’ve come for cookies.”

Sukuna grunts. “So that’s why they’re always slamming the door.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried to get them to stop. They are six, though.” As genuine as your apology is, Sukuna can see the little twinkle of mischievousness appear at the end of your sentence in defense of the two twerps.

“Mr. Sukuna is a big grump anyway!” the oddly-orange-haired girl says. “At least that’s what my mama says.”

“Nobara, you shouldn’t be calling people names,” you scold the girl. “Put them down so they can get some cookies and head back, please. I’m sure Nobara’s mom is wondering about them. Nobara, the white box is for you to take home.”

Sukuna begrudgingly obliges. Nobara and her friend barge inside your home. The door stays open thanks to a cold breeze, allowing for the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon rolls to drift outside and into his nose. And damn does it smell nice.

“So, I finally know your name,” you muse.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” he says, half-correcting you, “but everyone just calls me by my first name.”

“I can see why,” you reply in a joking tone and smile. “But yeah… It fits you. I’m [Name], and pretty much the same: everyone calls me by my first name. Since my last name isn’t exactly normal, you know… Since I’m not inherently from Japan.”

Sukuna’s brows raise. “You’ve lived here before?” he asks.

“My mom is [part/full] Japanese,” you admit. And then to his surprise, you ramble on further, “I’ve popped around, uh, a few countries over the last several years of my life, Japan included. I’ve just… never stayed in one place to technically be from somewhere. I was born in the States, but… I don’t, uh, really feel like I actually am from there… Does that make any sense?”

“It does.” But he doesn’t go into his backstory in return. And thankfully, you don’t seem to mind, just about as much as you minded sharing such a part of your life to someone who’s technically nothing more than a stranger to you, not in the slightest.

Nobara pops back out with her friend, who’s just a touch older than her.

“Thank you for the cookies and cimmanom rolls, Miss [Name]!” Nobara says.

You don’t bother to correct her cute mistake. “You’re very welcome, Nobara. Now head home. Goodnight, girls.”

“Goodnight!”

You watch the girls descend, and when they’re out of sight, you listen carefully for the telltale of their first floor door closing. And when it thuds shut loud enough to wake everyone in the apartments in the block, you turn your attention back to the gigantic man that was your next door neighbor… Who’s attention was on your door, more than likely concentrating on the smell in your kitchen.

Your lips curl up and you prevent a giggle. “You want some?”

Your voice snaps him from his stupor. “What? Want what?”

“Some cookies and cimmanom rolls?” you question, cutely reiterating Nobara’s mistake.

“Uh…”

He takes too long to answer, so you decide for him. “I’ll get you some anyway.”

You go back inside, leaving him out in the cold. But you don’t take very long and come back out not even two minutes later with another white box and place it into his hands.

“Well,” you say, teeth chattering from the cold. “It’s nice finally knowing your name, neighbor. Maybe we’ll run into each other again soon… Goodnight.”

He barely gets out a “goodnight” before you close the door. Sukuna tosses his head back and settles for a heavy exhale rather than the audible sigh he knows you would’ve heard through your door.

Another fuck up. But at least he got some food out of it this time.

🌸 You both end up meeting each other a lot more often by “coincidence” after that, like fate has finally determined you’re allowed to see one another or something. (To him that just sounds stupid, until it comes out of your mouth.)

For Christmas, you end up gifting him a tin of popcorn and another box of sweets by leaving them at a front door with a cute handwritten note.

🌸 Gradually, the two of you begin to interact more, and naturally gravitate toward each other’s energy and finally getting to know one another; he’s over at your apartment most of the time, it’s cleaner and smells at lot more nice than his (in his opinion). It’s not that he’s dirty, he’s quite clean actually. It’s just that he prefers your apartment to his.

🌸 You find out that Sukuna is about ten years older than you, and was almost a volleyball player that almost went pro, had it not been for his father’s death. He lost all motivation for the sport, and eventually settled for doing numbers for his father’s company, taking up boxing as a side hobby. To which he was more than good at.

A year ago, he moved into these apartments, getting away from the corporate world had had dived into, opting to do things from home rather than in-person. His prior neighbors never stayed around for too long, not with the amount of noise coming from his apartment in the middle of the night. You’re honestly surprised the person below him hasn’t moved out yet either.

🌸 For Sukuna, he finds out that you almost didn’t get to graduate high school because of how much you’d been moving around. You’d gotten depression from leaving so many friends behind so often that you just made graduation by the skin of your teeth.

Now, you’re online for college, majoring in linguistics, all while working as a translator for a special needs school of Japanese children that are deaf. Through that, he finds out you speak several different languages as well.

God, your personality is just as sweet as the goodies you bake, huh?

🌸 There is one problem, however, when he comes over: your goddamn cats.

🌸 The white Maine Coon is for sure out to get him and make his life miserable, with his attempts at wooing you almost a failed attempt every single time. His name is Satoru, and he’s by far the most obnoxious cat he’s ever fucking met.

