#but god just. fucking accept that this might just be a thing forever

[running-in-the-dark]

I hate how everyone always seems to be both surprised and annoyed when I mention that I'm sick (or in pain or whatever you want to call it). like this has been going on for years and everyone around me still doesn't get it.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes���. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[inkskinned]

in the time loop the only way out is to leave her there but you don't ever leave her there, never in the roughly one thousand years you have been in the same day. it is probably like "50 first dates" but you haven't stooped so low as to watch "50 first dates" yet. (but who is to say what another thousand years of the same media will bring to you, maybe you will develop a new taste).

you spent about 200 of these years sulking in a bathtub or on the couch or staring at the seaside. 300 of them have been spent slowly mapping the geographical distance you can actually get before the time loop restarts. you have a list of favorite places: one library in Western Massachusetts called "The Bookmill", which has weird hours and has never raised an eyebrow to you arriving out-of-breath and panting, asking to see a specific book on a specific shelf. There is one beach without a name in North Carolina; it is an accident of geography and ownership title disputes - and it is pristine, untouched, warm and cozy. you've taken her on a lot of picnics there. Acadia National Park. One specific birdhouse in the mountains.

you were stuck in the time loop with the money you entered it with: not enough to rent a private jet. you've robbed a bank a few times, you don't like the way it ends. maybe next century you'll get the hang of it. you don't like the look on her face when you say hang on i have to stop at the bank.

you just have to leave her, and you can go back to being a person again. you took 5 years just catching a flight and sitting in the Grand Canyon. if there's one thing you regret more than anything, it's that you hadn't gotten your passport renewed before this fucking time loop. maybe you should spend some time learning forgery - but also, like, you look like an english teacher. nobody is going to be cool about you asking to see their paper printing machines.

the world is very big. that is one of the things groundhog day gets wrong. there are no consequences, so you have literally all the time (or none of the time?) in the world. in groundhog day, he does a lot of very cool things, but in reality - your muscle memory never gets better. you can't necessarily learn how to play piano or sculpt ice, because your hands never remember the practice. but hey - maybe you'll try violin next. drums. synth.

you can open any door and walk into any conversation. money isn't really an object. you can try every meal off every menu, forever. take her on helicopter tours and into every museum and on every event that is happening right-now at-this-moment. parades and funerals and calligraphy classes.

but you are somewhat trapped by the limitations of your body. if you were reading a book, you still need to get up and go back to the library and find that book again when the day resets. (thank god for the internet). it still takes like 2 hours to board a plane, and then takeoff and landing and traffic. you've gotten off to run around on the freeway. one of the little thankful things: since your brain isn't actually developing (it's a muscle too), the days thankfully don't feel shorter to you. that would be agony.

all you have to do to leave the timeloop is let that man get away with it. that's all. in every version of yourself - forever - you have stopped him.

the problem is that this experience has convinced you of the existence of the human soul. after all, how else are you forming memories? your very cells reset. information has to be transferred somehow. and if timeloops are real, you can convince yourself other magic exists. so you have two choices here: this hell, or the next. there might be a millennia where you have been worn down to the point you can accept fate's decision. this is just not one of them. ironically - she is the one thing you have left.

and besides! if you can't always find something new in your partner, aren't you failing them? there is something new about her, every day with the same morning. every brutal day with the same orange sunset.

after all, you wanted to live with her in heaven, in eternity, and, well - isn't this second-best.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Tenacity

Pairing: Boston Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel Miller will never allow himself to take what he wants and you know that. How can a broken shower make him realize it's too late and he's already fallen for you? (Or Joel fucks you on his beat up couch in the QZ.) Warnings: Smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, riding, apocalypse birth control, old furniture doing old furniture things, a grown man dealing with feelings, apologies for the Tess erasure. Words: 2,300

A/N: @ohheypedrito mentioned couch Joel and I couldn't help myself, I am forever in her debt. Thank you to @jennaispunk for beta'ing

Masterlist

____

He knows he shouldn’t have let you in, he should’ve stayed silent and let you think he wasn’t home, but he can never say no to you, a fact you’re well aware of. Your shower has been broken for months, sure you can ask another neighbor, but Joel’s place is your first choice, never bringing a towel, always choosing to wrap yourself in his scent. 

You smirk that devilish look and without a word saunter into his bathroom. He settles on the couch, large body dipping in the underfilled cushions, his back aches after a long day of work. The last thing he needs to deal with is his budding erection pressing against the metal zipper but he just can’t stop thinking about your body dripping wet in that damn dirty shower of his. 

He’s exhausted, his head thuds against the floral wallpaper turning yellow with age and decay, he can only assume this miniscule apartment once belonged to a nice old woman who liked soft pretty things. Joel too likes soft pretty things, the one he likes the most just happens to be you, currently happily humming behind the bathroom door you refuse to fully close. His eyes focus up on the dingy ceiling above praying for a reprieve from the emotions that bloom within him whenever he thinks of you. 

The tap turns off, he steels himself, straightening his sore body. God damnit, he thinks throwing an arm to stretch across the back of the couch. The hand resting against his upper thigh nervously taps against his jeans. Funny that you’re the only thing in this world to make him anxious and yet your presence always leaves him tranquil.  He already knows where this will lead, he must be some sort of masochist, never feeling like he deserves your attention but still accepting anything you’ll gift him. 

The sound of your post shower routine floats across the small room. Curtain opens, curtain shuts, pitter patters of your feet to the towel rack, a woosh of the heavy fibers settling against your body, your contented hum that prickles against the back of Joel’s neck. You’re the only bright spot in this hellhole, a shining ray that blinds his mind and heart whenever he wonders how someone like you can exist in a world like this. 

The dim living room floods with a beam of light from the bathroom, steam billows out of the doorway, your form wrapped only in his towel steps out of the fog, he swears this might be what heaven looks like. There’s enough space for you to change into your clothes in the bathroom, but you never do. 

That smirk shows up again, heaven and hell existing in one crooked grin stretched across your mouth. Joel’s never been a religious man, sure he’s prayed during hopeless times in his life, but tonight, he prays to whatever being that will listen to give him the strength so he may provide you everything he has without falling even harder. 

Temptress… your foot rests atop the coffee table, delicate hands running along your outstretched leg rubbing sweet smelling oil across your skin. Joel knows his body is marred and battered, rough and calloused, he questions why in the hell you’d ever want your silken curves anywhere near him. You switch legs, if only the room was brighter he could turn his head just a bit and look up the towel. 

No need for that, a telepathic wave treads through his brain as he watches you unwrap the towel and toss it aside. Naked and standing only a few feet away from him, he knows it’s not voyeurism when you’re so eagerly inviting him to look but he still feels an inkling of shame. Sweet, sweet girl. Your oil coated palms leave a trail of sheen across the skin he can’t wait to taste. Silently, you saunter over, small bottle of oil in hand, he knows how your skin tingles from the peppermint after applying, he can almost feel it warming his lips. He leans forward, palm instinctively outstretched for you to deposit a few drops of oil into his awaiting hand.  

You turn around and kneel on the floor, his hands start at your shoulders lightly rubbing across your skin, tracing the path of your spine. He’s hesitant to put too much pressure, always afraid to deface the gorgeous individual you are, neglecting the fact that this always leads to you heedlessly asking him for more. The oil smooths his movements, your head bobs back and forth melting into his touch. There’s no type of divinity he’d ever worship in the apocalypse, but he surely finds devotion with you and the symphony of quiet moans that leave your lips. 

“Feels good,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath letting his lungs deflate a long exhale, your gratitude unlocking another long buried sense of ease. Manners are lost in this world, you’re such a rarity. 

He doesn’t count himself as a lucky man, but when you turn around and nuzzle your clean face against his soot and dirt covered jeans he just might feel like he’s won the lottery. You plant a kiss against his bulge before pulling yourself up to straddle his lap. Joel’s hands subconsciously station themselves against your back, fingers lightly digging into your damp skin. Suddenly his back no longer ails him. 

“When’s the last time you bathed Joel?” You’re still warm from your shower, you cover him like a velvet blanket. 

“This morning,” he croaks out, overwhelmed by the sensation of you.   

“Mm. Did you think of me while in it? I know you have a habit of doing that.”

He nods, your eyes pooling with desire at the confession. 

His denim shirt feels constrictive, your bare skin is too tantalizing, he fidgets underneath, restless from the sensation of his heavy clothes. 

No need for that, rattles through his lust-addled brain. Your hands begin deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He loves the way your mouth drops and your head shakes incredulously whenever you get the first glimpse of his bronze skin. He loves that he’s been with you enough to know exactly how you’ll react to him. 

His shirt lands atop the towel.

“Perfect aim,” you smile.

Joel chuckles. You’re the only being on this earth that can make him laugh. 

You lean forward, placing your ear against his heart, he takes the longest, deepest breath getting lost in the moment, forgetting how much he likes to think he can fight this feeling. He can smell your yarrow shampoo mixed with the peppermint, this world literally stinks, and yet here you are fragrant and pleasing. 

