#brain and stress overflowing

[mogwaei]

Totally get if you need a break! The dash has been so dead lately but I want you to know your art is such an inspiration! Your solas finally made me pick up drawing again and start trying to improve. I know it can be super discouraging here but know that what you create and share matters soo much! Your work is so stunning and vibrant and fun. Mostly makes me emotional so thank you! And happy happy birthday!

😭💜 It comes as something of a relief to see that I'm not the only one noticing a very slow dash. I'm also operating with a debuff of "Crippling Overthinker" which tends to work against me skfhjkf

I am stunned that you're drawing again because of my solas?? WAHH that's incredible and I am so SO excited for you! I'm wishing you the best on your art journey and I hope you see all the improvement you seek swiftly 💜I'm incredibly grateful for the kind words about my art, I've been feeling like I've gotten lost in terms of style of late but it makes me feel good that some people still enjoy it and that it means something to others. Thank you so much 🌻I'm still unsure what I'm going to do about posting here for the time being, especially if my next art is DOA, but I'll still be very active on twitter as long as that boat keeps floating (and more on blue sky)

[steakout-05]

something that had always been really frustrating for me when i was still in math classes in school was trying to watch the teacher actually work the problem out on the board and still not understanding wtf was happening. for some context, i heavily suspect that i have some form of dyscalculia because math and numbers literally do not compute properly in my brain. it'd be too long to explain the full extent of my possible dyscalculia here but math literally does the mental equivalent of maxing out the CPU power and memory of a computer to the point where it freezes and lags to my brain.

math class was always stressful for me because no matter what i did and how much progress i made, there was always a lack of understanding i had when it came to trying to work any math problem out long term and remembering anything. it felt like there was always something i was missing, so when the time came for the teacher to explain and go through a math problem step-by-step on the whiteboard, i made sure i paid as much attention to it as humanly possible as child-to-teenager me could muster and even then i still did not understand how the fuck they solved it, all because of one thing: the teacher pulling a random number completely out of their ass that happened to be the key to solving the problem.

like. i don't think i can illustrate how frustrating and isolating this was to experience with words alone. here i was, paying as much attention as i physically could, trying my damned hardest to memorise each individual step and calculation in order to understand how to get from point A to point B. everything made perfect sense up until the teacher suddenly stops for a second and writes a seemingly completely unrelated number there with no context as to why it's there in the first place, and then, in that singular moment, everything immediately comes crumbling down and i'm left completely confused. and somehow, everyone else around me perfectly understands it except me. like. imagine sitting there, giving the teacher all the attention you possibly could, literally watching and studying their hand movements just to understand every single step, only to be even more confused than your classmates, who you're pretty sure were half-asleep during the explanation, who also say they understand how the teacher came to that conclusion. what. the actual fuck.

when i try to explain how infinitely confusing and irritating this was for me, i'm reminded of a quote from that video Patricia Taxxon made about DHMIS: "The rug is pulled again ... There was never any hope of following the thread, understanding is impossible.". even when i was literally trying my best to possibly follow anything that was happening, the rug still gets pulled out from under my feet and i'm sent all the way back to square one of not understanding a single thing and being confused again. all because the teacher didn't explicitly explain how they got that random number that was apparently singlehandedly necessary for solving the equation and where they got it from, apart from that place being from literally fucking nowhere.

it's really no wonder that i eventually stopped giving a shit about paying attention in math class, because even when i was, it was still daunting and incomprehensible as always. why bother trying anymore when trying still gets you nowhere? trying to ask the teacher where they got that number from was an impossible to understand task as well, as their either snapped back with a "well you should have been paying attention" (even though i WAS but whatever) or they do explain that they added the first two numbers from the equation together or something, but now i'm wondering why they didn't just explain that in the first place like they did with everything else instead of seemingly just assuming everyone would know to do that.

by the way, if i had to give an estimate, my math ability is probably still at like. a 5th grader's level at best. so uh. yeah it's not good. still, it is kinda funny to me though, not only because i do find a bit of humour in the situation, but also because some people are often so quick to judge someone's intelligence purely based on their mathematical abilities alone. like. the idea of someone calling me dumb for still needing to do addition with my fingers despite the fact that my reading and language levels are considered above average is really funny to me lmaooo

[readwritealldayallnight]

“But what if you hate it?”

“I can tell ya I wouldn’t, because it’d be yours.”

“Okay but what if you actually do really hate it, and you can’t tell me because you just said that?”

“Love, ya don’ have to do this. I didn’t wan’ this to stress ya-”

“No! No, Simon I want to do it. It’s such a sweet idea you had, I’ll do another one.” You finally decide, putting the pen back to paper, unable to bring yourself to actually draw.

“Could always take any o’ the ones from the bin.” He offers, nodding his head over towards the overflowing waste basket surrounded by crumbled up pieces of paper, evidence of your many previous attempts.

When SImon had brought up the idea of you drawing something for him to add to his sleeve to represent you, you’d jumped at the opportunity, loving the idea. However, you’d all too quickly discovered that you were having issues committing to the idea of what to draw, and Simon was refusing to offer any ideas, wanting the idea and design to be entirely yours.

Appropriate to his call sign, your first instinct had been to try drawing different versions of ghosts, but each one felt too cartoony, too childish, and you passed on that idea.

Then you thought you would draw your own little skull, something that could more easily be incorporated into the images and not be totally out of theme. But the next issue to come to light though, was when the connection between you brain and your hand apparently forgot entirely how to draw a skull, and you hated everything that came up on paper.

“S’that a lightbulb?” He’d asked at one point, and the skull idea was quickly out the window too.

From there, you were worried he wouldn’t like any of your drawings, as you couldn’t bring yourself to like any them either. You’d both agreed to put a pin in it for the time being, and as the weeks passed, you nearly forgot about his request.

That was until, he came home with a plastic wrapping around his forearm.

“You hurt?” You ask him, immediately spotting the darker bandages peeking out from the edges of his sleeve as he removes his jacket.

“Nah, just got somethin’ done.” He replies, sauntering over to you, slowly folding up his sleeve to reveal more of his pale skin.

“Huh?

Instead of answering, he carefully unravels the outer layer of bandages, before slowly peeling back the bandage to show you the skin underneath, an overly pleased grin stretching across his face, chuckle bursting through as your stunned gasp echoes through your shared flat.

Forever on his skin, Simon has tattooed something you’d drawn in the first birthday card you ever gave him. In your handwriting, he can always glance down at himself and see both your and his initial with a plus sign between them, surrounded by a little heart with an arrow going through it. When you’d drawn it for him, never in a million years had you thought he would be etching the corny doodle onto himself permanently, but now, that same doodle is his favourite thing to look at when away on deployment.

[inspiredrawaw]

A Fae’s Magic. My take on how magic works and headcannons

And here we are!! My take on how I imagine the fairies magic working as well as my interpretation of Peris physical disability headcannon. I went with MS due to me getting optic neuritis last year and doing a shit ton of research into MS just in case! And now I get to show that research here! text below

IMAGE 1: A Faes Magic.

a fae get their magic from the Big Wand that gets stored as its own unique "information" in the fae's nervous system. Magic helps a fae's nervous syetm send signals to their wings to move and function as well as enhance the other functions of their nervous syetm. Leading to faster wound healing and immortality, gives them a 6th sense to other magic beings, greater balance and coordination when they change forms, and enhancement to their memory, learning, and thoughts.

big wand magic go into brain, magic becomes signals, magic gets stored in nervous system

IMAGE 2:

now wands, everything must be done in moderation. A wand can help a fae have control over their magic, be more precise in casting magic, and for storing extra magic. Due to this a wand becomes an extension of a fae even to a point where a wand will float with their fae.

A fae will receive a rattle wand at birth due to their immature nervous systems causing large uncontrolled magic outbursts.

IMAGE 3:

As a fae gets older it becomes more difficult to expel that magic. It's easier to control but magic back up becomes a real problem. Similar to how a nervous system can be overloaded with chronic stress, their nervous system can be overloaded with magic. This magic overflow will cause butterfly nausea, rainbow vomit, and a build up of confetti in their lungs and sinuses.

The most common occupation a fae will pursue is as a fairy godparent. Human kids wild imagination is a great way to expel extra magic. People will work in this field for selfish reasons but that's a different problem.

IMAGE 4:

what about our pal Peri? Peri has magical Multiple Sclerosis.

Magical MS or M-MS similar to human MS, the immune system will attack the protective layer on nerve fibers causing communication problems for the nervous system.

This in fae's can cause the magic a fae can store to be decrease overtime. Fae with M-MS have weaker wings typically floating lower then their peers, numbness in limbs, lack of coordination no matter their form, slower recovery time, fatigue, and increased magic back up risk.

helps with magic, coordination, nervous system can’t hold a lot of magic, bad leg gets worse of MMS flareups

IMAGE 5:

For Peri he first discovered this only a few years prior to the show after getting optic neuritis in their right eye.

Peri switched out his wand for his cane wand. A mobility and magic aid. By enclosing the star of his wand in a sphere it acts as extra storage for his magic decreasing his magic back up risk. It also helps with slowing down the process of his nervous system getting attacked by his immune system to ensure a fae's immortal life. He has an easier time floating and casting magic.

[janitorhutcherson]

Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up. 

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?" 

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows. 

"Use your words," he demanded. 

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes. 

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

[ask-spiderpool]

Hey mod, are you okay? It’s been a while since you posted (no judgement!) and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. Love you and I hope you stay strong🫶🏼

Bless you anon! I appreciate you checking in! I don't post a lot of personal updates here, but I have been going through the wringer lately... hough.

Lately I've been battling with anxiety, you know, same as everyone. It's kind of made things that I used to enjoy kind of stressful for me. Everything becomes stressful for me. Even not having things to stress about makes me stressed. I'm at my most Peter Parkeriest, in the worst sort of a way.

I thought it was a brain thing – that it was all in my head. I have a new, stressful job, and a stressful living situation, and some family issues I'm dealing with. It'll pass. So I kind of tried to power through, until my body shut down on me last year. And as it turns out, when I got checked out by the doc, it's not just a brain thing. I have a tumor (her name is Lamar, and she's benign, buuut...) she's producing 5x the normal amount of stress hormone in my body. The doctors think it's insane. I think it's hilarious. I feel like it's some kind of joke.

I've been battling this ridiculous chronic stress for years, thinking it was all in my head, but actually, biologically, I'm an overflowing reservoir of stress, and it's something that can be measured in my bloodstream. And it's been going on for years!

So, lately I've been devoting a lot of time to forcing myself to relax. Doctors orders. I can't get stressed about things. Every day I have to effectively diffuse a bomb. And the bomb is me. I'm so pumped up with involuntary stress, and I have to devote my time to keeping it at a manageable level. And so there are a lot of backflips I have to do to keep myself human right now, and not turn into a bomb.

See... posting to the blog doesn't exactly calm me down. It makes me anxious, most of the time. So I've been telling myself it's okay. Only post when you feel good. You have enough things to worry about, and the blog can't be one another thing to worry about. It can only be for fun. If it doesn't feel like fun, don't do it.

I need to do a million little calming activities to function. The blog used to calm me. But it doesn't, anymore. I still love it, and I still have so many scripts I'm excited to do, but... I just have to be patient with myself, right now. I can't bug my head over something that can wait. It can wait. Right now isn't the time. My health is the most important thing. I can't get that back, if I lose it.

Right now I'm about keeping my head above water. Keeping calm. Doing meditative things, that aren't necessarily productive... (trust me, I am SO upset about not being productive. I miss it a lot) but they force me to take it slow and force me to not worry. I'm learning the banjo (she calms me), and I spend a lot more time in nature, having staring contests with ducks and pigeons, and befriending beetles and bugs.

I'm a very positive person, and I know I'll make it through, and I love myself for all the effort I'm making to keep myself from breaking. Because I know if I didn't force myself to calm down, I could snap like an elastic band. I – I don't want to break, like I did last year. I need to be good to myself. And relaxing is an effort. It takes a lot for me. And certain calming routines work for a little while, and then stop working, and I need to make the effort all over again to find something new. It's kind of insane how much time I need to calm back down again. I remember, once upon a time, it being baseline.

Luckily there's a surgical solution, so hopefully I'll be normal again soon, and there won't be any more bees buzzing in my brain!

I hope you'll all be patient with me! And hopefully I'll make it out alive and stronger than ever, soon.

[wyvernest]

hello! i absolutely love your writing could i request smth like fem! reader with miguel where she buys a suggestive nightgown/lingere set or outfit for him and how he’d totally melt when he sees it? thank you :))

for your eyes only

pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, established relationship, piv, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, slight body worship, tiddie sucking?

summary: miguel has been overworking himself, and you buy a new lingerie set to help him release some stress

divider by @cafekitsune <3

You and Miguel are on a vacation.

He had been more than stressed lately with the aching duties of leading the spider-society, but the very last thing he intended to do was to neglect you.

So naturally, he thought of ways to spend more time with you, yet every time you two would finally get into the mood, right when he was about to make you his all over again, an anomaly or a system malfunction at HQ would interrupt you, leaving you with your heart racing and him with terribly uncomfortable blue balls.

He had had quite enough.

He surprised you with the tickets several weeks ago, on one of those rare occasions on which you two happened to be alone in the intimacy of his house.

To say that you were overflowing with joy is an understatement. He assured you that while he is gone, Jess would remain in charge so things don't go downhill.

So now, here you are, packing for a long-awaited, honeymoon-replica with your beloved husband. You feel enormously grateful for his effort to make you a priority, even more so when you remember how anxious he was about abandoning his job for a while.

You want to make it worth it.

You want to make him forget about all the stress and worries. You want to be there for him, to help him, to comfort him,

to pleasure him.

After assessing all options, you decide you're more than happy with the results.

"What's gotten into you?" he inquires playfully in between your hurried, passionate kisses as you drag him into the hotel room, excitement evident in your movements. 

He's clearly more than pleased to see you clinging onto him like a lifeline, his ego undeniably boosted by the desperate make out session you just pulled him into right in the hallways. The knowledge of still being able to drive you crazy so effortlessly makes him smirk into the heated kiss.