Why on Earth you’d give a cat a human name is beyond him. But the again, the fucking cat acts so human it’s disturbing — it almost kind of makes sense.

🌸 Satoru’s claws almost end up in his ass every time he walks through the front door. He can’t even stand openly, but has to stay against a wall or sit on the couch so the cat doesn’t get his claws into his backside. And he can tell that that damn cat has a smug-ass smirk on his face every time. How a cat can smirk, he’s unsure; but he just knows that the look on his face is the one of a smug little shithead that knows he’s gotten away with being a menace. Thankfully, you’re aware of his tendencies and can tell when he’s being more of an asshole than other times and get onto him.

🌸 The black Maine Coon, Suguru, isn’t as terrible, but he opts to creepily stare down at Sukuna from his cat tower rather than be proactive in his distaste. He studies him every second every time he comes over, paying attention to every single detail and movement Sukuna makes with you.

He’ll do things more subtly than his white counterpart, like “accidentally” wave his long, black fluffy tail into his cup of water you gave him. He’s just as much of a menace, although you don’t get onto him as often like the white one, because while you know Satoru is more of an extroverted menace, you just seemingly can’t see that Suguru is just as awful. (Mostly because you don’t actually see it.)

🌸 This goes on for months and months, Satoru scratching the behind of his pants as hard as he can to make it rip and getting white fur all over his clothes, and Suguru glaring down at him from his tower and putting his paws in Sukuna’s food. Although it becomes a little less as often because they’re seemingly growing used to him, as if they’re seeing that he actually makes you happy and finally get the sense that he isn’t just going to break your heart and throw you away.

🌸 And the growing approval of your cats seems to mean a lot to you.

“I picked them up off the streets,” you tell him after he asks about where you got the inseparable pair. “I found them as kittens in a cardboard box three years ago on the streets, drenched and matted in dirt and nasty water.”

You remember the day very clearly. It had just stopped raining, and just as you were about to head home, stopping at the vending machines before heading to your car, you heard animal-like cries of something small and weak. And sure enough, on the other side of the food machine, stuffed away in a tacky, ruined cardboard box, were two, rain-drenched kittens huddled together to keep warm.

That was the day you got two new cats, two new responsibilities. And although times got hard a few times, you’ve never regretted adopting them.

Sukuna gazes up at the two cats on the tower, sitting next to each other in the bed at the top. Their tails are intertwined, heads rubbing at each other’s necks lovingly. He would have never guessed that’s where you found them. From the looks of it, they he would’ve guessed they’d came from a pet store.

“So you’ve raised them since they were kittens,” Sukuna says. “They trust you with their lives. And looks like they love you unconditionally, too.”

“I’d like to think so,” you muse, sipping on your coffee. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it with how ornery they are.”

Sukuna keeps his eyes trained on the two cats in love. He’s slightly jealous, and no he’ll never admit it. He just hopes he can have that one day with you.

He just has to stop Satoru from ripping him a new one every time he comes through the door.

🌸 Your cats eventually grow fond of having him over, fond enough that they’re not being the usual mischievous selves when Sukuna puts his arm around your shoulders and tugs you closer to him when you invite him over for movie nights, not trying to bite his fingers off (Satoru) or sit between you both (Suguru).

🌸 After a year passes and you and Sukuna know each other, he finally gets to take you on a proper date after manning up. Although it’s not a restaurant date, since he knows you hate being looked at while eating. It’s a picnic by the ocean, with the weather nothing short of perfect.

🌸 Your attempts to leave your cats at home for said date, however, are fruitless, the pair determined to come with you and your now-boyfriend who declares himself as such after dessert just to piss off the pair of felines. Sukuna plants a big fat smooch on your lips, turning you into a giggly mess.

🌸 They in return, somehow find a stray kitten and plop it in his lap in return. The kitten isn’t as bad off as when you found Satoru and Suguru, but he’s just as scared. He immediately imprints on your oversized boyfriend, who secretly takes an instant liking to the orange-red (honestly a little pink, too) baby cat and becomes a cat dad.

Date not necessarily ruined. But definitely not what he had planned.

🌸 After a week of having, he fondly named the cat a human name — Yuuji, and the fur baby took just as much liking to it as his owner did him. You do have to teach him the ropes and warn your boyfriend that he’d better be ready to have some of his stuff deep-cleaned if Yuuji doesn’t get to the litter box in time.

Satoru and Suguru take to the kitten like two doting parents. And as much as they still kinda dislike your boyfriend taking you from them, they still help train him to use the litter box. (Long story short, they felt bad after seeing you cry after they’d tore up [and peed] all over your third couch and quit being as ornery as they used to be.)

A few months had passed since Sukuna got Yuuji plopped into his lap, since you two had become a couple. It was always amusing seeing your big boyfriend playing with such a small cat. Honestly, the cat looked like he was part tiger.