Your hand brushes back and forth against a patch of chest hair, the other dragging up and down his arm. He loves when you pet him, nothing calms him more. He still can’t come up with an exact reason why he refuses to let himself have you when you’re the only thing he longs for. You’re torturing him right now, he wishes you were clueless about the power you hold over him. 

He places a kiss on your hair, breathing in your scent, he just can’t help himself.

“Wish I had wallpaper this pretty in my apartment,” you muse. 

“No need for the wallpaper, you’re pretty enough,” it escapes his lips before he can stop it. 

“Oh really?” Pulling back and sitting tall atop his lap, your eyebrow arches. “You think I’m prettier than faded old lady wallpaper?”

God damnit, your mouth is too goddamn smart. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do. You’re pretty too.” 

He wants to kiss that godforsaken smug smile off your lips. 

No need for that, crowds his mind, much like your lips do now against his. His mouth opens to accept your tongue. He groans against your mouth when you yank his hair, pulling his head back so you can lick into his mouth. He chases your mouth, sucking your lower lip between his plush lips. Your cunt finds the tent in his jeans and begins rocking against it. Your kiss turns sloppier, tongues rolling against each other, hot breaths intermingling. Your lips move down to nibble his chin, licking your way down to his neck. He growls your name when you clamp down and suck the tanned skin into your mouth. 

He needs to feel you against all of his skin. 

He’s never hated his belt more than right now as he clumsily unbuckles it between your writhing hips. 

“Christ,” he barks, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, you give him a temporary reprieve from your grinding as he raises his hips and yanks his pants down. 

He gathers you into his arms and leans forward, swiping the old books and magazines off the coffee table top laying you across it. 

He kicks out of his jeans, his knees protest as he sinks to his knees in front of you splayed across the oak. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head and flutter shut at the first taste of you. Tangy, sweet, all woman, all his, for as long as he thinks he deserves. 

Sweet, sweet girl.

Your coos and purrs dance through his ears twisting their way into his heart. He licks a stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and flattening against it. Your hands climb all over his hair, grasping and pulling, he loves when you take what you want from him. Forcing him to hand himself over to you, body, mind, soul, heart. Whether that be a shower or his tongue against your pussy.

He could stay here forever, the rest of his body still as a statue, just his mouth allowed to move against your sweet cunt, fucking you with his tongue, massaging your clit with his lips. 

Your hips thrash against his face, legs wrapping around his head, pushing him even farther into your searing pussy. 

He can feel you begin to dissolve into him, your thighs trembling against his ears, the pressure of your legs wrapped around him increasing. He’s encircled by all of your beauty, your slick pours into his mouth as your orgasm explodes into him. He drinks down everything you give him, never able to be greedy outside of his time spent with you writhing and naked under his touch. You unlock your legs, your body still quaking from your climax. 

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

His cock stands weeping between his legs, he gathers the precum and spreads it across his tip before pumping himself watching your eyes hungrily focus on him. 

You spread your legs farther open with an unspoken invitation for him to take your pussy for his keeping. He accepts it, his wide cock slowly engulfing in your wet heat. 

You gasp and smile at the sensation, he feels his walls crumble.  

God damnit, there’s that damn smile again.

He loves how you take him, drawing your hips against his, the two of you tangled in hedonistic harmony here in this hellhole of a quarantine zone. You’re the only reason he stays. 

He’ll never allow himself to say it, he fights like hell to not feel it, yet another battle he’s going to lose. 

He bends forward, your head pinned between his forearms, he sucks at your lips, you can taste yourself all over his mustache. His cock slides in and out, pace turning more punishing the louder you cry out. Neighbors be damned, you’re the only one he likes, at least they’ll know you’re his. 

His weight presses against you and the rickety coffee table, both shaking as he pummels into your pussy. A crack emits from the leg he’s been meaning to fix, the decrepit coffee table disintegrates underneath all of his power. He’d laugh at his luck if he wasn’t so fucking turned on by you. Joel gathers you in his arms, throwing himself back against the couch, his cock never leaving the heat of your entrance. You sink fully down on him, his cock hitting the gooey spot inside of you that makes you liquefy. 

Sweat drips down his face, he’s so fucking tired already knowing his body will protest everything he’s put it through, but you’re worth it, the strangled noises you’re panting out will soothe his sore muscles come tomorrow. 

He nips at your jaw, licking the sheen of sweat on your skin and tasting the prickling peppermint. His nails rake against your back, you’re so fucking smooth, the harder you ride him, the deeper his nails press into your skin. 

Your body grows tense above him, his lips crush against yours wanting to gulp down all of your screams. You’re shattered by him again, his cock feels like the only thing tethering you down to this earth. He’s close, so fucking close. His orgasm has been waiting for you to pulse around his cock, your softness squeezing his last bit of resolve. 

Joel pulls out, immediately bemoaning the cruelty of not being able to cum inside you. One, two, three, pumps and he’s cumming against your stomach, your head angling down, wide eyes watching as the white ropes drip down your skin. 

Your ear finds his heart again, Joel knows it’s racing and you can hear it. He kisses your hair, humming a satisfied groan. Little does he know this is your favorite part of your shower visits, knowing that for just a short period of time you’ve made him happy. 

“I guess you’re going to need a new table.”

“I’ll be able to fix it, used to be a contractor.”

He surprises himself at the divulgence, reminding him to keep you at arms length, you’re too good for him. 

No need for that.

[https-lvesick]

“YOU BELONG WITH ME…” | nct dream on your wedding day!

❪ ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ❫ 𝒞 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. how the boys react to you walking down the aisle. nct dream x fem!reader. and a big thanks to my pookie @winwintea for helping me with this!

MARK LEE

mark would be shaking for his life. like, he couldn’t believe he was about to marry you, the girl of his dreams. the light of his day. the person he will always look forward to have in his life. when he realises you’re taking too long to show up, intrusive thoughts immediately flood his mind.

“what if she gave up on this wedding?”

“what if she regretted everything and right now she’s taking the first flight to… wherever?”

he feels his breath starts to get shallow and tears prick up his eyes. mark dries his sweaty palms on his pants and asks renjun: “is she really coming?”

“dude, stop, for god’s sake. i know it’s your wedding, but please. for the last time, she is indeed coming!” renjun was visibly annoyed. that might be the tenth time he’s asking the same thing. “mark, that woman loves you more than you even love yourself. she would never in a million years leave you.” the younger male sighs, seeing his friend’s pleased smile.

“thanks, dude…” mark sighs, more relaxed.

“you better name your kids after me, ‘cause i’m not doing all this shit for nothing.” renjun jokes, nudging the anxious groom. he checks his phone once again and smiles. “seems that your girl is coming. ready to be a married man?”

“more than ever.”

the gates are closing. the wedding march is playing. the guests are standing up. and mark feels like he will faint any moment. but as soon as he saw you, his mind went blank.

how could you get even more endearing? the white dress, the one he swore he’d be designing only for you had some minor changes, but that made you even more perfect. your makeup, your hairstyle, fuck… even the bouquet in your hand. everything was used to accentuate your beauty. the beauty that only his woman, the one and only mrs. lee could have. mark didn’t even notice he was crying until jeno handed him a cloth. he accepted and tried to dry his tears, but it was useful.

when you were handed to him, he pecked your hands and praised you.

mark was always sure that you were the one. he realised that when you left a family gathering in another town only to take care of him when he was sick. you made sure to keep him nice and comfortable and didn’t even care if you got sick too. that moment he realised he wanted you with him forever.

and now you’re ready to say the most expected “i do.”

HUANG RENJUN

renjun is the calmest. he’s sure you love him and he does the very same, if not more. all he can do is close his eyes, take a breath and picture you. the perfect you walking down that aisle towards him in white. he can’t even tell how he’s going to react to you. the only thing he knows is that he’ll keep that memory forever: the day you’ll turn into mrs. huang.

“i can’t believe i’m here… sitting and watching the love of my life getting married to a… a… woman.” donghyeok whines, pouting.

“you shut up. if it wasn’t for my woman, you wouldn’t even be here.” renjun hisses, fixing his tie. a leash would be better than this thing.

“oh, so she made sure i was here to watch her steal my man? bro, i’m gonna have a talk with this bride.” he checks his phone and stands up. the other guys just roll their eyes, watching hyeok walk away.

“do you feel nervous?” jisung asks, handing him a glass of water.

“well, even though i know things will go as planned and i’ll be a married man in a few minutes… it’s my wedding, you know, so yeah, i’m nervous.” renjun drinks the water, patting the younger’s shoulder. “but… do you think she’s ready and that’s why haechan was checking his phone or something went wrong…”

“no. no, no, okay. there’s nothing wrong. i’m sure that in a few minutes, your bride will show up there and you’ll say the ‘i do’ and live happily with your babies. now, don’t. overthink.” jisung squeezes his shoulders and takes the glass from his friend’s hand.

renjun only murmurs a “right”.

the boys were going to their positions and the guests stood up. when the song started to play, renjun couldn’t think of anything besides why so many people before my wife?

and when you showed up in his sight, he was taken aback. his heart skipped a beat when you walked slowly towards him. he was speechless, poor man, didn’t even notice he was deadfaced. a rush of emotions hit him like a truck, but somehow, he couldn’t express any of them at the moment. you, on the other hand, were worried about why your soon-to-be-husband was not smiling or giggling or anything? he was just standing there.