"Told you." you gasp shallowly, parting from his swollen lips as you pull at his shirt, seeking to take it off. "I have a surprise."

Taking the hem and tossing the shirt out of your way, he bends down slightly, his massive shoulders bringing his shadow upon you, intimidating but so hot.

"Tell me about it." His voice is an octave lower, deep and provoking. You have to actively fight your brain from melting into lust and hunger for him in order to remain conscious and stick with the idea.

"No need.", you push at his biceps and he complies, backing off, an eyebrow raising in slight confusion mixed with surprise.

"You just have to take a shower first."

"Ah." his mood shifts abruptly, his head tilts to the side as if to check if he really needs one.

You can't help but burst into a hearty chuckle. "No, not because of that! I just need you away for a couple of minutes."

Your eyes squint, suggestive. He doesn't fail to catch on to your request, the ideas of what you might be up to already taking form in his mind, making his eyes shine a dark red glow.

Stepping back, he heads to the bathroom, turning back to you before shutting the door.

"Be quick. I won't be long.", He warns, almost threateningly, and you can't stop yourself from growing wet at the thought that he would take you the second he's out, no matter if you're ready or not.

Coming back to your senses, you hear the water running in the shower, yet sense no movement. You know he's listening in, but you couldn't care less. Enhanced senses or not, he wouldn't possibly be able to tell that you're rushing to the luggage to snatch the lingerie set you brought just by the shuffling alone. 

Or can he?

You're fast to discard your evening outfit, slipping into the set. Glancing at yourself in the hotel mirror, a nearly evil smirk takes over your face imagining his reaction. Adjusting everything in place, you look at the bright red straps around your thighs, ever slightly too tight, just to make the flesh look plumper, ready to pop out of its confinement; you look at the thin panties, inviting and bold, leaving your ass bare for his hands to play with. And finally, the pièce de résistance, the bow tie holding your breasts together, the only thing covering them.

Fixing your hair and doing the final touches to the bed, turning the lights off and lighting a couple candles, you take your place on the soft mattress.

You feel your heart racing like it's your honeymoon night, your nervousness not aided by the sound of the water tap falling silent and of him stepping out of the shower.

It only takes him a few seconds to tie a towel around his hips and push the door wide open, the bright light creeping into the room through a barely-there cloud of condensation.

The moment he spots you, he stops dead in his tracks.

"Ay, mierda.." He mumbles, more to himself, his eyes scanning your body up and down, from head to toe and back.

"So beautiful," he concludes, tone heavy with need as he approaches you slowly, eyes still not meeting yours. "And all mine."

Getting up from your spot, you meet him halfway, kneeled on the edge of the bed. Your hands fly to his massive shoulders, moving up his neck to tangle in his damp hair. He grabs your waist, the heat of his palms on the bare skin of your middle sending shivers up your spine like it's your first time together.

Nearly getting lost in the sight of him, half naked with droplets of water running down his chest, you bite your lip, breathing quickened.

"What did I do to deserve this, hm?" He whispers, eyes half lidded and voice low and sleepy. "Eres demasiado buena para mí." (You're too good to me)

He leans closer, his hot breath fanning your face.

You find it hard to gather yourself and focus on what he's saying.

"You've been working so hard lately." your voice drips into an exaggerated praise which he drinks in with the most obvious interest. "Coming home late, barely getting any time to yourself." 

He leans even closer, keen on listening to you.

"You hold it all together so well," you mirror his own past voiced complaints. "You deserve so much more than a vacation."

"¿Ah, sí? ¿Cómo qué?" (Oh, yeah? What do you mean?). He insists smugly, one inch away from tasting your lips.

He wants to hear you say it.

You take his hands from your waist and pull them to slide upwards; he doesn't waste a second before he places them on each side of your breasts, pushing them together softly.

"Anything I can give you." You speak quietly, toying with the superficial knot of his towel. He closes the gap between you, his lips moving against yours with unmatched passion and want, his breathing already hot and laboured. His bare chest rises and falls against yours as he finally pulls away only to get rid of the cloth around his waist, flashing you with the image of his hardening fat cock.

Towering over you, he slowly and carefully pushes you to lie back down on the bed, crawling on top of you.

His mouth latches on to your pulse point, kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin, while his warm hands travel up and down your body appreciatively. 

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of his cursory palm caressing your thighs, the curve of your hips, up to the soft mound of your tit, all the while his lips remain on your neck.

"Miguel-!" You moan mindlessly, and his cock twitches on your thigh, hard and heavy.

Suddenly, his hands grip your waist firmly and he flips you over so that you're on top of him. 

You brace yourself on your elbows on either side of his head, arching your back. He plants a wet kiss on the tops of your breasts, still concealed by the red bow, as one of his hands moves to deliver a slap to your ass.

The hot palm maps your body like a vice, you feel as if the skin will burn and sting once his touch departs from you. He shifts and presses his lips to yours, indulgent and tender. It’s different, not nearly as greedy as before, it’s more intimate, as if you’re trading parts of your souls to each other, never to return them nor want to do so. You arch against him, crushing your chest onto his.

The second you part from him with a gasp, blissed out with the taste of him still on your lips, you shiver at the sight of his half lidded eyes, dark cocoa alight with the crimson tide you know so well, full of need and desperation.

His hands come up to your front, pulling the tie loose with a dumbfounded, sleepy smirk.

Your breasts bounce free from the blood-red ribbon. His broad hands slide to your back, pulling you into him as he takes one tit in his mouth, sucking and kissing, groaning with every breath he stops to take. You feel each sound he lets out, vibrating deep in his chest.

Breathing shallow and quickened, you let your pelvis lower until the girth of his hard cock brushes against the silky fabric of your thong. 

His hips buck into you reflexively, eliciting a soft whimper out of you. 

Detaching from the tender flesh of your breasts, he pulls you down to taste your lips once more, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with the way he swallows every whisper of his name that rivers into the kiss.

Unbeknownst to you, he hooks his fingers around the elastic straps around your ass and thighs, pulling on the strings only to release them, making them whip your skin with a loud smack.

You arch your back further into him, grinding into his erection in the process. He grunts abruptly, no longer able to hold back.

With expert ease, he drags at the straps holding your panties, ripping them at the joints. Before you can yelp and protest, he pushes the mushroom head of his already leaking cock into your folds.

You clench at the contact, anchoring your hands on his stout shoulders as you sink onto his dick. He watches your greedy cunt swallow him, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, his pubes brushing right against your clit.

You start rolling your hips, feeling his whole dick slip out half way only to push back in against your guts, grazing every mind-numbing nerve in its wake. You’re utterly delirious, and so is he.

His vision targets your breasts, softly swaying in his face with every mount of your body on his. He stills you momentarily, his massive arms sheathing you in a spine-tingling hold. 

Muffled, pleased hums resonate in his chest, echoing against yours as he squeezes you into him, your tits pressed flush right above his collar. You let a moan crawl out of your throat as he plants rushed, desperate pecks on every spot he can lay his mouth on; your neck, your shoulders, the tops of your breasts. 

The heat of his profound exhales washes over your skin, kindle to a fire. Heedlessly, you arch your back into his hold, pushing yourself into him, your body marinated into his arms the way he loves so much. He thinks he might come right then and there, no friction, no nothing. Just the feeling of you, soft and tender, mollifying further into his possessive touch with every kiss he places on you.

But soon the need for more friction gets the better of him as he starts thrusting into you from below.

You let yourself fall into his forceful arms as he drives his cock in and out of your weeping cunt, face contorting into pure pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and fucked-out eyes squinting.

The bed squeaks under his weight, the bedframe hitting the wall with ever violent push of his cock into you. You feel his abdomen flex against your stomach, his biceps pulling you impossibly close against his feverish skin.

Burying his head in the crook of your neck, his pants turn into moans as his thrusts lose rhythm and strength. It's the hottest thing that's ever reached your ears, and you moan in tandem with him as you reach your climax. 

When he doesn't stop, your whole body starts burning, a blinding firework scattering on the sky. 

Pushing hard into you, as deep as he can be, with a pained, breathless groan, he comes inside your still fluttering pussy. His cock pulsates into you, staining your insides white, the feeling of his warm seed short circuiting you in an aftershock. 

Both of your heads nestled into each other, feverish bodies moulded together in a suffocating embrace, his lips start ghosting over your neck, a silent praise for taking him so good.

"You should wear this more often, mi vida." he breathes into your mouth.

"I would, if you hadn't ripped it." You tease back, evidently turned on by his antics.

"No te preocupes. (Don't worry.) I'll buy you more."

a/n: yes im obviously in love with the vacation with miguel trope, hope you like this<33 it turned out longer than expected

[iid-smile]

maybe us being extremely stressed with work / overload of responsibilities and husband!nanami seeing us break down and comforting us? 🤍 + love ur work sm i love ur writing 🌸

devotion , nanami kento

x gn!stressed!reader ! nanami is the biggest green flag, he calls you 'love' and 'darling', the reader calls him 'baby', very short kissy moment at the end (spoilers!!!!1!2)

author's note: writers block has been hitting me hard but i wanted this to be the best it could and ive been like "why is this taking so long to finish???" i scroll down the notes app from the top... this feels like SO much more than how much i would usually write 😭 never mind that, but thank you for your request and the compliment! i actually squealed of joy when i first read it!

i hope you like this and it fits well with what you envisioned 🫶

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another sleepless night. the piles of papers were all just too blank, too white, it made your brain dizzy. not the mention the screen of your laptop blaring into your eyes, even on the lowest brightness. everything was just too much. you had too much to do.

it all seemed to be stacking up, each one more complex than the next. the house would've been in complete disarray if you hadn't forced yourself to clean every morning, and the black trash bag by your feet was definitely more than full at this point, overflowing, filled to the brim with take out that you never finish. offering advice to others was a mistake, considering you couldn't listen to them yourself, and your phone was unread messages, and some whom are left on seen. who the hell lives a life like this? built on lies and hiding it from your husband... and did you even pay the bills? or was that on auto-pay?

you're constantly checking the clock, waiting for the time where six o'clock hits. your eyes are barely open, but they just manage to glance over at the ring on your finger. pretty. it only has to sit there, be a sign of devotion and loyalty, and do nothing else. would it be pathetic to say you envy it? perhaps.

oh, how desperately you want to close your eyes. to drift away, not have any weight on your shoulders. maybe on a beach...

"darling?"

you're close to gasping, but two large hands resting on your upper arms just about cuts it off. warm, and a familiar warmth too. "kento?" was the only thing you could squeeze out, your body making an effort to turn your head towards him.

"it's nearly midnight. why are you still awake?" nanami's voice is as soothing as always. you swear you nearly fell asleep right then and there.

"it's not—" you glance at the clock. five minutes to midnight. how did you miss six? "oh... why did you come home so late? i was waiting for you."

nanami doesn't say anything. your excuse was silly, really, your prominent eyebags and red eyes making a clear point.

he turns the chair around. "i don't like it when you lie, love."

"what? no, no. i just—" no matter how much you lie, nothing could hide what was welling up in your eyes. "i..." a shaky sigh leaves your lips, and you avoid his gaze.

"you can be honest with me. it's okay." one of his hands come to cup your jaw, his fingertips tickling your hair. in a soothing motion, his thumb rubs light circles on your cheek. you can't look away. "what's wrong?"

"nothing. nothing. please, it's nothing." it's growing difficult to speak. "there's nothing— nothing—"

"you're stressed."

"i'm not." the tears streaming down your face are saying otherwise. you couldn't hide, no, you didn't want to hide it anymore. "...kento..."

"i hear you." his hands drift down to yours, a firm grip around them, and he crouches further down than the level you're sitting at. through your tears, you can see nanami taking off his glasses, setting them down ok the ground. the love and concern his eyes when he looks up at you was almost too much to handle. "talk to me."

"i can cope with it, baby." you whisper, an involuntary sniffle being added on at the end. clearly, that was the wrong answer.

he sighs, and his fingers twist the ring on your left hand and he lifts it up a bit. "do you see this?"

you nod.

"this is physical proof that my mind, body and soul will always love you." he shifts a little, his gaze returning back to yours. "i remember what i said at the alter, and i always will. 'in sickness and in health', and i promised that. if i don't hold up what i promised, would i really be a good husband?"

for a while, it was silent. it was like he was waiting for an answer, but he knew he didn't need one. you felt different, like something inside of you was telling you to give in. telling you that you're safe, and in the comfort of your loved one's arms. you hadn't even realised that your arms were wrapped tight around nanami's neck, sobs you never thought would come out of your own mouth being more frequent than you'd like.

"i'm here, love." he pulls you closer by the waist, and his hold is tender. "can i carry you?"

you don't give him a verbal answer, just silently clinging onto him as he slowly lifts you off the chair. then, he makes his way towards the bed, sitting down on the edge with you curled up on his lap. "you can tell me about it when you calm down. or do you want to sleep first?"

"no... 'm just stressed, kento. i've been so worried about us, the future, other things... i just— i'm doing too much." "i need a breather or something. it's all too much."

"is there anything i can do to help?"

"i don't know. i really don't." naturally, your eyes start to close.

"get some rest."

the next time your eyes open, it's bright outside, and you're lightly tangled up in the blankets on the bed. one thing that didn't change however, is your husband's face in front of yours, his affectionate gaze remaining on you and you only. you miss this. you miss appreciating this.

nanami admires you, tugging down the comforter so your arms had a bit more freedom. "good morning, love."

"morning, baby." immediately, you eye the blond strands that somewhat disrupt his vision, there's a soft smile on your face, and your fingers run through his blond locks, feeling a bit of his undercut. "your hair isn't styled."

he hums quietly, his crossed arms on the mattress moving closer to your figure. "i'm not going into work today."

your eyes widen. "why not?"

"you're always my first priority. the last thing i'd want is you to be handling hard situations without me." his voice is just above a mutter. "i need to take care of the person i love."