You feel overwhelmed with contentment. You have a good job, a wonderful boyfriend (who’s apparently secretly rich) who loves to give you kisses, and two cats who love you. You have enough now, so why was the universe trying to take that from you?

You don’t know how your ex got your number, but what you do know is that you have to tell Sukuna. No later than tomorrow.

You exhale. You can’t think about it. You’ll tell him. You’ll tell him tomorrow that your dyed blonde-haired ex wants to see you again. You’re hopefully of one thing though: that the moment your boyfriend meets your ex, you hope Sukuna has enough restraint to not beat the shit out of him.

“Baby, you okay?”

Sukuna’s brows are raised. One would miss the concern on his face if they didn’t know him as well as you do.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.” Woman up, girl, you tell yourself. “I do have something to tell you later. Just… remind me before dinner.”

The concern becomes more evident on his face, which prompts you to walk to him and kiss him.

“It’s nothing serious… I don’t think. Don’t worry,” you reassure him, partially reassuring yourself. “What we should worry about is what’s for dinner,” you joke. “Don’t think I can eat those leftovers.”

“Goddamn, I’m sorry I put too much salt in it.”

You laugh, wanting this happiness to ever be trampled on. You’ll do what you can to protect and keep it.

taglist:

@vagabond-umlaut | @poe-daydreams | @heresan @thedovahqueen | @lotus-n-l0ve | @chiyoso | @miraclecherryblossomsblog | @unbreakableblueheaven | @marscatbutler | @vanillabloo | @wo-ming-bai | @visionsofmagic | @tohsri

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Confessions (Azriel x Reader)

summary: you and azriel are best friends, but his flirting with elain has become too much for you to bear, so you decide to try to move on.

wc: 3k

a/n: !!warning: mentions attempted SA!! This is the first real fic i have written in years so it’s probably shit but if you decide to read this thank u and i love u.

Read Part Two

For months now, you have been fairly upset about seeing Azriel pining after Elain, but even more annoyed that your friendship with him has become insignificant to him now that he spends all his time with her. About a decade ago, you decided that being hopelessly in love with Azriel was pointless since he would never see you that way, so you settled for friendship. It’s better to have him as a friend than not at all… or at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. Mor is the only one who knows about your crush and has kept your secret, but not without constant pestering to tell him how you feel.

“He’s in love with Elain, Mor. I’m over it and over him. I’m ready to move on.” You lie as best you can to her and to yourself.

“You’re so full of shit. But fine, I’ll play along. When we go out tonight, you’re finding someone to go home with!” She says excitedly while finishing her eyeliner. Mor forced you to put on a tight, navy party dress that barely covers your ass instead of letting you wear your go-to little black dress.

After she finishes getting ready, the two of you head down to your room to grab your lipstick, but when you open the door to the hallway, you see Azriel and Elain at the end of the hall whispering and standing only inches from each other. You ignore the ache in your chest at the sight and turn the opposite direction to head to your room, refusing to look behind you when you feel a pair of eyes staring at you.

———

Rita’s was crowded, as per usual. After about an hour of drinks and dancing, you were decently drunk and had forgotten all about Azriel… well almost.

“Can I buy you a drink?” You hear a male say from beside you. He’s tall and fairly handsome, but nowhere near Azriel’s level of attractiveness- damnit you need to get him out of your head!

“Sure. I’ll have what you’re having.” You try to say seductively, but it just comes out awkward. Gods, when was the last time you tried to flirt? He chuckles and orders your drink. Mor gives you a wink from across the bar and disappears into the crowd with a stranger.

After a while of talking, you decide this guy, Mikael, is exceptionally boring, but the night is almost over and he’s your only option. Anything to forget a certain dark and mysterious shadowsinger. Why not try to have fun?

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Mikael whispers in your ear. No reaction. If Azriel had been this close and whispered something to you, you would be all goosebumps and blushes, but with Mikael… nothing. Fuck, this is probably a bad idea. Maybe you should just go home and try again another night.

“Y/n?” His voice pulls you out of your daze. “I asked if you wanted to get out of here.” He says a bit annoyed while sliding a hand up your thigh. Gods, this guy is kinda an ass. This is definitely a bad idea.

“Um… I’m pretty tired. And I came here with a friend, so I should probably find her to make sure she gets home safe.” You slowly stand from your chair to leave. You immediately stumble and feel much dizzier than before. You were never good at handling your liquor, and apparently tonight was no exception… except you don’t remember drinking enough to feel this drunk. Mikael’s hand grabs your shoulder to stabilize you, but his grip feels too tight and he doesn’t let go once you balance yourself.

“Cmon honey. We were having a fun night, let’s keep it going.” He leans too close for comfort, giving you a slimy grin. You pull away and stumble back.