“baby, are you fine?” the moment when he hears your voice, he blinks a few times before smiling and taking you from donghyeok.

“i am. it’s just… i don’t think i’ve ever seen such a gorgeous sight before. you’re absolutely stunning. not only today but always.”

LEE JENO

jeno would be calm like it was an ordinary tuesday in his life. since the time he woke up, he thought about you and your future and he couldn’t be happier. you were about to be his ‘til death do you part, why would he be so nervous to see you?

“is he fine?” jisung asked jaemin. both of them watching their friend smile dumbly at nothing.

“i… guess… well he’s happy, isn’t he? he’s about to get married.” jisung scrunches his nose, walking to the goom.

“are you spending your best smile when your wife is not even here?” the younger teases him and jeno immediately deadpans.

“are you sure you don’t wanna see my downfall every time you think of me?” jeno asks, making the other stick his tongue at him. the groom laughs warmly, ruffing the youngest’s hair. “i can’t believe i’ll be a part of your family.”

“i can’t believe my sister is a traitor. giving up on our name like that to… take after yours…”

“you know what, i should’ve taken your name off of the guest list.” jeno teases.

“i dare you.”

minutes passed and the guests were all standing up. jeno was already standing, waiting for you. jisung was missing because he was the one walking down with you. and when the music starts to play, jeno’s heart starts to race. he thought he would be so fine, but how can he? it’s his wedding. with the woman of his life.

the moment his eyes connected with yours, he was speechless. that may be the most graceful sight he’s ever seen. he knew anything would look good on you, but this? your wedding dress makes you look like you just came from heaven to please his eyes.

he can’t say a word when you’re handed to him, all jeno can do is to let some tears fall and mutter “i love you more than anything.”

LEE DONGHYEOK

donghyeok would be so nervous, like, he was shaking. many intrusive thoughts have been plaguing his mind recently, but you made sure to make him as confident as possible. somehow, he couldn't help but think about it. he took a deep breath and thought about you. your smile, your words of affirmation, you. the simple mention of your name, the mere thought he had about you was enough to make him calm himself.

“uhm… haechan…” mark approached him, holding his phone.

the groom shivered to hear his best friend’s tone. “what happened?”

“i think your wife is going crazy. may you please talk to her?” he handed his phone to the younger, who had his eyes open, hesitating to take the phone. “bro, i might be committing a fucking wedding crime here letting you both talk when you’re not done yet. do it.” mark shook his hand in front of donghyeok’s face.

“hi, baby.” his voice was kind of worried.

“love…” your voice softens listening to him. “why are we taking so long? i wanna see you…” the same way you could hear his smile, he could hear your pout.

“i know, my sun. i’m dying to see you too, but you need to get ready, huh? get all pretty for me…”

“but i am ready!” you whine, sighing. “i have my dress on, heels, and makeup done. i don’t need anything else! i don’t wanna sit and wait for more to have a hairstyle. you gonna mess it anyways…” you murmur the last part, making him chuckle.

“then you don’t need a hairstyle. you know i’ll find you pretty regardless. you could show up here naked and you’d be the prettiest.” donghyeok wiggles his brows.

“oh, and you’d let other people see your wife naked?” you question, jokingly, and he answers deadpan.

“never. you’re mine.” you chuckle on the other side and he can hear someone calling you. “see, you’re making people wait, do it how you want it. i’ll be here waiting for you.”

donghyeok handed the phone to its owner and he was visibly more relaxed. “ready to go?” mark asked, fixing his tie.

“sure.” and they headed to the wedding place.

when the music started to play, donghyeok was anxious. he could picture your beauty like always, but you never fail to impress him like always. he stood there, waiting for you with eyes closed, deep breathing.

when his eyes opened and he could see you, he could tell two things: first, you were as anxious as him and second, you were a goddess. he was more than right in being completely obsessed with you. how could he not? when you made him the happiest man alive, when you lit up his day when it seemed like everything was going wrong, when you fucking gave him life.

his eyes were wide open, just like his mouth. and being himself, what would be a donghyeok thing he could do there? kneel. right in front of you, like you were some kind of divine creature. and you were.

“can you please stand up? how dare you embarrass me at our wedding?” you scold him, pulling him to stand up. oh, and when you scold him? he loves it!

“just… please promise you’ll never ever leave me. i cook, i clean, i kiss your feet, but never let me live without you. i promise to never make a mistake and to make you happy for our eternity and if you want i can even birth our chil-”

“lee donghyeok, shut up.”

“yes, ma’am.” he takes your hand and you peck his lips.

“i love you more than anything. i could never leave you.” you whisper on his lips, making him smile big.

NA JAEMIN

jaemin is so calm, that the boys almost think he has lost it. from minute to minute, he was smiling to himself and petting the cats, chatting with the guests and enjoying his time “alone” because the moment you show up and start walking towards him, his focus will be solely on you, like all the time.

“okay, so when mommy shows up, you just sit here, right? i know you all love her more than me, and i do too, but you don’t want mommy to trip on you, huh?” jaemin explains to the three white furballs sitting on the little benches he bought them.

“i can’t believe you brought these three troublemakers.” renjun approaches him, petting lucy.

“they’re our kids, how could i not? and chenle brought daegal…” he points to the dog messing with the flowers.

“right… she’s the worst.” renjun accepts. “how do you think she will be today?”

“gorgeous… as always.” jaemin replies in a blink of an eye, smiling to himself. “you know… i’ve always dreamt of this moment since i met her, but now… i just want this fucking time to speed up, ‘cause, damn, i just wanna be with my wife.” he jokes, giggling with his friend.

“you’ll have your whole life, jaem.” he pats his friend’s shoulder. “oh, and your mother asked me to tell you: you better enjoy this party with the guests for, at least, thirty minutes, ‘cause if she notices you and your wife are missing, she’s coming at you. so no babymaking at the party, please, mr. na.”

“but thirty minutes is so long…” he whines and pouts. “how am i supposed to control myself knowing she’s all mine for eternity? knowing i’ll wake up to her by my side every day. knowing she’s already carrying my baby, huh?” jaemin wiggles his eyebrows, causing the other male to gasp.

“she’s what?” renjun says out loud and the groom just shuts him, dismissing curious glances.

“surprise renjunnie, you’re gonna be an uncle.” he smiles widely. “but… care you to keep it a secret until my wife announces it? she’s been planning the perfect moment for weeks.” the other nods, still being shut by his friend. “right.” he checks renjun’s watch. “she may be coming. time to get married, lil’ bro!” he squeezes renjun’s shoulders, pets his cats and stands up, preparing himself.

less than five minutes later, there you were. in white, makeup and hair done nicely, holding your bouquet, and just… endearing. how could he have found the most perfect woman in his life? and he’s about to be yours until death do you part.

it was only you. you and him. forget about the music, guests, family, friends, and the place you were. it was just you and him in your own world. the heaven. his eyes were watching you with such love and his wide grin could never be wiped off. for him, you were his goddess, his muse, and every single thing you do is a reason to make him fall in love even more.

the moment you got close to him, jaemin took your hands and planted a chaste kiss on both, before pecking your forehead.

“i have no words to describe what i’m feeling right now, but you are the woman i’ve always dreamt of, and i’m more than glad you let me be yours.”

ZHONG CHENLE

chenle would be proud of himself. of where he is right now, about to create his own family. you are his everything and he couldn’t be more happy about marrying the love of his life. he’d be thinking of you the entire time. he even texted you – what he “shouldn’t”, but did anyways, ‘cause he couldn’t be away from you for two days. he could be all calm outside, but his mind was thinking nonstop. he’d often pet daegal to calm himself.

“you fine?” jisung approaches him, fixing his cufflinks.

“more than i thought i would.” he smiles, still keeping daegal, who was wearing a light blue dress, in his arms.

“do you need something?” the younger asks.

“her. that’s the only thing i need right now. i swear, jisung, if she doesn’t show up in, like, five minutes, i’m gonna combust.” chenle sighs, glancing at the door. he couldn’t wait anymore. he just needs you with him. he just needs his wife.

“ningning spared us an update. she’s ready, crying tears of joy and… gorgeous.” jisung smiles along with his friend.

“i know that. i don’t even need to look at her to know it. she has always been gorgeous, ji. you don’t… shit, you don’t get it. i can’t even describe how much i love to watch her, even when she’s just waking up, she’s the most beautiful sight i’ve ever got to see.” chenle says with dreamy eyes and a silly smile decorating his lips.

“i knew you were head over heels for her, but this… is another level.” jisung rolls his eyes, tapping his best friend’s shoulder. “she’s coming. be ready.”

and he was. he was more than ready to have you as mrs. zhong, by his side for your whole life.

the moment the gates open and you show up, his eyes widen. and there, the realisation hits him hard. he is about to get married to the woman he loves the most. he is about to start his own family. chenle can’t help but let some tears fall from his eyes. you are his happiness and he’s more than sure of that.

“i…” he lets his words die on the tip of his tongue. “i want you to know that you make me the happiest man in the world every day. from the time you wake up, to the time you sleep, you’re always by my side and i’m grateful for having you as now my wife.” chenle pecks your forehead, making you cry even more of joy.