"you don't have to." you whisper, pangs of conscience fizzing up in your mind.

to match your volume, he whispers back. "i want to."

so doting, it makes you feel guilty. would you feel more bad for taking his help or rejecting it? "when you're ready to wake up, i can get a bath ready and..." he takes a breath. "i'll cook you some breakfast. your favourite."

sitting up a little, you glance over at your desk. the papers were piled on the sides of the surface and significantly reduced in size, the trash bag was gone, and only a few of your favourite trinkets are presented in the middle. "my work—"

"we can talk about work after you feel better, okay?"

you turn your head towards him again and nod. slowly, you bring both of your hands up to his cheeks, focus shifting from his eyes to his lips. "can i have a kiss?"

"of course you can." and nanami smiles, his lips coming to close the distance and press against yours.

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[tiredmamaissy]

I wrote this last night extra horned up and tired 😂 forgive me for any errors or just plain shit writing but I couldn’t stop thinking about Ralak coming home from a long day and we’re just laying on the bed spread and expecting him to take care of us but he’s a little miserable and grumpy so he uses us for stress relief instead 😭

MDNI!! 🔞🔞

One particular night he comes home late from his duties with Tonowari and as he walks through the door you’re already naked and spread for him. Legs wide open and glistening pussy on full display. Your hole clenches around nothing and it’s more than obvious that you’ve been waiting very very patiently for your cock to come home. Your wetness is overflowing, sticky and thick as it drips onto your cot to soak your sheet. He has a glance and his gaze hardens instantly. His jaw tenses and you can barely see the minuscule jump of his brow bone. Then he looks away, seemingly unbothered and unclasps his gear from his chest and allows it to thud onto the floor. He walks past you and begins putting his damp hair into a messy bun, back turned to you.

“Tahnì.”

He says it as he reaches for a bottle on the top shelf, something he’d usually do after Tonowari worked him hard into the ground. He hastily pops the cork out and takes swig right then and there. Then another. And another. And after a few loud gulps he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and walks past you, bottle in hand. He plops himself down onto a wooden stool in the corner of the marui, getting himself comfortable as he leans back and props open his legs, settling the hand holding his bottle between his thighs.

Then his eyes snap up to you. Taking in every detail of the sight before him. Of the show you’re putting on for him. Because it is a show, right? There’s no way you could have yourself so widely spread for him to come home after a long day to deal with. Right? His stare turns a little dark when you see his eyes narrow and become lidded. It has you closing your legs in shame and even crossing them too. He takes a sloppy swig, allowing some of the pxir to drip down his chin. A sigh puffs past his lips after he swallows the bitter liquid.

“Fuck yourself.”

Not only do you rarely hear this man curse, but he also rarely expected you to do his ‘duty’ for him. But tonight is different. Tonight Tonowari more than worked him into the ground. His rut is close and he’s tired. No, not tired—exhausted. Wound up and in dire need of release. And after that first few swigs he quickly realized that a bottle of fermented fruit wouldn’t cut it, and if you’re going to be such a needy little thing then he may as well make good use of you.

Yet you stare at him in awe, flustered and unsure of what to do next even though he just stated it plain and simple. You watch him reach for the knot of his tewng, and how he untethers it effortlessly to reveal his half hard cock. You nervously uncross your legs, allowing your knees to fall apart, revealing your swollen pussy. It’s all sticky now, having your legs crossed smeared your slick all over and it only spreads the scent of your arousal into the air even more. He inhales longingly, letting out another sigh as he brings the bottle to his lips. Before he knocks it back he raises a brow and repeats,

“I said to fuck yourself, y/n.”

Your fingers start working away before your brain could even process his tone of voice or the fact that he called you by your name. It’s too slippery and you can’t get a good grip on yourself to feel much pleasure but it didn’t really matter. The nervous tingle in your tummy that he has you feeling is enough to keep your fingers busy. You watch as his cock grows in his lap, lifting off his thigh to lay on his stomach. God, that only makes it more slippery and even harder for you to feel much. You’re letting out frustrated moans and stuttering your hips just to touch yourself right. You finally shove in a couple fingers and fuck yourself with them, pumping them in and out of your cunt. But even that isn’t enough for you. You need something thicker. Something bigger.

His eyes gloss over with lust and grow even heavier now that the pxir is doing its job. He huffs out a breath and reaches for his cock, keeping his stare fixed onto you. He begins stroking his length, grunting each time he squeezes his cockhead. Precum spills into his fisted hand and dribbles down his wrist. And fuck, did that make you squirm and your fingers work a little faster. You scissor yourself open for him, exposing exactly where you’d like that huge thing to be stuffed. He strokes a little faster, brows scrunching together as he intently watches you quite literally spread yourself for his viewing pleasure. He groans from how empty you look without him inside you and it almost makes him cum right then.

“Another finger.”

It’s a demand, no doubt. He wants you to fill yourself up, stuff your cunt with fingers until he can see how stretched your little hole can get. He wants to see if your own fingers could even be a match for his cock, even though he already knew the answer. You close your eyes and stuff another finger inside yourself, actually feeling some sort of real pleasure now. He could see it too, it’s contorted into your face and evident from the way your inner thighs tremble. Your head sinks back into the bed from pleasure as you repeatedly smack your hooked fingers into yourself, blissfully unaware of the sound of his bottle hitting the floor. You can’t hold back your moans now, the budding pleasure is too raw but it’s just not enough. You’re still yearning for more. For the familiar sensation of his cock filling you until it stung and the unrelenting force of his thrusts. You start begging without you even knowing it.

“Please—Please, Ralak. Please!”

“Say what you need, little one.”

His voice booms over you, loud and clear. He’s towering over you now, cock in hand as he stares down at you with a hungry look in his eyes. You look up at him, pinched brows and flushed cheeks, begging him with your eyes that he put you out your misery. You glance down at his cock and see that it’s throbbing in his hand—throbbing to be stuffed inside your pussy. You know he wants it just as bad now. You know he’s a few swigs too deep to keep his composure. Leaving yourself empty, you reach out and wrap your slimy fingers around his cock, tugging it as you guide him to your slit.

“Want this. Right here.”

He wastes not another second and plunges himself inside you to the hilt, his mushroomy cockhead bullying it’s way to your cervix. The pxir is heavy on his breath as he praises you for your stress relieving warmth and tightness.

“Hnng—my good muntxate.”

——

[samodivaa]

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 1)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Part 2⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Warnings - heavy angst, betrayal, smut, non consensual, dom!Soldat. rough!Soldat Words - 2000

Bucky was already waiting on the couch, tormented by the decision he has made – to confront her. Y/n enters their shared apartment, carelessly smiling at him. She seemed so generous about her love – a constant presence and support since the fight on the airport years ago. Grace and patience and consideration is what she made him master once again, these little qualities are in his control, thanks to her kind soul. Y/n helped him forgive himself and he chose to return love and compassion, chose to fight his past. Wakanda was their secret - beautiful and peaceful. Her heart was born open and although his hands were empty at the time, he filled them with the soft fire made from the two ember eyes. The dreamy mind is full, overflows with tender memories… When she enters a room, it blazes with red, pink, roses, but behind her blossomed spirit stood a façade he was not aware of. The floral presence is poisoned, spreading into him. And just like the deadly nightshade, she is indeed is a poisonous flower.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks coldly, taking a sip of his bottle before putting it back on the table. A stressed dove, mournfully looking at her as he gets up. "How long?" he asks again. „Bucky, what is the matter with you?“ There won’t be a chance of escape, he steps closer, towering over her as some sort of a warning. He just came back to life, laying under the warmth of it and is already being burned by the person who he trusted the most. Abstained for far too long, he needs to hear her says it – he needs the truth to devour his life. "Can I ask what happened to your neck?" pointing to her neck, his tone is still neutral, but his eyes are exhausted by the phantom following his mind the past days. Love makes knots, now it is brutally tearing them apart. He ran from the darkness of his nightmares for so long, only to find himself in a situation darker still. „I don’t know“ she is wearing a turtleneck shirt, she hates those – inside she is crumbling as much as her lies. “You don’t know?” his tone strays to the realms of anger – it consumes him, fear ensnares her until her back hits the wall behind, Bucky not withdrawing from her face even for a moment “Who was it?“

"No one, Bucky" she manages to retain her posture, not giving him the satisfaction of telling the truth. The blade of her words hit a nerve. "You’re terrible at lying" He crosses his hands, nails digging into his arms. Silence looms for a while before he nods, his dearest love painting his misery and his eyes ache with the weight of the unspoken truth. “So no explanation, got it" „I don’t know how I got them…“ Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, trying to shackle his intention of breaking something. "So you have no idea what happened to your neck? Are you making fun of me or do you have brain damage“ his tone finally rises as he takes the collar of her shirt between his metal fingers, pulling it down rashly to reveal the bite marks. The image wraps around his throat as a wreath of spikes. “Who did that to your neck, because I am sure that it was not me“ „Jesus Bucky, why are you so angry, I didn’t do anything. We literally spend most-“ He laughs devilishly, still holding her by the colar. “Just so many bad things happening in my life. Nothing important, nothing new, just one thing after another, you know?” There is no such thing as life for him , it's just catastrophe. Unmoored and alone, his eyes become full of tears. The only still part is his body. He gives her one more chance to say something, to explain herself in any way, but the silence is pain chiselled forever into his chest, it hurts more than words. "Don’t be angry, please…let me go…“ "Don’t be angry…don’t be angry" he whispers as a lullaby, staring into her teary eyes. His eyebrows furrowed at her audacity to even cry. "We shared a life and you to cheated on me" His favorite beauty and terror on myriad levels keep her silence. He decides to let go of her collar, his fingers clenching to fists as their drop weightlessly to the sides of his body. "You expect me to believe this…? Really, y/n?” he says , his expression is still angry, but it appears softer "If you didn’t want to tell me because you‘re afraid, it‘s fine. Just be honest and tell me that, why are you still lying? That hurts me more than you think." „I am not…“ He stands there unmoving, staring at her and it seems like he‘s still processing this realty of her not having any concern towards him. Her mind is resting whilst his is grieving, wondering and reasoning. He can’t gain control of his dreadful spirit, he is the shell he was back at Wakanda. A tear runs down from the wet, dreamful eyes, landing on his cheek as he looks down, trying to hide it from her. Bucky takes a step away from her and rubs his eyes. His hands are shaking and it‘s obvious that he doesn’t want to cry in front of her. Their love is his apparition, a figment of his imagination. He observe her for a moment, he is dying in that house, buried underneath the floor of their shared past and she just watches it unfold. Bucky finally shakes his head in disbelief. "So you‘re telling me you have no idea where that bruise came from?" a weak laugh escapes his lips, choking back a sob. „You’re lying, I know it“ he says in a calm voice, but there was a quiet threat hidden beneath it. „I don’t want to leave, Bucky“ "And I don‘t want to get cheated on" he counters with an angry scream as his pain is infinite at this point. All kind of thoughts stirring inside of him. „I won’t say it wasn’t meant to be, because it was. We were. Only for a short while, maybe. But we were.“ It makes him tremble to remember their daily life, but now he is unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will. „I can’t tell you...I can’t...I will leave“ she whispers, having found a comfort in hiding. "Fine, leave then!” Bucky snarls, before he spins around as his heavy footsteps resonate through the quiet room, but he stops himself to look at her for the last time – the end of the line.

Bucky watches her leave, already nostalgic for his love. He doesn’t say a word, not even bothering to close the door as he stands in the doorstep, watching her go. Y/n notices him staring from the darkness of the doorway as she makes her way into the world. Bucky’s inner self is shutting down more and more, as though to protect himself, but it became inaccessible even to himself. Over the next couple of days, Bucky shuts himself completely in his lonely home. He only leaves the apartment to buy alcohol and some food. His days are spent either drinking or sleeping, and when he‘s awake and sober, he just sits on the couch blankly, staring at the wall. He is composed of nothing, but illness – a phantom built out of pain. The days turn to weeks. With his heart broken, he despises life. Rising from a grave with each morning, wallowing in his sadness and alcohol. („What went wrong...Did I do something wrong?”) he wonders for weeks repeatedly, tears again rolling down his cheeks. „What did I do to deserve this“ he screams, slamming his metal fist into the wall, there is nothing but a stain in his heart, it grew – infecting the whole heart. He slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as he buries his head into his arms and starts to cry.

- Two days before she left - „Bucky, baby…I don’t wanna do anything tonight, let’s just sleep“ he was getting harder and harder, pressing into her back to let her know. He whispers in her ear, but the voice is huskier than usual and filled with seduction „Цветок...“ (Flower) Bucky’s control is slipping once again and y/n gups at the realization. The metal grip tightens on her hip, drawing her even closer to his clothed cock. Fingers pass through the fabric of the nightdress, pulling it upwards to reveal her butt cheeks. His warm hand, spilled under her body proceeding to lightly trace his fingers over her nipple. She knows to her remove the panties by herself, not wanting to anger the Soldier from the very beginning as it happened last time. He groans, closing his eyes to savor the scent of her hair. Vibranium fingers digs his into her soft skin, leaving prints of evidence. „No, don’t…please…he will see“ she desperately tries to voice her concern, knowing there is no way of fighting him in this state. „Пусть он увидит…“ (let him see) His breath fanned the skin of her neck, sending chills to the bone.

He dragged his length through her wetness, pushing in fully leaving y/n with no time to adjust. Tears roll down her beautiful face, why this keeps on happening? The warm touches of his human arm move to from her nipple to her stomach „Я хочу ребенка...да.“ (I want a baby…yes) She takes a deep breath, sometimes regret settles in for not telling Bucky that the Winter Soldier was very present and real. He never seems to remember, they operate as different people. She whimpers at the cold touch to her clit, he was flicking it, making her body shake. His hand returns to her hip, grabbing it harshly as he starts thrusting deeply. His pace becomes erratic, being closer to his orgasm. Soldat forcefully holds her in place so he can fill her with hot cum. Her reality hurts so much. She wants to get away, but when she had tried before – resulted in him being close to sadistic. His fingers trail to her hair, removing it from her neck and he sinks his teeth. Goosebumps trickle up there, from fear, from pain as he slowly turns her head towards him – there is no sight of Bucky.