“I really should find my friend. I’m sorry!” You say nervously and look around for Mor. She’s nowhere in sight. Shit. She probably either left with that girl thinking you were gonna go home with Mikael or she’s lost in the crowd. Either way, you just need to get away from Mikael. You stumble towards the door, feeling dizzy and seeing double. Each step feels slower and heavier than the last, but you finally step outside, savoring the winter chill that will hopefully sober you up. Just as you take a step outside, you feel a hand grab your wrist too hard and pull you towards the alley next to Rita’s.

“I spent a lot of fucking money on your drinks tonight, so I’m not gonna ask again. You’re coming home with me.” Mikael’s whiskey breath is inches from your face, making you want to gag. You want to scream for help. You want to kick and fight back, but your body feels weak and your vision keeps getting blurrier. After a moment, you slump onto Mikael and he helps you walk down the sidewalk. To everyone else, you probably look like a drunk girl whose boyfriend is helping her home.

No. No no no. You need to get away. You need someone to notice you aren’t okay. How the fuck did this happen?

You hear a voice behind you and your feet stop moving. It’s too blurry and dark to see, but soon you’re on the ground and someone is yelling. You shut your eyes, accepting whatever horrible thing is about to happen to you. But suddenly you are in someone’s arms, and a moment later you’re inside somewhere. You open your eyes, and despite the blurriness, you recognize your blue curtains. You’re home. Somehow.

Mor must have found you and winnowed you home. Thank the gods for that. You are set on your bed and covered you with blankets.

“Thanks… thanks for finding me, Mor.” You slur and curl into your blankets. “I think that guy… put something in my drink.” Your voice trails off as you become incredibly sleepy and shut your eyes. Mor sits you up and forces you to drink some water. Your eyes feel too heavy to open, so you keep them shut.

“Just… don’t tell Azriel about this. It’s embarrassing enough to go looking for a quick fuck to get over my crush, but it’s even more embarrassing to get fucking drugged by someone in the process.” You get the words out slowly between sips. Thinking about everything that just happened tonight should make you want to cry and vomit, but you’re too tired to do so. When you finish the water, you lay back down and immediately fall asleep.

———

Your head is pounding and the sun is shining too bright. Someone is yelling outside your door. You roll over in bed, half expecting to see some male, but thankfully you are alone in your room. You don’t remember much from last night, but apparently your attempt at a one night stand was unsuccessful. Probably for the best.

The yelling gets louder.

“She was on the fucking sidewalk outside Rita’s!” You hear a male voice yell. Azriel’s voice. Why is Azriel here? And why is he so damn loud?

You slowly make your way out of bed and to the door so you can tell him to shut up, but as soon as you open the door, you see several worried faces staring back at you. Mor, Rhys, Cass, Feyre, and Azriel all stare at you. Mor looks like she’s crying and Azriel is red in the face with a murderous expression.

“Can you all shut up? I have a head-“ you start

“Y/n I’m so sorry!” Mor hugs you tight, almost knocking you over.

“What the…” you start to question before you’re cut off again.

“Do you know his name, y/n? I’ll make sure he is taken care of.” Rhys asks. His voice is gentle, but his face is full of anger.

“Like hell you will. I would’ve killed him last night if I didn’t have to get her back here. I should’ve fucking killed that piece of garbage.” Azriel mutters.

What the hell is going on? You pull away from Mor and face the group.

“Does anyone care to tell me what we’re talking about?” You ask cautiously while rubbing your temples in an attempt to alleviate your headache.

“Of course she doesn’t remember you guys. Give her some space.” Feyre says softly and leads you back inside your room with Mor. The three males protest, but Feyre gives them a stern look and shuts the door. “Sit down, y/n. I’ll tell you what’s happening.”

You sit on your bed and look between Feyre and Mor anxiously.

“You were found outside of Rita’s being carried by a stranger and you were close to unconscious. You’ve been asleep for almost the entire day now.”

You stare back in stunned silence. The memories slowly start to return, but before you can ask a question Mor starts tearing up again.

“You don’t know how sorry I am y/n. You were hitting it off with that guy and next thing I knew, you were gone. I thought you went home with him like you planned, but when Azriel told me-“

“Azriel? Wait… what?” You ask.

“Azriel found you and brought you back here. He made sure you were safe before finding me and going ballistic on me for not watching out for you. I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to let you get hurt!” She cries again.

“I don’t understand. I vaguely remember someone bringing me home, but I could’ve sworn it was you, Mor, not Azriel.” They both shake their heads. You sit silently and process the information for a minute before saying the only thing that may be helpful in this moment.

“His name was Mikael. He had dark hair, hazel eyes, and wore a red shirt.” You whisper, still in shock. Feyre’s eyes glaze over for a moment as she relays this information to Rhys. Suddenly its completely quiet outside your door.

———

You spend the rest of the day in your room, still exhausted and fighting a hangover. Or the after effects from the drug… not sure. There’s a soft knock at your door.