PARK JISUNG

jisung would be in undeniable despair. boy would be so nervous he had fainted like two times before going to your wedding place. he couldn’t believe that out of the others, he was the first to get married, but what to do? he was sure it was you who he wanted in his life forever. you were the love of his life, why wait any more? he just didn’t imagine all of this would be so desperate. but, in fact, he hadn’t much time to get nervous when he had his friends teasing him for life.

“jisung why don’t you sit here, drink this water and try to relax?” renjun asks in a calming voice, handing him a glass of water, which was gladly accepted by the younger.

“i can’t believe our little jisung is getting married before me.” haechan whines, making the groom roll his eyes.

“maybe if you had, at least, a girlfriend you could think of getting married before me.” jisung says in a low tone, standing up.

“wow! hey! why the wildness?” donghyeok scoffs, crossing his arms.

“when she will be here, jaemin?” he asks his friend, who is too busy flirting with one of the guests. “i swear to god… i have useless friends.” jisung murmurs, but renjun clears his throat, clearly disapproving of his opinion, for him at least. “i’m gonna call her.”

“no, no. you can’t do it!” jeno interrupts the younger, who was already taking his phone. “don’t you know it gives you bad luck?”

“you know what else gives bad luck? me not being able to see my wife!” jisung smiles, averting his guest’s curious glances.

“yeah, your wife, man! didn’t even get married and is already claiming her.” chenle cheers, patting the groom’s back, teasing the poor boy.

“i’ll make sure to not invite any of you for our vow renewal.” jisung grits his teeth. “neither our children's birthday, haechan.” he adds, sensing something about to come from the older male.

“and i’m the delusional one… bro is already thinking of children…” haechan says dismissively.

“again, i’m the one getting married. i can think about it.”

“i’m ignoring you right now. you’re getting wilder each day about our love life.”

“if you had one…” mark shows up, catching his best friend’s tantrums. haechan scoffs, looking at the other. “man, you’re ready? she’s about to come.” when these words come out of mark’s mouth, jisung’s eyes just lighten up.

as soon as you show up, jisung can’t help but shed his first tears, that’ll soon turn into a whole sobbing seeing you walking calmly at him. and you can’t help but laugh a little at him. you knew he would cry, but you thought he’d wait a little longer.

“babe, it’s okay…” you say in a soothing voice, drying his tears while caressing his cheeks.

“you think i’m a crybaby now.” he says, sobbing. “but you’re just too beautiful and we’re getting married, i’m so happy.”

“oh, don’t worry love, i knew you were a crybaby from the start.” he deadpans, for a while, his tears stop falling. “and i love you even more for that. you’re sensitive, cute, and the love of my life. i couldn’t have chosen the best husband.” you boop his nome, before pecking it.

“fuck… i love you so much, i’d go to the moon for you.”

[quarterlifekitty]

When I saw the Weaknesses blurb I was going to ask if you'd care to expand on König and his clingy s.o. THEN I SAW THAT YOU DID AND SCRUMPT A SCREAM. I love clingy headconnons. Purely because I'm clingy in a cat like manner (aka annoying) and extremely emotionally needy. Imagine König sitting on the couch texting Horangi while his s.o. has their head in his lap. He hasn't looked down in almost a minute so she reaches up and knocks the phone out of his hands. Does she have something to say? No. But his attention was needed. Or König is making breakfast and his s.o. comes up to him half asleep, hugs him from behind, bites his shoulder blade hard enough for him to roll the muscle to get her to release him, then she rests her head on his back and goes to sleep. Now his movements are limited because he might accidentally knock her off his back. (I just swoon over someone accepting the annoying and goofy parts of their partner.)

Keep scrumpting babygirl 😈

König just looooves how much attention you demand. He loves it when you hide things that keep him away from you…. He just thinks it’s too cute for words. Before you lived together, you’d wake up first and put on his shirt and boxers so he wouldn’t have enough clothing to leave. He likes it when you pull his phone from his hands (he lets it go easily, he could keep it from you if he wanted). And when you lean really far and put it on the far corner of the coffee table, as if he couldn’t just get up and get it.

And you’re not above kicking his shoes under the couch so it takes a few extra minutes before he can leave for work.

Whenever he’s doing something and you just come in and park yourself by or on him, without saying a word, like it’s the most natural thing in the world— he feels so painfully domestic. It makes him wanna keep you forever. When you play with his hands he wonders about your ring size.

But maybe his favorite thing is favorite thing is when you wake him up in the middle of the night, needy. He’ll always ask what’s the matter, lammchen? In that smug, slightly groggy voice, but he knows why you’re waking him up, grinding on him and whining.

And my god. When he wakes up in the morning with you practically on top of him. When you stretch and moan and blink awake slowly, looking at him so you can say “I missed you”. The idea that you miss him not just when he’s out of the house, not just when he’s in another room, but when he’s asleep. That’s how you guarantee that you get fucked in the morning.

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Holidays

“I should’ve had kids with you.”

summary: in which ford reminisces and thinks about what could’ve been and what once was

warnings: gender neutral reader mostly but there’s a line about you having his kids so take that as you will

word count: 1.2k

notes: halloween is over which means some festive ish things like this are coming!!

The words fell from his lips as if they held less weight than his usual late night words he shared with you.

“I should’ve had kids with you.”

He breathed the sentence into your neck as he got comfortable in the bed you share. It was a warm sigh that made your eyes widen as his arms moved around your waist.

You snap out of the tired trance you were in as you look at him. He’s an older version of the man you fell in love with at nineteen. The wrinkles by his eyes and slight signs of aging almost make you happy because he just looks so cute growing old with you.

After everything with the portal, you never thought your husband would come back to you. When Stan took over his identity, you were fake married to Stan. You didn’t kiss or do anything married people do other than taxes so it obviously didn’t fill the Ford-shaped hole in your heart.

When Ford came back, you were a wreck. Things hadn’t exactly ended well. You snapped just days before the portal incident. He had pushed you away and you saw him less and less so seeing him again brought back all the feelings of neglect and abandonment. But he slowly crept his way back into your heart, how could he not?

He still has that same sweet smile and the same eyes. So you worked it out. And now he spends more time with you because being away from you proved to him even more than before that he loved you. God, he loved you. His heart beats for you. He married you, for fucks sake.

He never thought he’d ever even get married. When his father gave him his suit for his wedding, he assumed he’d wear it to accept a nobel prize. Then there he was in that suit, promising you forever in front of all of your friends and family.

He missed you so badly while he was gone and he swore he would find his way back to you. To your arms, your lips, that smile that could kill him. He loves you.

“I should’ve settled down with you instead of going along with Bill. I should’ve given you babies and built you a bigger house. I wish I gave my life to you in more apparent ways.” He says, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your neck to really feel your presence. Your skin is soft and he breathes in again, feeling like his heart is completely and utterly safe with you.

You don’t know what to say. Your fingers freeze in his hair as you think about his words. His soft and quiet confession about what he wishes happened. And then you both begin silently thinking about what did happen. And that leads to mourning what could have been.

“I know it might be dumb but I think about it a lot. You know, what it would’ve been like to settle down with you. I think about picket fences and kids and holidays. I like Mabel’s philosophy on holidays. I like to think that’s how things would be at our house. We celebrate all holidays. Winter would’ve been especially fun for our kids, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, every holiday.” He muses.

You’re silent for a moment, just listening to him talk, feeling his words wrap around you like a warm blanket. His voice is softer than you’re used to, almost reverent, as he talks about the life you could have had together. And with each word, you feel that old ache start to surface, the one that you thought you’d buried years ago.

Being completely honest, there was a point in your life where the baby-fever overtook you. You wanted a baby with your husband. You wanted the life he described. But then you came to your senses. Ford isn’t that kind of man and you didn’t want him to be. You loved the man he was. You still do. And your heart was never swayed completely one way or the other. So you let it go and you never came back to it because you were happy.

Even now, there’s no bitterness. Just that quiet sadness, a gentle ache that’s soothed by the feeling of his arms around you, his hand gently rubbing your back as he continues.

“I can picture it so clearly, a little girl with your eyes and my stubborn streak,” He says, his voice catching on the thought. “Or maybe a boy who’d want to be just like you. Who’d look at you the way I do—like you’re the whole world.”

You can’t help but wonder if he thinks about this often, if he lets these thoughts creep in late at night, the way you sometimes do. There’s something both comforting and heartbreaking about knowing you’re not alone in that.

After a moment, you brush a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence beside you, grounding you.

“Ford,” You whisper, gently tracing the lines on his face, “You don’t mean that. It’s a nice thought. It really is. I would’ve loved to have that life with you. Kids, Christmas, fences. I would’ve had your kids in an instant if you wanted that. But you didn’t because you love your job and that’s enough for you. And you being happy was enough for me.”

He leans into your touch, eyes closing as if he’s absorbing the truth of your words.

“I know,” He murmurs. “I just…I wanted to give you so much more. More than this little cottage, more than my late-night ramblings and scars and regrets. You deserved a quieter life, one without…all the running, the danger. You deserved a less flighty husband who finds god in a cave and causes the end of the world.”