[dira333]

To come home - Kageyama x Reader

for @writingsofanomnivore - Haikyuu Taglist: @lees-chaotic-brain

Coming home is both the best and the worst part of your day.

There's no free seat left and your feet ache from the shoes you thought were cute in the morning. You're tired in a way no coffee can appease but you still have to get through half an hour train ride before you're remotely close to your bed.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pull it out, stress lifting just from the sight of the message.

Because coming home also means coming home to him.

It's not that hard to find him in the crowds, the last drops of evening sun caught in the shadows of his dark hair. His eyes are closed and you'd assume he's falling asleep standing up if you didn't know better.

"Hey," you link your arm with his and lean into him, "I'm here."

Ever since Hinata introduced him to it, Tobio has been trying to meditate. So far with limited success.

"Hey," he presses a kiss to your lips. "Welcome back."

"How was your day?" You ask, hand in his as you cross the street. There's a Konbini not far from your shared apartment and you listen to his recollection of today's training as you fill your basket with fresh produce.

"Blueberries?" You ask, holding up a box. He nods, loading his arms with milk, cheese, and some yogurt. "Buy two," he says, "You'll probably eat one on your own. Anyway, while I was practicing my jump serve, Hoshiumi-"

Arms heavy with groceries you make the short trek down the street and up the stairs to your apartment. It's your turn now to tell him about your day and you're in the middle of explaining something when one box of Blueberries slips from your grasp.

You can see it fall, dread the moment it will hit the ground and catapult its content everywhere but Tobio is a little faster and picks it out of the air like he's receiving in a match.

"That was close," you gasp but he snorts, clearly insulted by your lack of faith. "I'm sorry," you lean in to kiss him again, your hands still occupied, "You're my hero."

-

Coming home with him is still your favorite thing in the world. You love coming home earlier and getting everything ready, surprising him with his favorite meal ready to eat and seeing his eyes light up on the doorstep. You love coming home to him, hair damp from a shower, his figure drowning in the comfiest clothes he owns, the one and only meal he's perfected making bubbling on the stove.

But coming home with him just hits differently.

How you giggle in the doorway, somehow always in the way of the other person, stumbling over and around each other, pressing kisses to every speck of skin you can reach just to annoy, distract, confuse.

Tobio loves playing Tetris with the Fridge and you don't mind getting started with Dinner, inspiration overflowing after you've spent picking out ingredients at the store. There's the chitchat that flows into each recipe, the jokes he remembers from last week or how you suddenly remember that Yachi invited you over for the weekend and you still need a present to bring along.

Tired feet stretched out under the table when Dinner is finally ready and the satisfied hum at the back of your throat when it's exactly the thing you'd been craving all day.

-

"What are you doing?" Tobio asks, towel in his hands. He finished doing the dishes while you freshened up a little and grabbed your Tablet on the way back.

"I wanted to do some online shopping."

"What are we in for today?" He slips onto the couch, curls around you like the world's cuddliest snake, chin hooked over your shoulder. "You didn't buy the shoes you picked out last week."

"Yes, because I told myself if I didn't think of them again on my own I'd take them out of the cart. Now you made me think of them."

"Oh," he grins, "So I get to buy them for you?"

"No, I get to buy them for myself."

"But I wanna spoil you," he tries to grab the Tablet from your grasp but you've learned to defend yourself against Tobio's bouts of generosity. It's not that you don't like it when he does it, but he's yet to learn a healthy balance. And sometimes, you don't really wanna buy the stuff you put in your cart, you just want to look at cool things and put them away for later consideration.

"Not those shoes," you beg, "Let me find some other ones."

"Fine," he eventually relents, huffing as if this is a great sacrifice for him. Not that he falls silent, though. He's got an opinion on everything.

"They're too brown. Ugh, not brown enough. What even is that strap? Trying to strangle your ankles or what? No... This dress reminds me of Hinata in our orange jerseys, that's not the connection I wanna make. Oooooh, this one!" He interrupts your scrolling and taps the screen violently, opening another tab.

"The dress, the purse or the jewelry?" You ask, a little confused. It's a nice fit, you suppose, but you're not sure what he's getting at.

"Neither. She's wearing a hat and you need one for the summer. You always get sunburn on your ears."

-

There's a certain type of coziness that can only be reached when you're ready for bed, curled up in the comfort of clean sheets, waiting for your partner to step out of the bathroom.

You can hear Tobio brush his teeth and just the sound of it, so well-known you could probably pick him out of hundreds of others, lets you relax just a little bit more.

By the time he slips into bed with you, your eyes are already closed and you manage little more than a "Love you T-" before you slip away.

-

Tobio drops a kiss on your forehead, checks if you're really asleep by snipping his fingers next to your ear, and when he's satisfied with the results, picks your Tablet from your bedside table. The password is the day you two got together so he doesn't need long to find what you had been looking for not long ago.

He might not be the smartest guy in the world, but at least he knows what he's getting you next...

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

HI saw your requests were open for sagau so i thought i'd drop on by

can i request creator reader with favourites, specifically alhaitham and diluc but you can add more if you'd like! just generally how the character would react to being favourited by the creator and how the creator treats them pls <33

have a good day and no stress if you don't like the idea, just a lil brain rot i've been having recently

lei <3

Hello, Lei Anon! I'll gladly do this request! It's been a while since I've done something like this too lol—I'm doing great as of right now. I hope you're having a good day as well :) I hope you like what I got!

Alhaitham & Diluc Getting Favoritism Privileges ✨

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Diluc

When he heard rumors that he was being favored by the Almighty Creator, he denied it at first. It was just the drunkards in his tavern just talking and rambling. There wasn't anything that could be used as solid proof to back up their drunk claims.

If it wasn't for the fact that you strolled on in, saying, "Diluc, my favorite Main!" he probably would never have believed it.

With your attention consistently on him, Diluc is often praised for gaining Mondstadt the true blessing of the Almighty Creator. Diluc is constantly being given gifts that you find, bought, or crafted—be it a chair made of the finest wood, a fresh bouquet of freshly picked asters and cecilias, or a fresh pair set of clothes with the best quality of silk! Or, whenever you think your gifts aren't enough—mora.

"Your Grace...there is no need for any of this." Diluc doesn't know what to do with the amount of gifts you're giving him constantly. He doesn't even know where to place them in your manor. Adelinde and the other maids are even struggling to maintain the overflow of gifts you've been gifting.

And you, of course, don't think this is enough. "Diluc needs more love" is your motto now!

Alhaitham

Alhaitham's heard of the rumors about being favored by the Almighty Creator. Even Kaveh brought it up, drunk or not, about how Alhaitham was like the golden child of the Their Divine Grace.

Like the usual guy he is, he shrugs it off. Rumors cannot be taken as truth, but that does get him intrigued. Thus, he starts researching to see if these rumors were true, and if not, what parts of the rumor were true.

Turns out, the answer was rather easy to find—you just straight up walked up to him and handed a few books you thought he might find interesting for him. And by a few, I mean at least 50 books.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to bring any of this home—" "I can help you bring it home!" "—nor do I have the space for it." "I can buy you a new shelf! No, actually, I'll build you your own private library!" "Oh? You're even more intriguing than I thought, Your Grace. Allow me to ask for your help and aid to carry these books home."

You would often buy him books, or give him more mora, or hell, even gift him any furniture or equipment he needed! Anything he needed, you would find a way to supply it to him, or just gift it to him in general, because why not!

Safe to say that Alhaitham took quiet amusement to Kaveh's flabbergasted expression and shock. And, ever the perfectionist he was, how Kaveh was fumbling on shelving the books in the new (big) library you built beside his house that only he (and Kaveh) could access.

Safe to say he is grateful for your favoritism.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Dang, is my mailbox exploding with brainrots from people LOL. I certainly wasn't expecting this! I do hope these posts are up to your liking :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[winxanity-ii]

RESONANCE

ship: various!bnha x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 5.5k a/n: just wanted to spit out a lil one-shot, not sure if I'll make a full fic from this but who knows lolol; tell me what y'all think…

★·.·´🇲‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇴‌ 🇦‌🇨‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇲‌🇮‌🇦‌/🇧‌🇳‌🇭‌🇦‌/🇲‌🇭‌🇦‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

All your life, people gravitated to you.

It was something that felt almost like gravity—a pull that made others orbit around you, with secrets and vulnerabilities spilling out like some cracked, overflowing dam.

They couldn't help it, and it wasn't something you actively tried to do either.

Your Quirk, Confidant, was a force of its own, turning you into an unwitting confessional booth for whoever happened to cross your path. Whether you were ready for it or not, they opened up.

There had been days when you tried to keep it off, to put up the wall and protect yourself from the sheer emotional weight that others dumped at your feet. But it took too much effort, too much focus to constantly repel that need in others.

If someone came to you, tearing up over a breakup or raging about the stress of everyday life, you'd let them; it was just easier to let it run its course.

And, sure, there weren't any physical drawback—no energy drained or migraines induced. But to you, there was a burden no one else seemed to recognize: the reboot.

Once someone started talking, your mind went into what you had nicknamed "short-reboot mode." It was like something within you flipped a switch, and suddenly, every part of you worked to cater to them.

Your eyes would track every shift in their expression, your ears catching every wobble in their voice. You'd analyze, break down every cue, every breath, until your responses flowed with practiced ease—the words that person needed to hear, the exact tone that made them relax.

Sometimes, you'd offer a soft, comforting touch. Other times, you'd say nothing at all, just be a presence there to anchor them.

When it was over, and they'd leave—well, that was when things got weird.

Not for them; no, for them it was almost as if a fog rolled over their memory of the whole thing. A protective influence that made the event seem far-off, unimportant, a comforting haze to keep them from fixating on you.

For you, though? You'd collapse in bed later on, mind swimming with everything you'd absorbed, while the Quirk worked behind the scenes to sort and compartmentalize every scrap of information.

It all got stored away—permanently—so you'd never forget.

And because of that, you hated it.

You hated how your brain worked on autopilot for everyone else, how every emotional exchange was something you'd retain forever while the small, everyday things slipped right through the cracks.

You'd put down your phone and lose it within minutes, or take things into a room one by one when you could easily grab everything at once. Your grandfather loved to tease you about it, always laughing as he cackled out, "Book sense, not a lick of common sense!"

Today, it was no different.

You groaned as you walked down the stairs from your bedroom, a yawn escaping your lips as you shuffled along.

You looked every bit as tired as you felt—oversized hoodie hanging loosely from your shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and slightly twisted, and your oversized socks pooling around your ankles.

Your clothes were a patchwork of dark shades, clinging to you in a way that made it clear you'd grabbed whatever was closest without a second thought. Your hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail, secured with a shoelace of all things, because you couldn't find a single rubber band.

You sucked your teeth at the thought, recalling how bit by bit, you had given away every one of your hairbands over the last few weeks to others who needed them. "I just bought that bulk pack," you muttered under your breath, feeling the mild frustration bubble up as you ambled into the kitchen.

The moment you stepped into the bright atmosphere of the kitchen, it felt like you were walking into another world. The colors, the light, the very mood—all of it was the opposite of you. The kitchen was warm, sunlight pouring in through the curtains, highlighting the cheery yellow walls.

Your mother was already bustling around, her cotton candy pink hair tied neatly at the base of her neck, her slender form moving with practiced grace as she prepared breakfast.

Her skin was a deep, rich shade of brown, and her eyes were bright yellow, almost glowing, with small opal-like moles at the corners that caught the morning light. She looked like something from a storybook, too perfect for the mundane scene unfolding around her.

The moment she noticed you shuffling over, she gasped softly, a bright smile blooming across her face. "Good morning, ____~," she sang, her voice lilting and sweet. "Did you have a good rest?"

You grunted in response, barely managing to pull the chair out before plopping down into it, your face half-hidden by the hood of your sweatshirt.

"That's great, sweetie~," she chirped, entirely unfazed by your lack of enthusiasm. She set a plate of food in front of you, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your cheek. "Eat up. Your big brother will be taking you to school soon—you know how he gets about wanting you to be on time." She gave you one last gentle pat before twirling away, humming to herself, lost in her own vibrant little world.

It wasn't long before the rest of your family joined you. Your father and brother came down the stairs only seconds later, both of them just as bright and awake as your mother.

Your brother's footsteps were loud and purposeful as he approached, his hand ruffling your hair as he passed by. "Morning, sis," he said, his voice cheerful, a bright grin lighting up his face.

"Morning," you mumbled, barely looking up.

Your father followed, his broad shoulders taking up the space in the doorway for a moment as he stepped into the kitchen. His blue hair was tousled but neat, the same shade as the sky on a crisp morning. His green eyes were sharp but softened when he looked at you, a smile spreading across his face.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Good morning, little love," he said, his voice deep and warm, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You sighed softly, nodding in response as they settled at the table.

Your mother moved between them, setting their plates down before finally taking a seat herself, her smile unwavering as she looked at all of you.

The scene was perfect, almost unreal in its harmony—the three of them chatting easily over breakfast, their voices blending together with the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window.

Even though it was a regular, cloudy day, the kitchen seemed filled with sunshine, the warmth radiating from your family like a beacon. Everything about the morning—the bright voices, the gentle smiles—made it feel mythical, as if you were living in a fairytale.

It was always like this: your family's moods almost too perfect, too light. How could they not be, though, when they had you? Built-in therapist, problem solver, always there to smooth over any tension, any hint of unease.

They could always be at their best because you carried the weight for them.

As everyone finished up, your brother stood, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. Your mother got up as well, moving to grab everyone's packed lunches for the day.

Your father turned to you, his gaze softening as he addressed you. "____," he started, his voice gentle but with a hint of something else—hesitation, maybe? "Could you come by my agency later after school? We've got a case... or, well, a patient. I could use your help again."

You hummed, a small sound of acknowledgment as you poked at the last bit of food on your plate. "Sure," you said, though the idea of it made your shoulders droop a little. It wasn't that you didn't want to help, but the thought of more people, more emotions, more weight, felt heavy already.

Your father's smile brightened, and he reached over, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, little love. You know it means a lot to me." He worked as a hero, and it wasn't uncommon for him to ask for your help.