“Come in.” You call out. Azriel slowly opens the door and walks in. You can tell he just got back and tried to clean up quickly, but there’s still a few smears of blood on him.

“Uh… hi.” You say awkwardly and motion for him to sit. Azriel sits on the end corner of your bed and looks at you with a mixture of anger and fear in his eyes. His shadows are swirling around you, as if to check that you are actually okay. They’ve always taken an interest in you, which you normally appreciate, but right now it just makes you feel guiltier for last night.

“Thank you for finding me last night. I probably wouldn’t be okay right now if you hadn’t.” You whisper, avoiding his gaze. He takes a deep breath, like he is trying to control himself.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He mutters angrily. Azriel stands and starts pacing the room. “You could’ve been fucking killed!” He raises his voice.

“I know. I didn’t-“

“And then you go and say… fuck y/n!” He runs his hands over his face in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Az.” You whisper, fighting the tears that are building. Wait, why the hell is he mad at you? You didn’t drug yourself. “Azriel, it’s not like I planned for this to happen.” You say a bit annoyed. He lets out a cold laugh.

“Yeah, but you planned on going out to find someone to fuck. Wearing that fucking dress and letting that fucking worthless filth touch you.” He spits out angrily as his shadows swirl around your ankles.

“Okay look, I can do what I want and wear what I want. Why is it any of your business if I try to hook up with someone?” Your eyes burn and you fight the tears. “Obviously I wasn’t expecting someone to put something in my drink. I’ll be more careful next time!” You yell louder.

“Next time?” His voice drops to a whisper and he looks at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you, Azriel. Why do you even care? You’re never around anymore. Always too busy sneaking off with Elain to hang out with your best friend!” Hurt fills your voice. You hadn’t meant to let that last part slip out.

“Why are you bringing her into this?” His voice drops lower and his brow furrows.

“She has a mate, Azriel! What the hell are you doing?” You sigh and put your head in your hands. “I just miss you.”

He stops pacing and stares at you. “I’m right here. I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Yes you have! I never see you anymore!” Its true. He never makes plans with you anymore and it has been tearing you apart. It’s strange that he was even at Rita’s in the first place, because he never wanted to go even before he ditched you for Elain. Wait, why was he there? “You were at Rita’s last night when you found me.” It’s not a question.

He nods.

“Why were you there?” He obviously wasn’t expecting you to ask that because panic flashes in his eyes for a brief moment. “I know you weren’t there with Elain because she hates it there. And I didn’t see you inside with the guys.” I try to remember him outside the bar, but it’s all fuzzy.

“I was worried.” He mutters so quiet you barely hear.

“What?”

“I was worried about you y/n!” You look at him surprised. “I saw you in the hall ready to go out in that dress. God, that fucking dress. And the entire night I kept thinking about something bad happening. So I waited outside to make sure you and Mor were safe. And then I saw that fucking piece of shit with his hands on you and I just…” he trails off and takes a deep breath. “If something had happened to you… if I hadn’t been there to stop it…” His expression looks angry again.

You pause and process his words. He almost sounds jealous. But that can’t be it. Because he has no reason to be jealous.

He sighs again and continues with a softer voice. “Do you remember anything after you left?” He asks with a hint of desperation in his voice. You think hard for a moment. You thought Mor got you home and you told her what happened. But it wasn’t Mor. It was Azriel. And then you said not to tell Azriel because… fuck. Your eyes go wide.

Azriel stalks closer and is inches from you. “Do you remember what you said? Was that the drug talking or you?” He whispers low and gets closer, his eyes searching yours for an answer. This cannot be happening. If you thought your friendship was screwed before, this is definitely the final straw.

“Az…” you whisper.

“Tell me.” His voice is demanding.

“I don’t-“ you start, but Azriel turns and runs his hands over his face in frustration. He stays facing away from you, muttering something to himself.

“Azriel, I cant. You already avoid me as it is. I don’t think I can handle losing you as a friend. Losing you completely.” He obviously already knows, but saying it feels too real. Your words cause him to turn back around and get closer to you. Azriel leans over you, caging you against the bed in between his arms and stares at you silently for a moment. His shadows have stilled completely around you two. There’s something desperate in his eyes. He’s so close, closer than he has been in months. Hell, he’s closer than he’s been ever. You look from his eyes to his lips for a split second, mesmerized by the way he barely bites his bottom lip.

“Fuck it.” He mutters. Before you can ask what, he crashes his lips into yours. You freeze for a moment in shock, before melting into his touch. He lets out a low groan as you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. His calloused hands wrap into your hair and tug slightly, earning a small whimper from you. It takes several moments before you come up for air.

“Azriel… I don’t understand.” You ask breathlessly.

“Please tell me what you said last night is true. That you feel the way I feel.” He rests his forehead on yours.

“What about Elain?”