“But this is the life we have,” You remind him, gently tilting his chin up so he has to look at you. “And you’re here. That’s all I ever wanted. All those things you’re talking about—the picket fences, the holidays—they’re nice. But this is what we have, and it’s enough for me.”

His hand finds yours, fingers threading through with a familiar warmth. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening, as if seeing you for the first time all over again. And he feels it again going through his heart that he’s so in love with you. His heart is always gonna belong to you.

“You’re enough for me too,” He says, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, you both lay there in a comfortable silence, each lost in your thoughts, holding onto each other as if to prove that you’re here, that you found your way back from everything that tried to tear you apart.

“You know, maybe it’s not too late to have some of that. Maybe we don’t need the picket fence, but we could still make our own traditions. We could…we could still have holidays like Mabel would. Just you and me, celebrating everything.” He speaks up.

“Well, then, Happy Holidays, my love.” You press a quick kiss to his nose and everything in him warms for you.

“Happy Holidays, my darling.”

[avocado-writing]

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

*eats your words*

no but seriously, your writing has me kicking my feet when I’m supposed to be typing an essay 😞‼️ I was wondering if you could do some headcanons for the companions x monk! Tav who, when being confessed to, Tav responds with “it’ll pass”?

basically fleabag inspired 😍‼️ please and thank you! stay safe n warm 🔫

OH GOD HEARTBREAKING i tried to make it have a happy ending tho!!! enjoy! and I'm so glad that you enjoy my writing! (mild nsfw mentions)

writing as if you're saying this because you think you wouldn't be the best option for their future, one way or another, and want to try and soften the blow for them by replying like this. you only want them to be happy and you're scared it can't be with you.

Astarion

you cup his face, and the look in your eyes is so, so sad.

you think perhaps your simple nomadic lifestyle will not be enough for him. you love him, you do, but he needs someone more modern. more cosmopolitan.

when you tell him it will pass you see a myriad of expressions cross his face: sadness, confusion, anger... but finally, resolve.

he takes your hand in his, firmly.

"my heart. I know when things will pass, and when they won't. my love for you is not some trifle, a fashion to be abandoned like it would go out of style. I mean it. I can make my own decisions, and I have decided where I want to be. It's with you."

he reaches out to embrace you. you're surprised, but let him do it anyway, and you bury your face into his neck to hide your emotions.

maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you hold him tighter than ever that night.

Gale

you're worried he is too smart for you. that he will get bored of you, and the idea breaks your heart.

you tell him "it'll pass" when he confesses because you're scared.

seems actually offended that you'd tell him his love for you might be fleeting.

"there are things which will span the ages. stories, gods, heroes. my love for you is one of them. I do not confess that lightly. you are a beacon of hope in my life, love... and that will never fade."

goes on for some time afterwards about how committed he is and how much he loves you, until eventually you accept that he's not going anywhere.

bloody wizards, so good with their words...

fall asleep that night after having the most intimate lovemaking session, all about feeling each other's breath and heartbeats.

he is here to stay, forever.

Wyll

wyll deserves someone amazing. someone who could handle his life if he became duke, and you're scared you'll let him down.

when you tell him 'it'll pass' he is hurt, and leaves the conversation for a moment. you think perhaps it is for the best. you don't need this to cause any more pain.

but later he comes to find you and asks if he can have a private moment. you find out he wasn't hiding from you but preparing: he has a little intimate picnic set up where you can sit and be alone.

when you're comfortable he tells you about how deep his love is, how fate has thrown you together.

"there is nothing about how i feel about you that could pass. nothing."

to prove his point, he slips to his knee, and that is when he proposes.

you're overcome with emotion. you have to accept how committed to you he is, and work out if you deserve something as fierce as his love.

there are tears in your eyes when you accept. you never think his love will pass again.

Karlach

probably the hardest one to say this too. together, your future is so uncertain. it will be easier to break it off here rather than maim both of you.

gets angry. in fact, goes into a rage. tears up the surroundings, and for a moment you're taken aback--

but then she turns and she's sobbing, stuck at the midpoint between being apoplectic and brokenhearted.

"you don't get to decide that for me! you don't! you're the first person i've loved... I've touched... I've felt anything for, for a fucking decade! when i feel this, it doesn't fade! how dare you think about yourself like that? as if you're some sort of phase?"

eventually she calms down enough but bursts into tears instead. you go to hold her and she embraces you so tightly that the wind is knocked from your body.

"i love you. i won't leave you. don't leave me." her voice is tiny.

how could you ever say no? how could you ever doubt her?

when the two of you are in Avernus, you're reminded of this moment, and so glad she fought against it. you'd trade this away for nothing.

Lae'zel

would she want someone like you? long term? she's so brave, so fierce. what if you're not good enough? what if your relationship develops only for you to let her down?

she gets angry too, but quieter.

is furious that you would question her affection.

"githyanki do not give their devotion lightly. the fact that you think my love for you could pass makes me wonder how well you know me."

it turns into an argument where you try and explain your side, and she's angry at you for thinking this way.

eventually it descends into angrily making out. some fierce lovemaking. her saying how much she loves you, possesses you, between every bite and kiss.

you lie in the afterglow. she says she will not leave, and pretty much tells you that you won't either. you agree, and tangle your hand with hers.

Shadowheart

tries to hide how hurt she is.

yes, Shar is the lady of loss, but the idea of losing you... of not having you in her life? unthinkable.

you only tried to tell her it will pass so that, if she wishes to become a dark justiciar, she will have no lingering attachment to you after.

and yet...

it is blasphemy for her, but she refuses to let you go.

"no. i won't allow it. i can't believe this will fade between us. you are the most precious thing to me. stay."

you're weak for her, end up tumbling into bed, reconfirming your love for each other.

you never quite believe that this is forever until she changes her hair, embraces selune. then your heart is full of joy. and it is full of Shadowheart.

[xlatrina]

Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

$$$   $$$   $$$

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!). 

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

Mr. Big (AKA Mr. Huge Face)

Big mf tease.

Loves to mess with you. Finds it funny to watch you run around in circles as he keeps rotating the room.

The exit’s this way! …Oop! Nope. The exit’s that way! No, no, over there!

Soon, you find yourself whipping your head back and forth, totally lost.

“Wait, which way did I come from again? I came from that way, right?” You’ll ask yourself.

Mr. Big will just chuckle at you and reach for your little frame (well, relative to his own frame).

Truth be told, Mr. Big gets a kick out of seeing you jump in surprise and scream every time you see him. You’d think you’d get used to his shenanigans, but… well, evidently not!

If this big bully playful giant becomes more interested in you, you may find yourself in a super uncomfortable position, to be honest.

Like, he may very well take “playing God” here to a whole ‘nother level. So, like, he’ll probably just straight up get rid of the exits and entrances altogether.

At least for a little while… so he can observe you.

His favorite little plaything❣️

This sensation might be rather odd and unfamiliar to Mr. Big.

After all, he’s something that’s existed in this other world for… well, forever, really.

He’s never felt this way before… or has he?

If he has, it’s been entirely too long.

It’s just cute, you know? Watching this adorable little thing dart back and forth across the room.

There are times you give up on running, though, and you simply accept your fate.

Mr. Big takes that opportunity to scoop you into his palm.

He’ll try to talk to you.

“Why you no run?” He may ask. Or, maybe he’ll ask something like, “You no move. Not ok? Not alive?”

… Is he teasing you or is he seriously asking if you’re still alive?

You’ll squirm a little in his grasp, and he’ll grin and cackle like a witch.

Ah, so his favorite specimen is still kicking it after all!

At some point, you become his Barbie.

He frequently changes the room you’re in with a flair of style that you’ve never seen him do before.

From a chic studio apartment to a modern family home with a stunning living room to a burgundy brick loft and more…

Where the hell did he get all this inspiration from??

Probably those discarded magazines that fall in after the earthquakes...

Wherever he gets these ideas from, it appears obvious to you that this served as a means of softening you up for your lowkey forced newfound home in Mr. Big’s dollhouse.

He provides you with the basics for life, at least.

Shelter, clothing, soap, water, food…

What do you mean you won’t eat undeterminable meat??

“You no like?”

“...”

“How interesting,” Mr. Big’ll say.

He’s smiling… but his smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

He’s pissed.

As a means of surviving a little longer, you decide to humor Mr. Big by pretending to eat the meat. It’s difficult to pull off, but you’ve managed to fake eating for a while.

He’s trying to figure out why you’re body constantly growls, though…

“Body make sound? Why? You ok? Need more food?” He’ll ask.

As much as you wanna deny it, it’s becoming painfully obvious that you’re fucking starving.

But you really don’t wanna eat whatever mystery meat Mr. Big keeps trying to serve…

Well, you always have the option to give a limb of some kind to Mr. Gap in exchange for recognizable food. Or maybe information or other odd things you could request.

As much as the price hurts, one thing you could never say is Mr. Gap doesn’t deliver every time!!

As for Mr. Big, well…

It’s kinda nice realizing how doting he can be, actually.

Since he’s always watching you from a bird’s eye view, there really isn’t anything Mr. Big doesn’t know about you.