He ran an agency called Constellation, and his quirk, Record, a photographic memory that worked both by touch and mentally, made him one of the best at what he did. He primarily worked with police and undercover heroes, solving cases that required an eye for detail that few others had.

Ever since you'd gained your quirk, he'd relied on you for the more delicate matters—the emotional weight of things that even he couldn't quite process alone.

A few seconds later, your brother returned, his grin blinding as he held out your backpack and lunch. "C'mon, sleepyhead," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. "I got your stuff. Let's go catch the train."

You pushed your chair back, standing up with a stretch. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, taking the bag from him. You turned to your parents, waving lazily over your shoulder. Your mother and father stood side by side, your father's arm wrapped around your mother's waist. She towered over him with her lithe frame, his head just reaching her collarbones. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, sweetheart!" your mother called, her voice as sunny as ever.

"Have a good day, little love," your father added, giving you one last smile before you followed your brother out the door.

The cool morning air hit you as your brother led the way down the sidewalk, his usual confident stride carrying you both towards the train station.

You glanced over at him, watching as he talked animatedly, his hands moving to emphasize whatever point he was making. He was always like this—full of energy, especially in the mornings, unlike you, who was still trying to wake up.

As you both settled into your seats on the train, your brother continued to talk, his voice carrying over the quiet hum of the train. He was telling you all about his third year at Shiketsu High, his eyes sparkling as he described how different and fast-paced everything was compared to the previous year.

He even started rambling about his work-study with Fatgum, who he mentioned was an alumnus of Shiketsu High, and his fellow collegues, some guys named Suneater and Red Riot.

You glanced at your brother as he spoke, taking in his features. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents.

His hair was a blend of your mother's bright pink and your father's deep blue, swirling together like cotton candy, giving him a vibrant and almost ethereal look.

His eyes were a mesmerizing combination of green and yellow—a galaxy of colors that seemed to shift with his mood, as if reflecting the emotions he felt around him.

Scattered across the bridge of his nose were luminescent, opal-like freckles, glowing faintly in the light as he spoke. They weren't just decorative; they were part of his Quirk, Emotilink—which was inherited from your mother—would glow and shift in color depending on the emotions of those he touched, allowing him to feel the emotions of others.

Together, their abilities made them almost like human mood rings, their markings betraying the emotional states of anyone in their vicinity.

Your brother was tall and broad-shouldered, his husky build making him seem both strong and comforting. His skin tone was a perfect, ambiguous shade—not quite pale, not quite dark—striking a balance that made him stand out without fitting neatly into any one category.

He carried himself with a confidence that only seemed to amplify the presence of his quirk, his luminescent markings always a glowing reminder of what he could do.

You, on the other hand, looked nothing like the rest of your family.

When you were younger, you'd had your mother's yellow eyes and your father's blue hair. But after your Quirk had manifested, everything about you seemed to change.

Your features had shifted, becoming more subdued, less distinct, until you were left with an appearance that could only be described as forgettable. Your hair had dulled to a mousy brown, and your eyes had lost their vibrancy, now a muted shade that seemed to blend in with the rest of you.

Sometimes you wished your Quirk was just that—forgettableness. Maybe then you wouldn't feel the weight of everyone else's emotions pressing down on you.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your brother grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up from your seat. "Let's go," he said, his voice filled with his usual enthusiasm.

You barely had time to react before he was practically dragging you out of the train and towards the school.

It was a routine you were used to by now—your brother carrying you along, making sure you got where you needed to be without any issue.

He didn't even break a sweat as he deposited you in front of the school gates, his hands moving to smooth out your clothes and pat down your hair, completely uncaring of the looks you both were getting from the other students.

"Aaand... there!" he said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. He handed you your backpack, his grin widening. "Alright, sleepyhead, I'll meet you here after school to take you to Dad's agency, okay?"

You nodded, adjusting the straps of your backpack. "Yeah, okay," you replied, your voice barely louder than a mumble.

He bent down, staring you right in the face with a grin. "Have a great day, alright?" he said, his eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. He reached out, ruffling your hair one last time before turning to head towards his own school. "See ya later!"

You watched him go, a sigh escaping your lips as you turned to face the school. You never really understood why he insisted on taking you to school every morning, especially when his own school was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction.

But then again, he'd managed to maintain perfect attendance for the past two years, so he must have been doing something right.

With another sigh, you pulled out your headphones, hoping that maybe—just maybe—they would be enough to keep people away today. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

As you walked through the gates and into the bustling courtyard, you could already feel the familiar pull—the curious eyes, the hesitant glances, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You pushed your headphones over your ears, the music drowning out the noise around you, but it wasn't enough.

It never was.

You stayed behind in the classroom during lunch, deciding to give yourself a break from the constant buzz of students. The cafeteria was always too loud, too busy, and you needed a moment to just be alone.

You pulled out a packet of fries you had bought earlier, munching on them absentmindedly while staring out of the window. The clouds rolled lazily across the sky, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to drift off, letting the quiet calm your racing mind.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when you heard your name being called. You turned, startled, to see your homeroom teacher hovering near the doorway. "____," she called again, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Your teacher, Ms. Hachiko, was hard to miss. She had a distinctly bee-like appearance, with large, round eyes that shimmered like polished onyx, and her entire body was covered in soft, fuzzy yellow fur.

Two delicate antennae sprouted from her forehead, and her long hair was pinned back into a neat bun. She floated a few inches off the ground, her wings fluttering quietly behind her.

But it wasn't just her that caught your attention. Standing behind her, with his shoulders slouched and an unmistakable frown etched across his face, was none other than Aizawa Shouta—the underground hero, Eraserhead.

You felt your eyes widen, and you choked on the fry you had just been eating, your throat seizing in shock. You coughed, hitting your chest several times as tears welled up in your eyes.

Both adults stood there, awkwardly waiting as you hacked out a few more coughs. When you finally managed to catch your breath, Ms. Hachiko gave you an apologetic smile. "____, you need to speak with Eraserhead here," she said, her antennae twitching slightly. "I'll leave you two to it," she added before fluttering out of the room, her wings buzzing softly.

You were left alone with Aizawa, who ambled over to the desk beside you and dropped himself into the seat, his tired eyes fixed on you.

He was wearing his hero uniform, his capture weapon loosely wrapped around his neck, and his dark hair hung messily around his face. He looked exhausted, deep lines etched beneath his eyes, but even then, there was something undeniably striking about him. He had an air of quiet authority that demanded respect, no matter how disheveled he appeared.

He stared at you for a moment before finally speaking. "Look, kid, I'm not sure why Nezu sent me here," he began, his tone blunt, "but apparently, you're needed for something. Honestly, you're a child, and you shouldn't even be involved in this. But here we are."

You blinked at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that thee Eraserhead was sitting in front of you, talking to you. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have you heard about the recent villain attack on the UA first-year training camp?"

You nodded slowly, recalling the news you had heard about it weeks ago. You remembered hearing that it was the same group of first-year students that had already had a run-in with villains at the USJ. "Yeah, I heard about it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "They got some crappy luck..."

Aizawa gave a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, it's been rough on them, that's for sure. The thing is, my boss, Principal Nezu, wants you to help the students who were most affected by the attack—Class 1-A. The other students have been able to get help from their assigned therapists, but Class 1-A... they're different. They've built a wall around themselves so thick that not even the best world-renowned therapists can break through. They think this is just part of being a hero, that they have to suck it up and move on."

You frowned, a slight pang of pity tugging at you as you listened. You knew what he was asking before he even finished explaining. It wasn't like you had a choice anyway. If Nezu, the head of UA, was asking, then your small, out-of-the-way school, Okiyama Municipal High, wasn't exactly in a position to say no.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped back in your chair, dropping your half-eaten packet of fries onto the desk. "Will I be back before school is over?"

Aizawa rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed with your lack of enthusiasm. "Yes, you'll be back before the end of the day. Nezu already spoke with your parents. One of your father's sidekicks will pick you up from UA bring you straight to his agency. It shouldn't take too long—you're just meeting them and getting a quick assessment."

Shoulders slouching, you could already picture the long, draining night ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you pushed yourself out of your seat, nodding reluctantly. "Alright, fine," you muttered, gesturing for Aizawa to lead the way. "Let's get this over with, then."

Aizawa gave you a curt nod, standing up as well. You followed him down the hallway, the silence between you two heavy but not uncomfortable.

It wasn't long before you were out of your small school building and on your way to UA, sitting beside the underground hero in a rather unremarkable car, driven by a UA staff member.

You were about to meet the students who had faced villains twice now, and you knew that whatever you were walking into, it wasn't going to be easy.

When you arrived at UA, the sight that greeted you was different from what you remembered. You had been to UA before, a few years ago when your brother brought you along during his campus tour while deciding where to attend high school.

Back then, UA had been impressive, sure, but now it looked almost like a university campus—new dormitories and additional buildings scattered across the grounds, giving it the appearance of a bustling college rather than just a high school.

Noticing your confused expression, Aizawa spoke up, his voice gruff but explanatory. "After the training camp attack, UA opened up dormitories to house students. Villains have become more audacious lately, targeting students even outside school grounds. The dorms are an extra precaution, meant to keep them safe."

You nodded, taking in the new structures as Aizawa led you through the campus. It made sense, given how much had happened to these students already. You felt a small pang of sympathy for them—it couldn't be easy, constantly looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next attack.

Eventually, you arrived at one of the dorm buildings, and Aizawa opened the door, ushering you inside.

You stepped into a spacious common area, expecting to see a dozen traumatized, weary teens gathered together. Instead, there were just two people sitting on the couch, their attention fixed on the television in front of them.

The room was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the tension you felt brewing inside you.

The moment the door opened, both heads snapped towards you, their bodies relaxing slightly when they realized it was Aizawa. The redhead sitting closest to the door smiled brightly, while the blonde beside him scowled, his eyes narrowing.

"Kirishima," Aizawa grunted, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, "where is everyone?"

The redhead—Kirishima, you assumed—grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, some of them went out shopping, Sensei. And Deku and Shoto are out training."

Aizawa let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his forehead as if trying to stave off a headache. "I thought I told you all to stay put because you had an important visitor coming."

The blonde on the sofa snorted, his voice dripping with irritation. "What important guest, Sensei? Don't tell me it's that pipsqueak over there," he said, jerking his head in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback for a moment before letting out an affronted scoff. "Pipsqueak? I have you know, I'm taller than average," you sniffed, crossing your arms defensively.

The blonde gave you a withering look, scoffing again. "In what? Middle schoolers?"

Before you could retort, Aizawa intervened, his tired eyes narrowing at the blonde. "Bakugo, stop," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "I was told to bring you here, so even though not all of them are here, you've got two clients. Have fun," he said, giving you a small wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

You stared after him, your stomach sinking slightly. "Clients?" Kirishima asked, tilting his head in confusion as he looked at you.

You forced a smile, feeling awkward under their curious gazes. "Uh, yeah. I'm here to... help you guys. I guess you could say I'm kind of like a counselor," you explained, scratching the back of your head.

Kirishima's eyes widened in surprise before his expression broke out into a wide grin. He jumped up from the couch, crossing the room in a few quick strides to extend his hand to you. "Well, that's super manly! So young, yet already helping people like this. I'm Kirishima Eijiro," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

You took his hand, shaking it a bit hesitantly. His grip was strong but friendly, and you couldn't help but notice the small details about him—his bright red spiky hair, the way his eyes seemed so genuine and open, the muscular build that made it clear he took his training seriously.

There was an energy about him that reminded you of your brother—that same relentless positivity.

Lord, it seemed you had found someone who could give your brother a run for his money.

"I'm Hanabira ____," you replied, your voice a bit more steady now.

The moment your name left your mouth, Eijiro's eyes widened even further, and he let out a gasp. "No way! You’re The Emotional Hero: Emberpulse's sibling?!"

You blinked, taken aback. "Uh, yeah?"

Eijiro's grin grew impossibly wider as he continued, "Your brother talks about you all the time! It's like I practically know you already. He says you're always helping people out, even when it's not easy, and that you have this way of making everyone feel better just by being around."

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical. "How did you even know? Our last name isn't exactly unique, and we don't look alike at all."

Eijiro blinked, then broke out into another grin, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't know, honestly. Your brother just said you gave off this aura of immediate kindness. Like, you just have this energy that makes people feel safe, you know? So when you introduced yourself, it kind of clicked."

A gruff voice cut in before you could respond. "Only you would make such a dumbass connection, Shitty-Hair," the blonde from earlier muttered, standing up from the couch. He turned to face you, his intense eyes boring into yours.

He had a scowl permanently etched onto his face, his posture confident and almost confrontational. His blond hair was unruly, and you couldn't help but notice the small, almost imperceptible twitches of annoyance in his expression—like he was constantly teetering on the edge of irritation.

Eijiro just laughed, seemingly unaffected by the insult. "That's Bakugo Katsuki, my best friend," he said, gesturing to the blonde. Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes but not bothering to say anything further.

Eijiro turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "So, uh, what exactly are you here for?"

You sighed, holding your hands up. "Like Aizawa-san said, I'm here to help, but it's not exactly like I'm a therapist or anything. I didn't ask to be here either," you said, your tone a bit defensive.

Katsuki scoffed, crossing his arms. "We don't need a damn therapist," he muttered, clearly unimpressed.

You gave him a flat look, deciding not to engage in an argument. Eijiro, sensing the tension, quickly stepped in. "Hey, don't mind him. He's just... like that," he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "Uh, would you like to join us? We were just watching a movie."

You shrugged, figuring you might as well. "Sure," you said, trying to sound casual.

Internally, you figured it was better to stay and at least try to connect with them, given that the rest of the students weren't even there. Plus, Katsuki seemed like he'd be impossible to talk to seriously right now.

The three of you settled on the couch, and Eijiro quickly started chatting again, asking you questions about your brother, your Quirk, and your school. He leaned in a bit closer whenever you answered, his eyes bright with curiosity and genuine interest.

You could tell he was trying to understand you better, his questions growing more specific as the conversation progressed.