“I don’t care about Elain! I care about you! She knows that I’m in l-“ He pauses and takes a breath. “I was trying to get over you.” He grabs your chin softly and pulls your face to meet his. “It’s always been you, y/n. Please.”

You stare silently in shock for several moments. “Y/n…” Azriel’s voice pulls you from your trance and you realize he’s waiting for you to answer.

Just as you are about to respond, there is a knock on the door. Azriel quickly pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed away from you, as if nothing were happening.

“Come in!” You call out softly, and Feyre opens the door holding a plate of food.

“I should go.” Azriel says quietly and heads towards the door.

“Wait.” You try to stop him, but he keeps walking.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, y/n.” Azriel opens the door and leaves without a second glance. His shadows remain for a moment, before quickly retreating, as if being called to follow. Feyre gives you a questioning look, but you just shake your head and fall back onto the bed, finally letting the tears flow freely.

thank you for reading!! :)

Read Part Two

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 2

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 2.7k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The first step in your mission to reclaim your heart back from Hoshina Soshiro is to ignore his texts. 

// omg my blade got chipped in a fight //  // daikaiju with a ridiculously hard shell //  // so annoying!! //  // hmph!!! // // fix it for meeeeee //

<kindly send me your request through official channels please, vice captain hoshina>

// !?!?!??!?!// // u still have indigestion???//

You really should’ve foreseen his sheer stubbornness though, considering the mountain of rejection he had to claw through to get to where he is. He springs a surprise visit on you, breaking into your lab without warning. 

“Did you seriously ask me to fill in an official form for upgrades?” he demands, miffed. 

“Record keeping purposes”, you lie through your teeth. “My boss is on my back.” 

“Your boss?!” he repeats incredulously. “Aren’t you the head of your department?” 

A department consisting only of three overworked blade specialists servicing the entirety of Japan’s Defense Force and private security forces, but he has a point. “Well, the auditors might run their checks, and how am I supposed to justify spending budget on reckless improvements that a certain vice captain demands -” 

He slings an arm over your shoulder and a crackle of electricity zips up your spine. “C’mon, don’t be silly -” 

You shrug him off, waiting nothing better than to run for the toilets to fan away the heat spreading up the column of your neck to the apples of your cheek. “Fine”, you acquiesce. “I’ll get to it - just, stop bugging me -” 

He smirks, content at getting his way. “Great, now we can grab lunch. Food here’s so much better than on base -” 

That, you can fend off. “Can’t”, you say. “Lunch with colleagues. And no, you can’t join, Hana-chan wants to cry about her ex, and you’ll make her uncomfortable if you’re there.”

He goggles at you. “Since when do you have friends besides me?” 

“Always, you rude shit”, you say, though really, you’ve just been putting in more effort in being more social at work. “Now, get out.” 

At last, he leaves, so you can reset your heart to its factory settings. You fix his katanas and send it back via courier, when previously you might have delivered it to the base yourself as an excuse to see him again.

The next step is to find something else to preoccupy you. 

You sign up for pottery lessons on Sunday afternoons, which clashes directly with when Soshiro gets the majority of his time off. You aim to slaughter two birds with a single stroke, an excuse to avoid him coupled with a hobby for you that has nothing to do with him. 

It comes naturally to you, since you’re accustomed to using your hands and handling heat to create things, even if it’s usually steel, not soft clay. But it’s different when you do it for fun, for yourself. Blades can be beautiful, but your focus when hammering at them has always been its function, not form, so it’s a welcome change to just create things for its beauty. 

You make cups and bowls for your colleagues (now friends), a set of sake cups for your parents in a rust-red glaze. Your proudest creation is a tea set that you keep for yourself, displayed on the windowsill to remind you of a summer sky when it’s grey. 

Even Yamamoto-san gets a little gift since you now consider him a friend, a stone pot for a plant  he complained of having outgrown its home. He reciprocates next month with a plant for you, who he says needs a home. This you struggle with, not being born with a green thumb. You studiously research plant-rearing tips and plunk the monstera you are gifted with by your prized tea set, but it truly thrives when you bring another potted plant home. Pothos, at first, because they’re too-determined to live. Bird’s fern, for it’s graceful leaves. When you’re more confident, you top it off with azaleas, for colour, hydrangeas to match your tea set.   

(not violets, never violets)

“Huh”, you stare at the jungle on your balcony “Even plants need friends, I guess.” 

It’s still little too soon to put yourself out there on the dating apps and start searching in the radioactive waste pool of the Tokyo dating scene when your heart is still tethered to Hoshina Soshiro. Any willpower you have to stay away is shaken when you hear that Soshiro’s been assigned a numbers weapon, especially after hearing whispers in the lab that testing has been going terribly. You ask permission to be on base to watch one testing session yourself as a weapons technician. The Numbers Weapon 10 has a mind of its own, and it keeps clashing with Soshiro, causing their test results to be abysmally low. 

“Will he be safe?” you question Okonogi-san, the overworked third base operations leader. 