He’s gotten really good at guessing your needs —often well before even you realize you’re desiring something!

He can tell when the room gets too hot or cold for you, and he’ll usually rearrange the room for better air circulation.

He’ll build the room into a puzzle of some kind so you don’t get bored!

In those times, he can tell when a room’s puzzle is becoming too difficult for you to solve, and so sometimes, when he wants to be nice, he’ll slowly tuck a large finger into the area. From there, he’ll push things around accordingly until you figure out how to solve it on your own.

As a partner of some kind, Mr. Big is super attentive. Again, nothing really gets past him.

You might think Mr. Big doesn’t recognize the way you crawl over to an old bookcase and peer beneath it for minutes at a time...

You might think he doesn’t hear the faint whispering after a moment of quiet...

Hell —you might even think he doesn’t recognize the way you “eat” the food he’s provided you in a specific corner near a hole in the wall. Like he can’t recognize how much thinner you’ve gotten over the last few weeks…

But he does. 

He sees you, he perceives you.

And he doesn’t plan to stop ����‍❤️‍👨.

You’re his little toy!! 🧸

He’s Mattel, and you’re Barbie.

That’s how things are between you two now.

Forever.

… But hey, it’s not all bad!

Soon, you’ll open up to him.

Especially when he begins finding ways to limit the amount of holes or dark pits around the area.

I mean… he’s not necessarily that bad, right?

He’s attentive, doting (in his own way), providing, and —so long as you remain in his territory —you’ll never have to worry about facing the potential dangers of the Apartments!

Because the only real danger that could really harm you here is him…

You’ll soon find yourself talking to Mr. Big on your own accord.

“Why you big? Where is place? Who you?”

“My body not small. Is normal. Where is place? Me not know,” And he’ll chuckle —loud, deep, and rumbly. Then, he’ll finally answer with, “Who me? …Me not say!”

Ugh, fucking asshole!

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]

[lastoneout]

Honestly, I don't say it often bcs I know how this site is but I really do think for a lot of survivors of abuse, especially abuse that went on for years and years, sometimes the message "it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong/to deserve this" while ABSOLUTELY TRUE* isn't actually super helpful. For a lot of us there's a LOT of guilt tied into it, and even if things were truly out of our hands we will not be able to accept that we are truly blameless, at least not at first, and maybe for some of us not ever. So being told "no dw you didn't do anything wrong <3 <3 you're innocent" feels...idk like some toxic positivity style lies. It doesn't make me feel better, because I still do feel like there were things that happened that were my fault, that were in my control, even an ethicist or god or whoever could look me dead in the eyes, weigh all the facts, and assure me of my complete innocence, and I still wouldn't believe it. (Tbh, you have to be ready to forgive yourself and trying to force it early does more harm than good.)

And I occasionally see movies and shows and stuff get roasted all to hell for having the audacity to go with a different message, to offer abused characters not a platitude about how they are innocent and should forgive themselves asap, but instead say "so what if it was your fault? so what if you fucked up? you're still alive, you still have time, your mistakes(or perceived mistakes) don't make you irredeemable scum who deserves to suffer, it's okay that you fucked up, what matters is what you do next, and even if the horrible thing was your fault in one way or another or you did actually hurt people, you still did NOT deserve to be hurt in turn" because people think that is like, admitting that the person in question is at fault when they almost always aren't....but as an actual survior, I'm sorry, you can tell me I'm innocent till the cows come home and I won't believe it. What I need to hear is that even if it was my fault I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I still deserve help. I deserve to keep going. I am not forever stained by my mistakes. I deserve a future free from this pain.

I think before we look at things in this like...grand moral way where we try to make sure we're sending the most Correct and Healthy Message Possible, sometimes it's worth asking if that message is actually the one the people it's about need to hear. I'm sure for some people it is very freeing to be told it's not their fault, but that kind of message does not resonate with me. And I, as well as people like me, deserve to expirience stories about us that are cathartic, that resonate, that make us feel seen, and to not have to see everyone and their mom throw a fit because what helps us is "problematic".

Anyway this has been mulling around in my head for a while and I def have a lot more to say about the way guilt manifests in trauma born of abuse, but yeah I just feel like this is something that should be talked about when we bring up abuse narratives and how well written they are and if they send the Correct Message, because the "Correct Message" is never going to be the same for everyone. And that's true of ANY demographic you could choose to represent!

Like some disabled people might enjoy the "magically healed" trope while others find it offensive. Some trans people like stories where transitioning is easy as drinking a potion or getting a fancy futuristic surgery and some find that that trivializes their struggles. Some queer people want stories where there's just no homophobia at all, others find that a world without it feels fake and patronizing. Some women do want to read stories about how keeping hearth and home is noble and empowering and others want read about women who have other jobs and never have kids or get married. For some of us "you're beautiful no matter what" is lovely and some of us just want to be told being fat and hairy and having acne and scars and shit is normal and fine. Or, like the last post I reblogged says, sometimes "you're not a burden" doesn't hit as well as "being a burden isn't a bad thing". No one type of representation is ever going to work for everyone, and that doesn't mean one type of rep is objectively wrong and the other is objectively right.

So yeah, the next time you find yourself angry because you think a story is sending the wrong message about a marginalized or harmed group, maybe stop for a second to ask yourself if it's actually harmful...or if you're not the person who the story is speaking to, and if there's someone it is talking to who desperately needs to hear what it has to say.

(*Getting ahead of this now: Do not put words in my mouth. I am not saying that any abused person in any way deserved their abuse or was at fault for it happening, that is not up for debate. The fault is always in the hands of the person who chose to hurt them. I'm just saying it's nuanced and complicated and guilt is a huge fucking issue that survivors have to deal with all the time and it's not wrong to acknowledge that some of us are always going to feel like we did something wrong and not be eased by being told otherwise even if the person saying it is 100% correct and/or means well. I do not have time for people who are going to willfully misinterpret me. You will be blocked.)

[avonne-writes]

Happiness, you’re a cat

A HS AU one-shot inspired by @alienoresimagines 's post

I'll probably post this on AO3 tomorrow. Edit: posted on AO3

1.

Bucky hates hospitals. The sterile smell, all the sick and dying people, back-breaking waiting room chairs. Thankfully, he has never had to stay in one overnight, but he did hit his head in a goal post once when he was ten, and his mom spent hours in the ER with him to get his concussion looked at. It was just after his dad left. What a miserable fucking time.

Unsurprisingly, he isn't keen to go back there anytime soon.

He feels like he might have to though, because at the rate things are going, they’re gonna have to amputate his right arm. A few months ago, Brady showed him a gory Reddit thread about a guy who, apparently, fell asleep in the lotus pose and his legs got so fucking wrecked that they had to cut them off. The pose restricted his blood flow or something and they couldn't restore it. He can’t remember how long the man was contorted like that. What's the point of no return?

His elementary school teacher used to tell his mom that Bucky would do crazy things for the people he liked. Well, she must have been right because Bucky's going to risk his arm just to let Gale sleep for an hour longer.

Gale. Gale, Gale, Gale.

Bucky's heart skips a beat every time he lets himself stop for a moment and think about things. Happiness floods his chest and makes his limbs thrum with excited energy. Three of them. His right arm is currently fighting for its life, crushed under Gale’s curled up body. But he puts the pins and needles out of his mind and concentrates on the positives.

Gale has been his boyfriend for a whole month now. A month! Bucky's longest relationship so far lasted three. He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that this means that they may be past one third of their time together. He can’t think about that or he’ll get anxious. Who knows, perhaps they'll stay together forever. It was their one-month anniversary today - Gale said it was stupid to call it anniversary because the word literally comes from "year" in Latin, but he did accept Bucky's invitation to watch a movie with him in Bucky's room.

Since Gale is a total movie nerd, Bucky was looking forward to showing him Moneyball, but Gale pillowed his head on Bucky’s chest and fell asleep ten minutes in. The movie is at two thirds now, and Bucky's arm is on fire from being pinned so long.

He doesn’t care.

He turns his head to look at Gale the best he can, and he knows that all the pain is worth it a thousand times over. So close that his eyes can’t focus, he sees the slope of Gale's nose, his long, pale eyelashes and the soft, parted lips he spent an hour kissing yesterday. Bucky has never had anyone sleep on him before. It’s the most amazing, comforting feeling he has ever experienced. They breathe together. Gale's body is warm against his, and his arm draped across Bucky's torso fills Bucky's stomach with butterflies. God, he wants to reach out and stroke it. There are small moles sprinkled on it. There’s one on the heel of Gale's palm, and he’s aching to pull it to his mouth and kiss it.

Ah, why is he such a loser? Gale is right here in his arms, in his bed, and he’s still in pain because he wants more and he knows it's too much and his crush is so bad, so... ugh, it's fucking embarrassing. Bucky flushes hot and cold, then hot again. Happy in his misery.

He'd feel it if his arm was beyond saving, wouldn’t he? Or, technically, he wouldn’t feel it. That would be the sign, he thinks. Prickling pain is good.

Gale told him he had trouble sleeping lately. What's a better anniversary present than letting him rest as long as he needs it?