At one point, he asked about your brother's favorite hobby, sharing how they had bonded during training sessions over their shared love of working out.

"You know, your brother's kind of like a legend," Eijiro said, his eyes wide with admiration. "I know I already told you, but he always talks about you, and I was really excited to finally meet you. He says you're his biggest inspiration."

You felt a warmth spread across your chest—a mix of pride and embarrassment. You gave a small smile, shrugging. "He always exaggerates. I'm really not that special."

Eijiro shook his head vigorously, his red hair bouncing slightly. "No way! I can totally see it. You've got this calming vibe. It's like... you make everything seem a little less scary, you know?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel a slight buzz in the back of your mind—a familiar haze that signaled your Quirk almost activating.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of your body language, realizing that your posture had subtly shifted to mirror Eijiro's, your smile matching his intensity.

Quickly, you broke eye contact, focusing on Katsuki instead, who was watching the interaction with an annoyed expression.

He caught your gaze, and his scowl deepened. "Don't let Shitty-Hair butter you up. He's got a habit of getting all sentimental," Katsuki muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Eijiro laughed, giving Katsuki a playful nudge. "Aw, come on, Bakugo. Just trying to make our guest feel welcome."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind his irritation. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't go crying on us, idiot."

The conversation shifted, and Eijiro asked more about your school life. You found yourself relaxing again, the haze receding as you focused on answering his questions.

He seemed genuinely fascinated by even the mundane details—how you spent your days, what subjects you liked, even your least favorite lunch options. There was a warmth in his attention, a genuine desire to know you, that made it easy to keep talking.

Time seemed to pass quicker than you expected, and even Katsuki, though gruff and standoffish, eventually chimed in with a few sarcastic comments.

You noticed that, despite his harsh words, he never actually dismissed anything you said. It was as if he begrudgingly accepted your presence, though he made sure to keep up his rough exterior.

At one point, Eijiro nudged you lightly with his elbow, a grin on his face. "You know, I think you and Bakugo would get along great if you gave it a shot. He acts tough, but he's got a good heart. Right, Explosion Boy?"

Katsuki's glare could have cut glass. "Don't drag me into your dumb ideas, Shitty-Hair," he snapped, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks, barely noticeable.

Eijiro just laughed again, unbothered, and you couldn't help but smile. It was strange, but you found yourself feeling a sense of comfort in their dynamic—like, despite their differences, they had a bond that was hard to break.

After what felt like a couple of hours or so, there was a knock at the dorm door. Aizawa entered, followed by one of your father's sidekicks, who gave you a nod. "Time to go," the sidekick said, their voice gentle but firm.

You stood up, giving Eijiro a small wave. "I guess I’ll see you around," you said.

Eijiro grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "For sure! And thanks for coming by, ____. It was... nice."

You nodded, turning to follow Aizawa and the sidekick out of the dorms.

The ride to your father's agency was quiet, your mind still replaying the interactions you had just had. You found yourself mentally sorting through the profiles you had unconsciously built on both Eijiro and Katsuki so far.

Eijiro was enthusiastic, open, and incredibly genuine—his positivity seemed almost endless, and you could tell he was the kind of person who made it his mission to uplift others.

He had this earnestness that made you feel at ease, like he genuinely cared about the people around him. He was always leaning in, listening intently, and his questions showed just how interested he was in knowing you.

There was something infectious about his energy, and it reminded you so much of your brother—the way they both could fill a room with warmth just by being themselves.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was more of a closed book. He was gruff, blunt, and had an intensity that made it hard to know what he was really thinking.

Yet, underneath all of that, you could see small glimpses of something else—his scowl wasn't always as sharp as he wanted it to be, and he had moments where it felt like he begrudgingly accepted your presence.

He never outright dismissed you, and while his comments were sarcastic, they didn't carry the kind of malice you might have expected.

It was almost like he was challenging you to see past the tough exterior, to prove that you could handle being around him.

When you arrived, your father was waiting for you, his expression stern.

He grabbed your arm, his eyes serious as he looked at you. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice low. "The villain you're about to interact with is dangerous. He was part of the Vanguard Action Squad—Mustard. He's unpredictable, so I need you to be cautious. Understand?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Got it, Dad."

He gave you a small, almost reluctant smile, his grip on your arm loosening. "Good. Just... be careful, alright, little love?"

You nodded again, feeling the weight of what was about to come settle heavily in your chest.

This was just another part of your Quirk, another responsibility you had to shoulder—whether you wanted to or not.

A/N: so what's the verdit? will it be good as a fic or just do a one-shot series???

[ihave-atummyache]

everyone is a little toxic (pt2)

Summary: reader lowkey deserves better

idk why i always make han suck so bad. i love him. i swear

reader lowk just as bad as skz fr!

angstyyyy but sfw

6.3 k words

enjoy (evil smirk)

Bang Chan:

After hiding out in the living room for a while, you decide that you should probably clean up the mess from dinner. You sigh before standing and heading to the kitchen. You scoop the leftovers into a container and start washing dishes and putting them away.

As soon as you're finished washing the dishes, however, you notice that the bowls are uneven, meaning that Chan didn't bring his bowl to the kitchen after he was done like he usually does. You sigh and decide to just face the music instead of avoiding it.

Your feet carry you to the door of his makeshift office before your brain can even process it. You don't bother knocking and Chan's back is to you but his head is on his desk and you can hear the soft snores leaving his mouth. You grab a throw blanket and approach his slumped form at the desk.

The bowl beside his head is empty and you look over at his sleeping form, noticing that his eyes seem to be much more swollen and there is evidence of tears on his face. He's really worked himself into the ground this time. You grab the bowl and retreat back to the kitchen, quickly washing it and heading to your bedroom.

You're cuddled up in bed on your phone when you hear your bedroom door creak open and soft footsteps approach the bed. You turn over when your boyfriend doesn't lay down and the sight in front of you is beyond pitiful.

Chan has the throw blanket around his shoulders and his eyes are swollen and full of tears, threatening to overflow. His bottom lip is jutting out and quivering and you can't help but act on instinct. You roll over and pull the blanket back, opening your arms.

"Oh, Chris. Come here," your voice is soft and you catch sight of one tear falling when he crawls into bed and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You feel his tears wetting your skin but you just rub comforting circles on his back and quietly try to calm your boyfriend down.

His tears slowly come to a halt and your hand makes its way into his hair, fingertips rubbing his scalp. He lets out a sigh and you know that you don't have to say anything yet, he’s thinking of what to say so you don’t have to.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know why I said the things I said. I hate that I always take my stress out on you because you don't deserve it. I'm going to try to be better," he promises quietly into your neck and you pull back to get a good look at him. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen and he has tears smeared all over his face.

"Channie, it's okay I-"

"No. It's not okay. I can't keep treating you like shit and expect you to still love me," his words are harsh but you understand where he is coming from. He's taking accountability for his own actions. You reach up and brush away the wet marks on his face gently with your thumbs before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I could never stop loving you," you whisper against his lips and he presses his lips to yours in another kiss.

"I'll work on it. I swear I will," the urgency in his voice makes a smile cross your face and you nod, pulling your boyfriend to you again and he immediately nestles back into your neck.

"Let's sleep, baby. I love you," you whisper against the top of his head, planting another kiss in his hair. It only takes a few minutes before you hear his breathing get deeper and you know that he is finally fast asleep.

Lee Know:

You hear a gentle knock on the bathroom door and you let out a sound of annoyance. You knew he had a key to the bedroom but there isn't a key for the bathroom so you locked yourself in here.

"Go away, Minho. I said go yell at someone who wants to hear it," you grumble and place the bandaid over your cut. After about five minutes, you were finally able to get the bleeding to stop. Which means it only took Minho five minutes to come to his senses, find the bedroom key, and break in.

"Y/n..." his tone is pitiful and you hear him slide down the other side of the bathroom door. You take a step towards the door and decide it would be best to not open it right now. You're still too upset and seeing his perfect face right now would probably just piss you off more.

Instead you slide down on the cabinet beside the door and bring your knees to your chest, letting your head rest against the door. When your head meets the wood, there's a gently tap and Minho lets out a small sigh on the other side.

"I know you're listening, baby. Can you open the door so I can look at your cut please? There was a lot of blood and I just want to make sure you don't need stitches," he reasons in a gentle tone and you worry your teeth with your bottom lip.

His primary love language is acts of service. This is him apologizing in his own backwards, Minho kind of way.

You sigh but reach up, turning the lock. You hear your boyfriend scramble to his feet before the door swings open. You look up at him and he steps over one of your legs, standing between them and then drops to his knees, making your legs rest on either one of his thighs.

"May I?" He asks quietly, almost like if he speaks too loud, it might shatter the thick air between you two. He grabs your wrist and flips your hand over. He peels the bandaid up and you let out a hiss as the air hits it.

"I just put that on," you grumble out and he shakes his head, ultimately ignoring your complaint as he takes in the cut on your hand.

"It doesn't look like you need stitches," he pauses and you use this opportunity to sneak in your own snide comment.

"I could've told you that," your voice is dripping with sarcasm. His eyes dart to yours for a moment but he chooses not to respond to this statement either.

"You should at least bandage this properly," he finishes and reaches up next to the sink, grabbing the first aid kit. He sits back and crosses his legs. Minho grabs the back of your knees and drags you closer to him, so your knees are now hooked over his thighs.

He pulls out the gauze and bandages and starts to clean your hand and wrap it much better than you had done.

"This is all my fault," he suddenly mutters after he finishes bandaging you up. He presses a quick kiss to the place where your cut is and looks up at you.

"It isn't all your fault. Just mostly," you shrug and he lets out a half hearted laugh, cutting the tension in the room. You pull your hand from his and wrap both of your arms around his neck.

You pull yourself up to fully sit on his lap and straddle his hips more comfortably. His hands find purchase on your hips and you feel his thumbs rubbing soothing circles through your sweatpants.

"I don't know why I'm such a dick," he breathes out and locks eyes with you before continuing, "I can't figure out why someone as perfect as you would want to be with someone like me," he confesses and your heart drops. Why would he ever feel that way? If anything, you feel like its the other way around!

"I'm not perfect, Minho. And I'm with you because you're funny," you lean down and kiss his forehead gently, "Talented," another kiss to his left eye, "Handsome," a kiss to his right eye, "Smart," his nose, "Kind," you seal this one with a kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him again.

"You are kind, Minho. Your flip from kind to annoyed just gets triggered a bit easier than everyone else's. I don't walk on eggshells around you and I never have which is why you think you're so mean to me. I just press your buttons is all," you try to reassure him and a small smile makes its way to his lips.

"I love you. You know that?" He asks wrapping his arms around you to bring you chest to chest with him.

"Mhm. I love you most," you confirm and wrap your arms around his neck as well, tightening the hug.

Changbin:

Your boyfriend isn't one to back down from a fight so seeing you walk away makes his blood boil. He follows you, hot on your heels.

"Can I just have some fucking space, Changbin. Please." It's technically a question but your demanding tone was more than enough to make it clear that you aren't asking.

"No. Talk to me," he answers anyways, ignoring the fact it wasn't really a question. You throw your hands in the air and turn around, making Changbin slam right into you. You stand your ground and don't even stumble a step.

"You want me to talk? Fine. I'll talk. What do you want me to say?" you prompt, crossing your arms over your chest. He stares at you for a moment, his mouth opening but immediately closing again.

"If you can't tell me what you want to hear, I can't say it," you instigate him and he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I don't want you to say anything besides how you are feeling right mow, y/n," he grumbles out, obviously annoyed with your antics.

"Are you actually going to listen to me or are you going to brush it off like you always do?"

"I never brush things you say off," he defends but you roll your eyes in return. You sit down on the couch and lay your legs across it, throwing a blanket over you. Your boyfriend stands in the entranceway of the living room, observing and waiting for you to speak to him.

"Well?" he prompts you but you ignore him, instead reaching for the remote and flipping on the T.V.

"Bun, are you seriously not going to talk to me?" He is trying to persuade you again and you make the mistake of glancing over at him, his sickeningly sweet pout covering his face. He looks precious and you can't help the guilt you feel creeping into your chest.

"Don't start try to be all cute now," You murmur out, opting to turn your attention to the T.V instead. Although, you really weren't focusing on anything on the screen.

"Just talk to me. I hate fighting," he grabs your legs and lifts them, placing them onto his lap. You sigh but press pause on the T.V. anyways.

"You hate fighting but you cause every fight. Why is that?" You instigate, putting the remote down and trying to ignore the soothing circles your boyfriend is rubbing on your calves.

"But I don't. You just-"

"Choose your next words very wisely, Changbin," you warn before he can even begin to say anything too out of pocket. He closes his mouth and his eyebrows drop into a furrow, obviously trying to choose his words wisely. You close your eyes and let your head fall back to rest on the arm rest of the couch.

Silence falls between the two of you for a few minutes and you finally pry your eyes open to look at Changbin. He is staring straight ahead and you can tell he is deep in thought. He isn't looking at anything in particular but that crease is still sitting between his brows. You tap his stomach gently with your foot to get his attention.

"Just say it," you breathe out and he looks over at you which makes you notice the overall solemn look covering his face. His normal pout seems to be extra pouty and his shoulders are slouched. He looks defeated.

"Do you actually think I'm arrogant?" He asks quietly and you want to lie and tell him no, you want to do anything to get that look off his stupid face but you can't stop your mouth from telling the truth.

"I do. I think you are arrogant and you never want to be wrong. I think that you put yourself first in this relationship instead of us being treated as equals," you confess and he breaks eye contact, staring down at his hand on your shin instead.

"But," you continue, drawing his attention to you once more, "I do love you. I don't want you to ever think that I don't," you conclude and he nods, agreeing with you.

"Do you want to break up with me?" he suddenly asks and a lump forms in your throat. You have never thought about whether or not this attribute of Changbin's would cause the end of your relationship. It has definitely taken its toll on you mentally and your relationship.

"Can I be honest with you?" You ask and he immediately nods, silently begging for your answer to be no.

"I honestly don't know," you breathe out, his glassy eyes meet yours, he's surprised to see that there are no tears in your eyes. You actually seem surprisingly calm and very level headed.