“If he doesn’t get his numbers up with the weapon, I doubt he’ll be allowed to wear it out on the field”, she shrugs. 

You slip away before he’s released from testing grounds. 

// did u srsly come to base //  // and not say hi!?!??! //  // i haven’t seen ur face in forever // 

<super bz, sorry!!> 

It’s the truth. Despite your pledge to carve out more space to live a life that yours, you make an exception, burning hours on a new weapon to match the volatile Numbers weapon that by all reports, only wants to be worn by Soshiro. Anyone who knows anything about Soshiro knows of his preference for twin blades, ‘cos it makes me look cool’, he jokes, so no one will anticipate a single katana as a backup weapon. 

// ty for the katana //  // it’s q cool //  // ok, v v cool //  // wld be cooler if you dropped by to say hi //  // free this weekend? //

You take a train all the way back to Osaka to visit your parents instead, lest he take it upon himself to commit larceny by breaking into your apartment. You don’t put it past him, since he has the combination to your front lock - his birthday, that’s another thing you need to change. 

“How’s Yamamoto-san?” your mother asks, none too subtly. 

You know your parents are proud of both you and your older brother for following the family’s traditions, and you’re lucky they’re progressive enough to encourage it even in you, but they’re of the age where they’re starting to long for grandchildren. Your older brother’s wedding scheduled for next year should distract them for now, but they’ll soon look to replicate their success with you. 

“He’s pretty nice, but I don’t think he’s the one”, you reply.

Your mother’s lips purse. “Are you still hung up on that Hoshino boy?” 

You’re stung into silence, your mother’s directness catching you off-guard. She tsks at you, pouring you tea that’s bitter from being steeped too long. 

“I’m not - that’s not -” 

Her gaze is sharper than any blade you’ve ever made. “Don’t insult me by lying.” 

“Ka-san. It’s hard but I’m trying to get over it- gods, it’s so embarrassing to say this aloud in front of my own mother -”

She sniffs imperiously. “Try harder.”

“Will do”, you reply dryly. “I’ll just walk into the nearest combini and pick up the first guy they have sitting on the shelf, shall I?” 

She raps your knuckles with her chopsticks. “Don’t be insolent”, she clucks. “Hoshina Soshiro -” 

“I know, ‘ka-san”, you interrupt, the wound still raw under its scabbing. “You don’t have to say it.” 

“Hm.” 

It’s too difficult to meet your mother’s eyes, so you’re glad when she bustles off to the kitchen. A plate is shoved under your nose, oranges, painstakingly peeled, apples, perfectly sliced. 

“There’ll be mangoes if you come back next week”, your mother says. 

“That’ll be nice”, you smile. 

The next step is the hardest, the part you fear the most. 

Soshiro insists on seeing you. There’s no excuse he accepts, not after forty two calls and unread messages. Initially you toyed with changing the combination on your front door to keep him out, but you’re certain he’ll stand outside and cause a ruckus until you let him in.

He’s waiting in your apartment when you return from class. ��Okairie”, he grounds out, jaw set. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

There’s no point running. He’ll catch up with you within seconds anyway. 

You drop your bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. “It’s nice to see you too”, you reply, skirting around his palpable annoyance. “Are you staying for dinner? I can make curry rice - ”

“I wanna know why you’ve been ignoring me.”

You plaster on a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, you hedge. “I mean, I’ve been busy at work, you’ve been busy at work - I’ve been picking up new hobbies -”

“Which I’d know, if you talked to me in the past three months -” 

“I’ve really been too busy, haven’t had the chance -” 

“Nonsense”, he scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t know that you dropped by base without saying hi -” 

“Pretty sure you were too busy tussling with that new combat suit  -” 

“You didn’t even bother to lunch with me the last time I came to your office -” 

“I was busy working on your weapon, which I don’t hear you complaining about -” 

You stop short when he takes you by your shoulders. You smell coffee and steel, a scent that just so Soshiro, that it makes your heart forget to beat. He’s close, far too close that you can see the dying sun-gold illuminating the violet iris of his eyes. You squeak as he tips your chin up, calloused fingers so painfully gentle as he meets your gaze. “Are you sure we’re okay?”, he asks softly. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Other than torturing your heart by being within your vicinity? 

Shaking your head, you take a large step back. “All good”, you splutter, ears on fire. 

He doesn’t give you a chance to hide, shouldering into your space. “Somehow I don’t believe you”, he pinches your cheek. “Spill it. Stop lyin’.” 

The pieces of your heart are stitched together with fragile threads, but his presence makes your heart slam itself against your ribcage over and over again. You are powerless from stopping it from falling apart again. 

“You can eat my entire tub of chestnut ice cream -” 

“Stop tryin’ to distract me.” He leans in, almost nose to nose with you, the curve of his mouth so dangerously close to your lips that your heart chooses this precise moment to combust. “Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.” 