It's a bigger problem that Bucky can’t pay attention to the movie anymore. His senses are entirely consumed by Gale. The weight of him. His blond hair. His smell. Bucky takes a deeper breath, trying to memorize it. If it clings to his clothes, he’s gonna hide them from his mom and sleep with them tonight. Gale is like an angel in his sleep, and he just wants to - to squeeze him tight and never let him go. Man, he needs help...

Unable to resist any longer, he raises his - still alive - left hand and brushes Gale's right with a fingertip. When Gale’s breathing doesn’t change, Bucky smiles to himself and starts tracing the lines of Gale's bones with his index finger, then the divots of his wrist. He draws a J over the back of Gale's hand, then a heart. He’s just about to start a G when the skin shifts under his touch, and Gale’s inhale hitches.

The moment Gale's consciousness returns, he shoots up into a sitting position, lifting all the weight that has been crushing Bucky's arm at once. Bucky whines and sobs dramatically in pain, so much so, that after a moment, Gale starts snickering.

"What are you doing?"

"Pins and needles." Bucky gasps and sits up too, shaking his arm desperately.

Gale rubs his forehead like some middle-aged dad looking at his dumbass kid. Bucky grins in return. He doesn’t know why but he enjoys this. The sight of his smile makes Gale laugh again. His chin-length hair is flat on the side that rested on Bucky’s chest, and there's a blush creeping up his neck.

"Sorry for falling asleep." He says. Bucky can’t look away from the blue of his eyes. He’s hypnotized.

"You can always sleep here."

Gale casts his gaze down, then glances back up, a little shy. "Thanks, Bucky."

"I would've let them amputate it for you." Bucky tells him, holding out his arm.

Gale gives him a look of pained amusement. "Do I even want to know what you're talking about?"