"Have you thought about this before?" His voice crack gives way to how he is actually feelings and you swallow, shaking your head, "Then how are you so calm?" He asks, tears starting to fall from his eyes.

"I'm not sure. I just have a lot on my mind I think. I never want to leave you. I mean, God, you're the love of my life but it just seems like you have... growing up to do," you speak quietly, trying your best not to break his already fragile state anymore.

"Please don't leave me," He's suddenly begging you, grip tightening around your ankle. His big pleading puppy dog eyes are boring into yours and you sit up. You reach forward and place a hand on his cheek, using your thumb to gently wipe a few tears.

"Let's just see how this all pans out, yeah?" You ask him and lean forward, pressing your forehead to his, before leaning back to your original position and pulling your legs off his lap.

"For tonight, I think you should go home," You continue and stand, walking towards your front door. Changbin stares at you for a moment before gathering his phone, wallet, and keys into his pocket and following you. You open the door and he steps out, turning to face you.

"Good night, Binnie. I love you," you speak out but before he can open his mouth to reply, you close the door and turn the deadbolt.

Hyunjin:

You hear the gentle knocks on your door but opt against actually answering. He has your code so if he actually wants to talk to you, he can get in. You don't have to guess who it is. Your boyfriend does this anytime you have any sort of disagreement. Suddenly, he's at your door step and begging for forgiveness.

"Go away, Hwang Hyunjin," you yell from your spot on the couch when he knocks again. Instead of listening to you, you hear the code get punched in and he enters anyways.

"What part of 'go' and 'away' do you not understand? And if you were going to come in anyways, what's the point of knocking?" You complain. Your boyfriend kicks off his shoes and leans against the door frame to the living room.

"I don't want to walk in if you aren't home. And I definitely(italics) am not listening to what you have to say if you're using my full name. There is a list of names my girlfriend is allowed to call me and I can guarantee 'Hwang Hyunjin' is not(italics) on the list," he raises his eyebrows at you and crosses his arms.

"Well since you broke in, what do you want?" you prompt him to go ahead and say what he needs to because you really aren't in the mood for his bullshit today.

"I just came to apologize," he pushes himself off the doorframe and approaches you but you scoff and stand from the couch, keeping the distance between the two of you.

"If you were ever truly sorry, we wouldn't go through this so much, you know? If you meant your apologies then this," you point back and forth between the two of you, "Wouldn't be so hard," you deadpan and he takes another step which you mirror by taking a step backwards.

"We're hard? Like you and me? This is hard to you?" He asks quietly, chewing the inside of his cheek. You open your mouth but snap it closed again when you realize just how harsh this is coming out.

"Just say it, y/n. Just tell me the truth. I'm a big boy, I can handle it," his voice is barely louder than a whisper. You run your hands through your hair and let out a groan, turning away from him.

"Why do I always have to come out as the bad guy? Yes, Hyunjin, this is hard. I knew it would be hard coming into this with you. I can deal with paparazzi. I can deal with crazy fans. I can deal with strict management. I can't deal with this image that you for some reason feel like you need to maintain. Do you not see the strain it is putting on this relationship?" You rant. You want to stop the words from leaving your mouth but they're tumbling from your tongue before your brain can stop them.

"I just want to be..." he starts but trails off quickly when he realizes what he was going to say.

"Perfect(italics)." You finish for him and his eyes drop to the floor between the two of you. You're right. He has been putting more strain on looking good for everyone else, that he isn't even noticing the unhappiness of his own girlfriend.

"I don't even know what to say right now. I don't think anything I can say will satisfy you," he makes this confession much more solemnly than his last. You let out a sigh and wait for his eyes to meet yours again.

"I love you and I always will but I think we need some time apart. How does that sound?" You offer and hear him suck in a sharp breath at the suggestion. You also don't really want to take a 'break' but you feel like you really have some things to think about.

"That sounds terrible," he deadpans and your lip finds its way between between your teeth before he takes a breath and continues, "But if that will make you happy, I'm willing to do anything for you," he nods at you and you nod in reply.

He turns away from you and slips his shoes that he just removed back on before opening the door and closing it gently behind him.

Han:

A few hours later, it is way past your usual bedtime and you find yourself obsessing over the video of your boyfriend. He hasn't come to try to work things out with you and you find yourself anxiously bouncing your leg at the bar.

"What am I doing?" you speak out to yourself again before standing and making your way to the bedroom. When you enter, you hear the water running in the shower and crawl into your bed, hoping to be asleep before Jisung is out.

Just as your eyes are getting to heavy to stay open, you hear the shower water turn off and Jisung moving around the bathroom, getting ready for bed. Although you are mad at him, the familiar sounds of his nighttime routine lull you right to sleep.

When you awake the next morning, you don't feel Jisung around you at all. You reach for your phone and are quite surprised to see 99+ notifications on pretty much every single one of your social medias. You unlock your phone and click on one of the apps, immediately going to Jisungns profile. This has to be something to do with him.

You click on his story and click through a few before you see the reason for your sudden increase in popularity. Jisung had posted you sleeping peacefully on his story with the caption, 'the only one for me'. You can't stop the smile that covers your face and hop out of bed to find your boyfriend.

You are pleased to find a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a hand written note in the middle when you enter your kitchen.

'I won't be here when you see this, but I want to make everything up to you when I get back from the studio. I love you my heart'

An even bigger smile covers your face when you read the note and you hold it up to your heart while you lean down to smell the flowers. He knows you well and he knows how to make you happy. Happy enough to almost forget about your feelings from last night.

Almost.

You walk back to your room and grab your phone, opening your boyfriend's contact.

'flowers won't fix it jisung'

You send it before you have time to over think what to say. You toss your phone down and get everything ready to take a quick shower. Hopefully, it'll help you gather your thoughts and get your mind right before he gets home.

You hear your phone vibrate and are surprised to see Jisung's name. Whenever he is at the studio or practicing, he rarely replies. This is expected since he is busy and working on his career. You can't expect him to be at your every beck and call.

'Good morning. I'm on my way home now' your eyebrows drop to a furrow at the message. It was still early in the morning and he couldn't have left too long before you woke up.

'?? you just left'

'I was just busying my mind until you woke up. I'll get us coffee' you lock your phone and head to the bathroom again. This gives you much less thinking time than you would like.

Around the same time you are pulling a hoodie over your head to protect you from the chill in the air, you hear your front door opening. You can tell from the footsteps that it's Jisung and walk out to see him sat at the dining room table on his phone and sipping a coffee.

His eyes shoot up to meet yours when he notices you're there and he pushes your coffee towards the other side of the table. You sit across from him and pull the coffee towards you, taking a sip. It was perfect, exactly how you like it and your chest tightens. He really does seem to try to be a good boyfriend. So why is it so hard to keep his attention on just you?

"Y/n? Did you hear me?" Jisung's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and and you blink at him a few times, bringing yourself back to reality.

"I said I'm sorry," he repeats himself, picking at the label on his coffee cup before continuing, "I'm sorry for being such a shit boyfriend. I'm sorry for always making you second guess my loyalty. I was thinking last night after you said what you said and I think I finally realize where you are coming from. I don't mean for you to be a secret," he tries to explain himself but in all honesty, it isn't pulling at you.

"Say something?" he pleads suddenly and you break eye contact, looking down at the cup again.

"I'm tired," you breathe out, looking back up at him again. He purses his lips in confusion before asking for clarification.

"Didn't you just wake up?"

"I don't mean physically. I mean... mentally. Emotionally. I'm exhausted," you confess and Jisung's grip on his cup tightens.

"What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me? Baby, please," he's suddenly begging and reaches across the table to take your hand in his but you retreat, staying just out of his reach.

"You hurt me. It hurts seeing the one that I love have their eyes on somebody else. You get that don't you?" you ask quietly. The tense silence falls between the two of you and Jisung's eyes grow wide.

"You love me?" he whispers it out. If there were any other noises in the house, you wouldn't have been able to hear the question. You sigh but nod anyways.

"I do. But, I love myself too. I deserve better than what you are giving me right now. You get that, don't you?" you ask and feel the first tears spring to your eyes. You let your eyes focus in the ceiling to try to prevent the tears from falling.

"I'm so sorry," Jisung's voice cracks and you look at him to see tears flowing freely down his face, "I love you too. I love you so much that it hurts," he confesses. You stand from the table and nod down at the crying boy in front of you.

"Then let me go," you speak quietly and a small broken sob rips through your ex boyfriend's chest.

Felix:

You stir when you wake up, happy to be off today and happy to feel your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around you. As soon as you move even an inch, Felix’s arms tighten around you and you immediately relax into his touch. You move slightly and realize that he has on different clothes than he did last night.

“How long have you been up?” you ask, voice still hoarse with sleep. He presses a kiss to the back of your head and pulls you impossibly closer to his body.

“Only an hour or so. I had something to take care of,” his deep voice carries no traces of sleep at all. He has been up for a while.

“Oh?” You question, turning in his arms and facing him finally. He looks like an angel. Maybe it’s because you just woke up and are feeling extra nice but he really looks so pretty.

“Mhm. I got on the phone with IT and got your computer fixed. Go look,” a small prideful small covers his face and you sit up quickly in the bed.

“No way! Really?” you squeal and jump out of the bed, going straight to your desk and opening the laptop. A huge smile covers your face when you realize that he is telling the truth. Your computer is finally working how it should be.

“As happy as I am that you did this, I’m kind of sad,” you turn and face Felix and his smile drops at your words.

“Why’s that, princess?”

“Because now I actually have to work on my project,” you giggle and his smile immediately reappears. He stands from the bed and walks over to you, standing between your legs. You wrap your arms around his hips and rest your chin on his stomach to look up at him. He busies on of his hands with smoothing your bed head and the other rubs soothing circles on your shoulder.

“Thank you. You’re the best, Lixie,” you place a kiss to his stomach before turning your head and pressing your cheek to his stomach instead, making the hug a bit deeper. Before Felix can reply with something far too humble and far too cute, you speak again.

“I’m sorry for how I acted last night. I know you’re just being helpful but I hate feeling stupid,” you confess and his fingers scratch at your scalp.

“It is never my intent to make you feel that way. You are probably the smartest person I know,” he responds quietly and you turn your head to look up at him again.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you speak up and he moves his hands to cup your face instead.

“I like to think I’m the lucky one,” he smiles down at you before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Seungmin-

Your tears are streaming down your face with the water and you’re forcing back sobs. You are too occupied to hear the bathroom door open, your boyfriend taking his own clothes off, even the shower curtain being pulled back.

You don’t even realize that Seungmin is in the room with you until you feel his hands wrap around your middle and his bare chest presses to your bare back. He places a soft kiss to your shoulder and that’s all it takes for the dam to break and the sobs start sneaking past your lips.

“Did I make you cry?” His voice is quiet, guilty and you nod your head, then shake it, then nod again, before shaking it once more. Seungmin fights back the chuckle that threatens to leave his throat at your uncertainty.

“Why don’t you like me?” The words leave your mouth and a deafening silence would be filling the room if it weren’t for the running water.

“I love you, y/n. Don’t think-”

“I know you love me, Seungmin. Why don’t you like(italics) me?” your breathing returns to normal and Seungmin wraps his arms fully around your middle. Hugging you tightly from behind.

“I like you more than anyone in the world,” he speaks into your damp hair and you chew down on your lip, trying your best to calm your emotions.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you speak out and let your head fall back into his shoulder, allowing him access to press a gentle kiss to your neck.

“I hate that I hurt you so much. I just don’t know how to express myself well when it comes to you. I try to be straightforward but it just comes across as…” he trails off and you can’t help finishing the sentence for him.

“Cruel(italics),” you breathe out and his thumbs rub either side of your ribs for a moment before he finally nods against your neck in agreement. You sigh and let your hand make its way behind you and gently thread into your boyfriend’s hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“I’ll wash your hair,” you offer and he immediately loosens his grip and switches places with you. Seungmin loves when you wash his hair and he never denies you when you offer. He looks into your eyes for a moment and leans down, placing a gentle kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees in front of you.

You tilt his head back into the stream of water and start lathering it up with shampoo Seungmin’s eyes never leave your face and a small smile makes its way to your face, accompanied by a light blush.

“Close your eyes,” you demand but he shakes his head, his hands running up and down the back of your thighs.

“I can’t. You’re so pretty,” now it’s Seungmin’s turn to blush and you shake your head at him.

“I’m sure I’m all puffy and splotchy from crying earlier,” he tease him but his mouth drops into a small pout at the statement. He seems genuinely upset that he made you cry like that.

“Have I ever made you cry before?” he suddenly asks and your eyes dart to his eyes quickly before focusing back on his hair. You hum in response and hud grip your thighs tightens, making you stop and look into his eyes again. If you ever kicked a puppy, you can imagine it would show a very similar expression.

“Time to rinse,” you gulp and tilt Seungmin’s head towards the stream again and rinse the shampoo out. You expect him to rise but he remains on his knees in front of you and presses a kiss to your hip.

“I love you. I like you. I can’t imagine myself with anyone else,” he suddenly confesses and you smile down at him before dropping to your knees to be face to face with him.

“It’s going to take much more than you making me cry a few times for me to leave you alone, Kin Seungmin,” you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips.

I.N:

When you walk into the mall to buy a new perfume, you don’t expect to run into anyone you know, especially your ex boyfriend. Especially not your ex boyfriend who you are just as in love with now as you were two months ago.

“Innie?” Your voice comes out before you can think on whether or not it is a better idea to pretend you don’t see him. He tenses and you notice his shoulders seem a bit more broad than you remember and you can see some muscles peaking through the back of his black t-shirt.

He turns and your eyes lock for a moment. Although you can’t see the bottom half of his face through the mask, you know his mouth is open by the shock in his eyes. You approach him and he freezes again, obviously unsure of where this is going.

“It’s good to see you. How are you?” You decide to break the ice and Jeongin blink for what seems like the first time since you locked eyes.