Courage has never been your strong suit, but you owe it to Soshrio to be brave enough to be honest that it’s not him, never him that made you run and hide. It’s your traitorous heart at blame. Plus, you figure, when he turns you down, perhaps it’ll finally deprive your heart of any lingering hopes it harbours, so you can finally, finally reclaim ownership of your heart. 

Your lungs claw for air. 

“It’s not anything you did”, you whisper. “I just wanted more than what you probably ever thought to give.” 

His brows pinch together in confusion. 

“It’s just - I know you’re busy doing big things in the Defense Force and you probably never have time in between killing a million kaijus to consider anything outside of work, and I know that you’ve never given any indication that you see me more than just a friend, cos really, I know where I stand -” 

“You’re rambling.” He shakes you. “You’re not making any sense.” 

You close your eyes. 

(plunge a knife into your chest, carve it out whilst it's still beating, still bleeding)

“I like you, Soshiro-kun”, you say. “Not just as a friend, in case that wasn’t clear enough.” 

“Oh.”

It’s a simple word with exactly one syllable, but it does the job. He stares at you, slack jawed. His reaction twists the knife deeper into your belly. You clutch the counter for balance, prevent yourself from doubling over, spilling your guts on your kitchen floor. “I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship so I’ve just been kinda distant. I needed - I needed space. Just to get over it. I’m sorry if I worried you.” 

He still doesn’t respond. 

“Soshiro -” 

He looks up and you read only pity in his gaze. “I’m sorry -”

Your hurt pride will not allow you to let him see you fall apart. “Can we attack that tub of ice cream now”, you interrupt. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” 

“Right”, he says after a long pause, face carefully blank. “Ice cream.” 

You spend the rest of the evening eating ice cream and decidedly avoiding his gaze while chattering away about everything and nothing at all, papering over any awkwardness in a desperate attempt to pretend you don’t care that you’ve just killed any chance you’ve had at keeping your friendship intact. He’s almost silent save for some mmhms and grunts to indicate he’s still listening, so unlike his usual talkative replate with a joke in hand. You too, cannot put up with this charade anymore, so you feign tiredness, just to cut this ordeal short. 

“Stay safe”, you remind him. “Don’t get eaten by a kaiju.” 

“Yeah”, he replies. 

He doesn’t say seeya later, as he usually does. You’re unsurprised by that. 

Your phone remains empty of any new messages from him. 

In the initial aftermath, you drown yourself in work to overcompensate for your wandering mind and wishful heart. All tweaks to his weaponry are done purely through official channels, as you previously requested. He doesn’t even text you a thanks when you stay up working on changes to his blades. Not that you’ve ever felt entitled to his gratitude. It’s just your job - one that you’ve decided to take up because your seven year old self lost her heart to him, but really, that’s on you, not him. 

There are no spontaneous lunchtime visits, not even when you make updates to his brother’s tech. He doesn’t drop by your apartment the next time he’s off-duty, nor he does ask you to accompany him to another overpriced dessert cafe, not even when the gingko trees in Tokyo turn yellow, marking the season for every store to have a mont blanc special which you know he’d be weak for. 

This is good, you tell yourself. 

It hurts less than you expected. Of course it splits open your stitched-closed wounds to hear him say in your face what you already knew, that Hoshina Soshiro will never love you, not in this lifetime or the next. You allow yourself a few lonely nights to wallow in self-pity, spend a weekend facedown on your bed, stifling your screams into your pillow.  You might have lost your footing momentarily, slipped down a ravine of despair, but with a few weeks’ grace, you start to claw your way out of the ravine of despair. 

You will find your footing, find a way to get over him, live a life without Hoshina Soshiro by your side. 

You will. You will. 

It will become easier. You find contentment sitting on your balcony by yourself as the evenings grow cooler, leaves catching in the breeze, a meal you cooked for yourself on your lap. You throw yourself headfirst into pottery classes, where all you focus on is the feel of soft clay melting into your hands. Between work, your hobbies and weekend visits home, you don’t give yourself time to think about anything or anyone else anymore. 

Weeks pass. 

You catch a glimpse of him on the office TV as you clock in for work. Though you almost always turn it off right away, lest your heart believe it can find its way back to him, you make an exception today when the TV starts to blare about some daikaiju appearing, one after another across Japan, the third division  deploying to a location not too far away from you. 

 <stay safe>

 <don’t be eaten by a kaiju>

 <eat ‘em for brekkie instead>

The building starts to shake. 

You put your phone away. Your co-workers surround the screen, yelling about evacuations and contingencies. You start to head down towards the forge, determined to save as much of your handiwork as you can. Soshiro and the rest of the swordsmen in the Defense Force will need whatever you can save. 

a/n: manga spoilers from the next chapt onwards, read at your own risk! also, am off riding in mongolia til the 20th - next chapter out after - pls lmk what you guys think in the meantime ;)