“I’ve been better. How are you, y/n? You look good as always. Just got off work?” He asks finally, putting down the hoodie in his hands. You nod in response and glance down at his shirt again.

“I did. Was just going to get more perfume and a bite to eat,” you pause and chew on your lip for a second before continuing, “Wanna join?” your voice is quiet, cautious. If he rejects you, it seems like it would hurt less if you don’t fully ask him out loud. This was stupid. You should’ve known better than to-

“I would love to. Same place as always?” Jeongin’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you smile at him, nodding.

“Same place as always,” you parrot him and he quickly falls into step with you, both of you completely abandoning the original goal of why you’re both at the mall.

You both enter the restaurant and get sat quickly. The entire place was practically empty which makes it easy for Jeongin to remove his mask and not have to worry about being photographed. He reaches up to remove his mask and your eyes drop to his bicep. He definitely is getting bigger.

“Have you been working out?” you ask and cross your hands in front of you on the table. A bashful smile covers his face and he scratches his head, focusing down on the menu instead.

“Yeah a little bit,” he mumbles out and you smile. He’s just as sweet and just as humble as always. You two drop into small talk for the most part until your food arrives at the table.

“You know,” Jeongin starts before scooping up a bite of food, “The night we broke up, I was going to ask if you wanted to come here to eat with me. I was going to let us finally be photographed together,” he concludes and you freeze at his statement.

“Are we going to do this right now? You want to talk about this?” you ask quietly and set your fork down on the table.

“I want to say no but seeing you like this just makes me miss you so much,” he confesses, sitting his own fork down as well.

“Where were you, Innie?” you deadpan and he breaks eye contact, glancing down at your plate then meeting your eyes again.

“I just didn’t want you to see me like that. I wasn’t anywhere but home, physically(italics). But in my head, I wasn’t me. I was somebody that I didn’t even recognize. I was hurting and I didn’t want to hurt you so I pushed you away,” he concludes and chews the inside of his cheek.

“You hurt me more by pretending I didn’t exist,” you whisper across the table and he runs a hand through his hair. He nods in agreement and you nod back, pushing your plate away from you slightly so you can lean on the table again.

“I’m sorry. I still love you and I always will, y/n. You know that right?” He reaches across the table and places his hand on top of yours, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. You flip your hand over and he quickly intertwines your fingers.

“I still love you and I always will, Innie. We should hang out again soon,” you offer and he nods, eagerly.

“Already wanting to hang out with me again and we just started this hang out,” he teases and you laugh, kicking him gently under the table.

“Hush. We have much more to talk to about, mister,” you reply and pull your hand from his, picking your utensils back up. “For now, I’m going to dig in. I haven’t been able to force myself to come here since we broke up and it smells too good,” you confess and he nods.

“Me too,”

[th0ti-th0ts]

give me this

miguel o’hara x reader tw: breeding kink, cockwarming while bantering, 18+ readers only  1.2k words summary:  miguel, with his insatiable need for control, was struggling with another urge--the insatiable need to stuff you with his cock, sprung from a mix of stress and frustration with his job.

a/n: wow this was legit supposed to be a drabble but my horny brain got the best of me

hips flush against yours, miguel lets out an earth-shattering groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his cock spurts hotly inside of you, his seed seeping into you until you’re overflowing with him, until it’s dripping out onto the sheets below. miguel grunts out a mierda, his cock stubbornly dragging against your walls, attempting to fuck his spend even deeper, to make good of the load he’s given you. 

don’t waste it, he’d told you once, in the throes of things, breathless and flushed-faced. after telling you of his deepest desire to have you stuffed full of his seed. to have you bursting to the brim with his essence, to secure all chances that it had taken root. and he’s making good on his promise now, rocking his hips against yours intently, drawing out every last inch of his explosive orgasm, his arms quaking with the sheer amount of effort it takes to hold himself up in the face of sheer mind-blowing pleasure. 

and while miguel was often the type to take you hard and fast, against any surface that he had enough time to--the bedroom, the kitchen, against the bathroom counter, in his control room--in the rare moments where he had time to--it was even rarer that he had enough time to drag things out. to savor every last moan and whine from your lips, to revel in the clench of your walls around him. lyla had been instructed to stay away for the next few hours, and he’d (reluctantly) handed the reins over to jess, who had suggested he needed a break after one too many snappish comments, after one too many consoles he had broken in his misdirected anger. and miguel, with his insatiable need for control, was struggling with another urge--the insatiable need to stuff you with his cock, sprung from a mix of stress and frustration with his job. 

the muscles in his ass clench as he pumps the few last spurts into you, grinding his hips a bit, noting with a sort of proud hedonism the squelch of his cock against your slick walls. finally with the last spurt, miguel collapses against you with a grunt. he’s careful not to press all his weight against you, but he can’t deny it--he’s winded. he draws ragged breaths, panting harshly. despite the fact that you two had gone slower this time, had dragged things out, that he hadn’t fucked the living daylights out of you as soon as he could, it was intense. 

“--gehl.”

he presses a kiss to the sweaty nape of your neck, his eyes slipping shut. god, the way he could just sink into you here, forget for a second the job waiting for him back at base. 

you always had this effect on him. that’s what made you a liability.

a liability, but one he would gladly indulge in over and over again.

“miguel.”

he grunts once he realizes you’ve been calling him. “yes, amor?” his voice is hoarse, no doubt a result of the various groans and grunts you pull from him in the last hour. he rolls onto his side, careful to not let his cock slip out of you. nonetheless, the shift in position has some of his spend dribbling out onto your thigh. you pull a face, one that he catches. 

“what is it?”

you squirm, your tone petulant. “it’s sticky. you came so much, miguel.”

miguel stiffens, the retort on his tongue before he can think twice. “it’s never been a problem befo--” he stops himself, before sighing, relaxing his shoulders. it’s a bad habit of his, to use venom to hide his wounds. 

“perdóname, amor.” he presses his nose against your head, inhaling deeply. your presence grounding him. “i’ll clean you up later, okay?”

“miguel...” you reach for him, cupping his chin. you eye the deep crease in his brow with barely concealed amusement. “i’m just joking, babe. i don’t mind.”

he gives you a half-hearted hmmph, full of attitude despite its brevity. accompanied by his signature eye-roll.

“… thought so. you’ve never complained before,” he grumbles. 

“you’ve never cum this much before,” you point out. 

he makes a sound in the back of his throat, his mouth pulled into a grimace, before he sighs and glances away. at the sound of you calling his name again (and once more when he doesn’t respond), he snaps irritably, “¿qué quieres?”

“aww, don’t be mad, miguel. i just like teasing you is all,” you say soothingly, pressing your chin against his chest to glance up at his scowling face. “you’re cute when you worry. especially over me.”

“yeah, yeah, and you definitely give me so much to worry about.” he says, rolling his eyes. but his words are blunt with no bite. when you nuzzle into his chest, his gaze softens as he rests his chin atop your head. you find yourself drifting off to the steady thrum of miguel’s heart in his chest, matching your own. that is, until your arm under him begins to go numb, and you attempt to wriggle away from him. 

his arms tighten around your waist instinctively. you briefly hear him huff, to which you give him a curious look.

“you don’t want me to...”

he nudges his hips against yours, and despite the state of his softened cock, the sheer girth of him is still enough to fill you. you gasp. 

"...no,” he says, rolling his hips once more. “not yet.” 

you clench around him, and miguel inhales sharply, a hand slipping from your waist to grasp at your thigh. he’s careful not to dig his claws into you, wary as he is of hurting you, but the sheer size of his hand, nearly wrapping entirely around your thigh, is a reminder of just how much he holds himself back. 

“don’t move,” he says gruffly. “it’s sensitive.”

you squirm again. his cock twitches to life inside you, blood pumping to his spent appendage as his claws dig into your thigh now. a warning of what’s to come, of the thin strand of control that could snap any second.

he exhales sharply. “i’m serious, mi amor. not unless you want another go.”

you pout, wiggling around to better adjust to your positioning. on the surface, miguel hardly seems like the kind of man who would be a cuddle hogger, but in the few times you’ve together, you’ve learned just how opportunistic he can be--demanding every bit of your attention, every dip and curve of your body.

he strokes your thigh, pressing his lips against the crown of your head. 

“…sorry it’s uncomfortable.” the words are murmured against your skin, a strangely hesitant lilt undertaking miguel’s voice. “i’ll clean you up later. for now though… give me this, please.”

he says it almost as if it’s a favor, a request he’s asking of you. little did miguel know there was little you wouldn’t do for him, much less tangled in his arms, the heat of his body diffusing through the thin material of his suit, his cock nestled snugly inside you. 

“of course, querido. you don’t even need to ask”

and that’s how the both of you end up dozing off, with the gentle rocking of his hips against yours, the feel of his lips against your skin, and the steady thrum of his heart beneath your palms. 

[grimm-writings]

can i request chilchuck making reader their favorite dish when they get back to the surface? like inviting them over for dinner to try and confess properly :3

the secret ingredient

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, post-canon, senshi being wise

…wc! 949

…notes! this is so cute… what da hell… enjoy your meal 🥺 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

The half-foot is running around the kitchen of his home like a headless chicken, which is coincidentally what he’s holding over his head rushing from the oven to the hob, and back to see if things are stable.

The one who remains perfectly calm and still, stirring a little pot of gravy is Senshi, glancing to look over at Chilchuck trying to stir some vegetables.

“...You forgot the–”

“I know I forgot the salt!”

With clear agitation, Chilchuck shrilly screams the words back at Senshi as he scavenges the cabinets around him for the salt.  Senshi already showed disdain for how disorganised Chilchuck’s kitchen is.  At the time, he had simply dismissed it, but now it’s biting back when he clearly doesn’t know where things go and how they got there.

Chilchuck tries not to overflow the vegetables with salt as he mutters to himself.  “They’ll be here in an hour, we don’t have an hour to fix all this up – Senshi can you hurry the gravy up?!”

Giving his friend a sidelong glance, Senshi keeps stirring, as gravy shouldn’t be left alone.  “No can do, Chilchuck.  This takes time.”

“We don’t have—”

“Were you not prepping this all beforehand?”  Senshi looks around at the already made meals.  “I love food myself, but… this might be a bit…”

Chilchuck’s glare once Senshi turns back at him could kill.  “What?  Much?  You think it’s ‘a bit much’?”  He throws his hands in the air.  “They deserve the best meal I can make for them!  Aren’t you always talking about the best way to bond is through food?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“Listen, Senshi,” Chilchuck slaps his hands down on Senshi’s shoulder.  “This…  This needs to be perfect.  I can’t go and confess to them if it isn’t.”

The dwarf takes in Chilchuck’s worries, before pointing behind him.  “The chicken is–”

“SHIT, THE CHICKEN IS READY!” 

Senshi turns down the heat of his part of the hob as Chilchuck runs off, and begins pouring the gravy into a jug.  “I thought you’d know more than anyone that quality should be favoured over quantity,” he muses.

Chilchuck, upon retrieving the chicken from the oven, grumbles incoherently.  He sighs.  “I guess I don’t want to disappoint them…”

“I’m sure they’d love even just one portion of their favourite meal with you,” Senshi advises, patting Chilchuck’s shoulder.  “Even with all of this food, you’re missing the secret ingredient.”

With confusion etched into his features, Chilchuck looks at Senshi.  “What?”  He flatly responds.  Did he miss something?!

Senshi smiles – or rather Chilchuck learns that when his cheeks puff and his eyes close that he’s likely smiling – and chuckles slightly.

“Love, o’ course.”

Chilchuck looks like he is losing brain cells in real time.  “Love,” he repeats, in slight disbelief.

“Yep.”

“Love.”

“That’s it!”  Senshi takes a step back.  “Do ya happen to know their favourite dish?”

Chilchuck can’t believe he’s about to learn some moral about love at a time like this.  “...Yeah, why?”

“Let’s scrap all this.  I can hand them all out to families around the place,” Senshi graciously offers.  “Instead, make a two-portion meal, their favourite, for your dinner.  And sprinkle in some love.”

The wink Senshi gives him results in Chilchuck’s skin going hot in embarrassment.  Really?  That’s his suggestion?

“I wanna impress them,” he says, quieter.

“I know ya do, but you can’t do that rushing around doing the bare minimum of cooking.”

The silence of the kitchen fills Chilchuck’s ears, and suddenly he’s aware of the heat of the room, how sweaty he is, and how tired he feels.

He really has been going overboard from stress, huh?

The half-foot takes a deep breath, grounding himself in this reality again and meekly nods.  “Yeah.  Fine.  You can give all these meals away to the townsfolk.

Together, the dwarf and half-foot put the meals in appropriate containers and bags.  Right before Senshi was about to leave, Chilchuck stops him.

“Hm?”  Senshi turns as his attention is grabbed.  He knows Chilchuck isn’t the best with his feelings by now, but as his friend, he feels it’s his duty to at least help him.

The half-foot doesn’t look him in the eye when he says, “thank you,” cheeks flushed.

Senshi perks up at Chilchuck’s gratitude.  “Not a problem,” he returns, leaving the home.

Now alone, Chilchuck checks the time.  You’ll be arriving in 45 minutes.

…Sure, he can make one meal by the time you show up.  With his secret ingredient he can.

It takes a strenuous amount of precision on Chilchuck’s part, but with his line of work there’s nothing that he can’t do. His love is poured into the meal, from how he stirs the mix from how he gently places a little stick of parsley on the top.

‘Tis finished, the little Senshi in Chlichuck’s head heaves a sigh of relief.

Right on time too, considering the knock on the door.  Chilchuck wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead and rushes to welcome you in, before noting he needs to get dressed into something nicer.

When he comes back, you smile that wonderful grin.  “Thank you for making dinner for us, Chil.”

His secret ingredient shines through for you, from how he presents the meal to how he returns your smile, the lines under his eyes crinkling.  “Really, the honour is all mine.”

He offers his hand out to you, and you accept.  Even if you’re somewhat surprised, Chilchuck has always been quite a gentleman around you.

Chilchuck thinks that, maybe, he is able to confess with just his confidence and love alone.  There’s no need for frivolities.

Just one secret ingredient seals the deal.