"Brady showed me this thread -" Bucky launches into the story, happy to be able to talk to Gale again after more than an hour of silence. Gale listens to him attentively, and when he slips his hand into Bucky's, Bucky's suddenly aware that none of the nerves died in his palm. They're very much alive and pump giddiness into his veins. Moneyball draws to a climax in the background, forgotten.

~~~

2.

It's 4 p.m., and the bright-hot light of the sun blasts Bucky's face through the window of their apartment. He’s lying on his back in their bed, and Gale is asleep in his embrace, his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky's arm tingles with pinprickles of pain. Volume so low it's almost muted, a movie drones on in their TV.

It's Moneyball again.

The irony isn’t lost on Bucky. Every single time he tried to watch this thing with Gale in the six years they’ve been together, Gale fell asleep. Every. Single. Time. He’s starting to think it’s some sort of message he's supposed to understand. John, stop making me watch baseball films and footage. Or, John, I have a Pavlovian reflex to nod off as soon as I hear the word baseball. He can hear these things in Gale's voice, although Gale would never say them, only Bucky would if he did an impression of Gale. It would make Gale laugh, so Bucky grins up at the ceiling just imagining it.

Fuck, his arm hurts like a bitch. And the sun feels like fingers made of light trying to pry his eyes open. His t-shirt is growing damp with sweat at the collar. Over his head, with some effort, he manages to grab Gale's actual pillow, the one Gale discarded in favour of Bucky's chest. Bucky puts it on his own face to block out the light and tries to fall asleep too.

This exam period has been a real clusterfuck. He was on coffee 24/7, would have walked around with an IV drip of the stuff if he could, just to push through. Gale simply reverted to his antisocial insomniac persona, and they decided by mutual silent agreement not to even try to touch each other until it was over.

It's done and dealt with now. Grades added in their college accounts, pat on the head received gracefully by Gale for being the only one who passed Applied Nuclear Physics on the first try. Obligatory Let's get wasted! party attended two days ago, call with Mom suffered through hungover yesterday. Now, there's nothing else on Bucky’s agenda but sleep for 48 hours straight. And making Gale watch Moneyball.

He's gonna make him do it before they get married, he swears.

Gale is so tired that he’s sleeping with his mouth open. Bucky can tell. It doesn’t take a genius, given the suspicious damp spot he feels on his shirt. He doesn’t mind a bit of drool. Or a lot. He’s gonna let Gale sleep as long as he needs.

But by God, his arm feels like it’s gonna skip the whole amputation step and just fall right off. He yawns against the pillow on his face and tries to take his mind off it.

He can smell Gale's scent on the fabric, he notes happily. Gale's left leg is tangled with his own, Gale's once icy foot tucked against his calf, now warmed by Bucky's heat. You have the coldest feet in the whole fucking galaxy, he informed Gale a few weeks ago, sitting on the couch with Gale's legs on his lap. Gale just pressed one of those feet to the tender skin of Bucky’s inner thigh, half inside his shorts, and told Bucky to guess the size of the Milky Way or lose a piece of clothing.

There's a reason why Bucky isn't the one planning to be an Astrophysicist...

He wonders what it’s going to be like once they graduate. His heart skips a beat. Does Gale hope for the same things he does? They've talked about marriage in the abstract, playing around with the fantasy of it for a bit, but it's not a fantasy anymore. It’s within reach, Bucky can feel it. And that suddenly makes his hopes so much harder to share - he’s scared of losing them all on a mistake.

But now that their exams are done, it can occupy all his thoughts again.

It's time. Anticipation thrums through his bones. He has been aching for it long enough. He’s got the ring. All he needs to do is ask.

Drifting between daydreams and reality, he reaches for Gale’s hand on his abdomen. He traces his knuckles with his thumb and lingers on his bare ring finger, lost in thought.

When Gale pulls in a sharper breath, he shifts his touch to Gale's wrist.

Gale groans and lifts his head away from the wet spot on Bucky’s shirt. Blood flows rapidly back to Bucky's arm and makes him grunt in pain. He tries to shake the pins and needles out of his limb, while Gale just climbs over him like some lazy cat and collapses on his other side. He takes up the same pose he had before, just mirrored, but upon noticing the pillow on Bucky’s head, he nuzzles his way closer until both of their faces are covered by it. They're pressed so close together that the tip of Bucky's nose brushes Gale's cheek.

"We've blinds." He mumbles.

Gale hums and falls back asleep. Bucky’s arm lies squished under him. Moneyball stays on until the end credits roll down.

[andy-wm]

his “coming out” should not be in any way shape or form be connected to jungkook. idk why you shippers can’t leave them tf alone when they’re not dating ffs.

[Select.font=sarcasm]

Oooh I am so glad you came here to tell me this, Anon! You are clearly well informed on both Jimin’s life, and "coming out".

I didn't even know that "coming out" needs to be in inverted commas. Thank you for helping me understand.

I also didn't know what his "coming out" should or should not be! I didn't know there were rules for "coming out"! I'm so grateful to have this information now.

I hope you've also told Jimin how he should "come out"?

I hope he listens to you since obviously, you have his happiness at heart.

Because "coming out" with no significant other to support him - and facing the inevitable repercussions alone - that would DEFINITELY make things better for him, right?

Also we all know how much Jimin LOVES being alone, so naturally we should wish that for him.

Objectively, he would be happier if he was single I guess? Because having a secure and healthy long term relationship with someone who loves and supports you is known to be pretty shit. Makes sense... that's why nobody looks for love. They certainly don't write songs about love.

Ever.

People aspire to being isolated, like Jimin showed us this with his song Serendipity.

When he sang "just let me love you" he probably meant he wanted to be single and live alone forever in his bubble. That makes sense.

And of course they aren't dating!

You're right, there's absolutely nothing special between Jimin and Jungkook. They are 100% platonic and good pals.

It would be ridiculous to look at them and see love and intimacy.

I dont know what love looks like, but this is not it...

Definitely not this either.

Just friends here.

So friendly!

Brothers even!

Keeping to the bro code here too, 100%

Absolutely no crossing of boundaries here....

I always caress my friend's clothes when I sing their own love song back to them. Especially when my face is less than a foot from their face. It's very platonic.

Anyway, there's no reason to think they might be dating.

Why would people even think they COULD be?

It's unimaginable.

Society has never ignored or dismissed loving romantic relationships between same-sex couples, and that's certainly not what you're doing. Not at all. You just know they aren't dating because ... reasons.

I'm sure you don't object to Jimin being gay because that would be homophobic (you even know how he should "come out"). If that was the case you might as well just get a tattoo of an L on your forehead and throw away all your Jimin merch because our boy is gayer than a rainbow cake. Gayer even than the rainbow cake his appa has *always in stock* in his coffee shop in Busan.

And if you generously tolerate his gayness, i imagine you will allow that one day he could date (definitely not now, because he probably has no interest in sex. He's too busy working and anyway he has ARMY to love him) yeah, but not now please.

But one day he could have a nice boyfriend who sits beside him on the sofa and smiles benignly and holds his hand like a good boy.

Definitely NOT one that sings about fucking night after night seven days a week, or watching in 3D, or DEAR GOD... the imagery... champagne confetti.

Not someone who sings Sam Smith songs on his Live, or who goes around whacking off fire hydrants in his music videos or miming blow jobs on national tv.

Not someone that demands you see him as an adult who enjoys adult things and wont accept your judgement of him. Not one who puts boundaries in place.

Not someone who (the audacity!) lies in bed naked and begs Jimin to come over.

And that brings us to the villain of our story:

JEON JUNGKOOK

I guess, since you will allow a relationship in theory, you just object to the idea of a relationship specifically with Jungkook.

And I can see why. Jungkook very obviously has no interest in Jimin’s happiness. Jungkook doesn't support him at all.

He doesn't hold jimin when he cries, he doesn't spam us with Jimin content when Jimin has a comeback, he doesn't cook Jimin’s favourite food for him, or fold his underpants while he does his own laundry.

He doesn't take him on trips to Japan, or send thirst-trap messages for his birthday, or play his songs, or sing on his albums.

He doesn't carry him, bridal style, any time Jimin jumps into his arms, and I can guarantee you that he doesn't let Jimin fuck him just the way Jimin likes it, as often as he wants it, wherever and whenever he gets the chance. And vice versa.

They didn't enlist in the military as companions, after all.

So reallly, what would Jungkook even know about Jimin's happiness?

What could he POSSIBLY know about Jimin that you don't know. Nothing, right?

What could POSSIBLY happen behind closed doors and away from the camera, that you don't see with your third eye and your vivid imagination? Again, nothing. You know ALL, right?

[Deselect.font=sarcasm]

I think we've covered everything?

Theres only one thing left to say i guess.

Whoever you are, you'd do well to consider whose happiness you're supporting.

If you don't support what makes Jimin happy, you don't support Jimin. Period.

[poppy-metal]

creep!au art is going crazy. he wants to know who you are sooooooooo badly. he’s been back and forth about guilt and about being disturbed (which if he’s honest ended a long time ago, ended as soon as he saw that sweet cunt) and about what kind of person you must be, what kind of person he must be to take advantage of your troubled mental state. because you really are troubled. it’s not just the act of leaving him these notes. it’s the notes. you say things that make his skin crawl and his cock throb, and he’s starting to not be able to tell the difference. even after you begin texting you still leave him notes. the notes become more graphic, as you’re more reserved over text.

you smell good today. sometimes i want to eat you because i think you’d taste like marshmallow. but that would be wrong.

you’re so strong. i love your arms. would you hit me if i asked you to? i probably deserve it a little for all i put you through. haha. just know you could hurt me forever and i’d still be yours

after all we’ve done together, i have to wonder if you’ve been with any other girls. i hate that. i would never tell you what to do, but it hurts my heart to think you could need anything but me. i would do anything for you. i’d light myself on fire if you asked me to. i would. no one can give you what i can. i can do anything another girl can do, and with me you’ll know it’s an act of worship. you’re no one else’s god, art. just mine.

you’re not okay. you are sick in the head. but. but you’re so sweet. and no one has ever loved him so much. no one ever would again. you were once in a life time. he lies to himself, tells himself that he wants to find you to get you help, that he would bring you to a psychiatrist and work through your issues together. but he won’t. he knows he won’t, distantly. because whatever is wrong with you to make you stalk someone is what makes you fully, totally and unnaturally his. so yes, he cares about you. yes, you make him harder that what he humanly thought is possible. yes, you scared him a little to start with. but you’re a kitten, clawless in his palms. he wants you to be happy. maybe he doesn’t need to make you better to make you happy. he just needs to accept you as his. if only he could track you down. force you to accept his love like you made him accept yours. because he had no choice, and now he wants choice. he wants you to feel him, in every way. but it’s not fair, because you can find him and he can’t find you. it drives him crazy. as crazy as you are.

no because the power dynamics really do shift.... he starts thinking about how if he really pushed you - threatened to stop talking to you, throw away your notes - you'd crack. but he's come to care about you and he can tell through texting you that you haven't had the best upbringing. you suffer from insecurity, even worse than he does, neglect from both parents - you essentially have no one - no friends, no family, all you have is art.

but presses in little ways, i want to touch you so bad. god, i want your pussy on my tongue. you want me so bad - i love that. you said your virginity is mine? that you're saving it for me? well, i want it. i want to feel you on my cock when i stretch you open for the first time. i wanna see your face when i give it to you.

and you're so needy for it. you never thought art would talk to you like this - there's honestly alot you didn't account for that you should have. you didn't account for how it would feel to be wanted by art. to be wanted at all. you didn't account for how it'd feel to read his messages and feel your self control get thinner and thinner - your fingers aren't enough - you cry on them, weep, because its just not enough - they dont fill you how they should - and art -

god he sends you a video of his cock. says the name he'd given you that might as well be your real name now, hearing it from his lips makes you come alive alive alive - "birdie - fuck -" when he cums and his abs clench and thick ropes of white paint his stomach -

and you wanna taste it so bad - wanna lick it - he rubs the cum onto his fingers and spreads it back over his pink dick - "you should be here." he tells you, and the way he's looking into the camera feels like he really does see you, is really looking at you, there kneeling between his spread legs. "you should be licking me clean."

and you should, you should, you should.

you want to but. whenever you think about him seeing you your stomach rolls itself into knots. it'll kill you if his face twitches in disgust or disappointment. it'd genuinely kill you.

you start thinking - isn't the fantasy nice? is there really a need to meet? maybe you could he content with this.... with being his secret.

you text him one night - I've been so happy lately. why risk it with reality? reality is always disappointing to the fantasy.

im going to call you.

i cant talk..

yeah, i know. I'll talk. just listen.

your phone rings and you pick it up, chewing on your nails. you hear the exhale of his breath on the other line and wonder what he's doing right now. sitting at his desk? his bed? crossed legged or lounging? is the phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek so he can fiddle with his hands or is he holding it to his ear?

he says, "you've fucked me up real bad."

your frown. lips parting but of course you don't speak. he can hear you breathing, though. knows you're listening Intently, as you always are.

"really, do you know that? i used to be normal before you. like - this is fucked. what you're doing. but you made me want it - you said all these -" he sighs. shakes his head - "you said all these things and you made me feel shit and now i can't even be mad at you for it because if you're fucked in the head then so am i for wanting you anyway. but i can't keep -"

he looks at the shoebox he has filled with your notes. almost so full the lid can't even stay fully on.

"- i can't keep doing this, birdie. i dont even know your real name - i know what your pussy looks like but not you - that's insane. Its not enough."

your heart trembles. not enough, you think. not enough, not enough, not enough, not enough. not. enough.

"i need more. I'm graduating next year and - I'm leaving, do you get that? im not staying."

tears prick your eyes. you hadn't wanted to think about that. why was he poking holes in everything?

ill just follow you, you think. ill follow you anywhere.

"and I'll find someone - someone thats not you. and I'll fall in love with her and you'll have to watch that. and i can't prevent it because. well, you know me. i want a family. i want that boring white picket fence life. i want a wife and babies and - im going to have it. with or without you."

he lets that sink in before he continues.

"and im not even saying you're her - i have no fucking idea what could happen when we meet. but. i want to - I just want to see you - "

you hang up. its the first time you've done it.

[signanothername]

Heyo! I love your art so much, as well as your mean girl Nightmare(I've halfway been imagining him with a *little* Regina George every time I've read that on this blog, no apologies for it) I was wondering, how do you think he'd react if Dream, Killer, just somebody who knew of his past just says; "You're just like them. The villagers.". Or ANY variation of that? Just the thought of him being the same as his past abusers, tormenting someone he dislikes, for what, because what have they truly done to deserve it? The idea of becoming the same of those who have hurt him, how would he react to that? I feel like if Dream said it, it would be more of an acceptance of how different his brother is, and how he'll never get his Nightmare that he knew and loved back, because his brother would never do this. Killer might say it to be a lil shit and torment him.

Just a thought I had! Hope you're having an fantastic day!

Hello!!! Thank you so much!! <33333 and good good don’t apologize cause it’s completely accurate to think of Regina George and I’m actually guilty of thinking the same thing like honestly fits shhshs

Here’s the Regina George Nightmare we all need

Now back to the main point shdhhd

Y’know funny thing is I can imagine his reaction would definitely differ depending on who says it, if it’s someone like Killer or anyone else other than Dream, I can imagine him feeling slightly offended/angry by it, but it wouldn’t have much of an impact, cause what does Killer truly know? Killer never saw/ known those villagers, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, at least that’s the mindset Nightmare would have, he’d just threaten Killer to zip it or simply throw him across the room

I can’t truly imagine Dream saying such a thing to Nightmare but I can definitely see the opposite with Nightmare saying it to Dream (which cough i already drew before >:) ) but we’re talking hypothetically so let’s talk about how he’d feel if Dream said it cause god, I wholeheartedly believe if Dream said it then hell would break loose

Cause the thing is, Dream was there, he knew those villagers, he knew how they were like and he knew how bad they were, Dream lived those days with him, but even then, while Dream endured a different kind of abuse, the villagers actually loved Dream, and they hated Nightmare, so how could Dream, who never had a single villager lay a finger on him, how could his twin of all people to say to him that he’s like his abusers??? Nightmare would go through the five stages of grief in 5 seconds

He’d be in so much denial, only to settle on pure unfiltered rage, cause how dare Dream, his twin, his blood and magic, tell him that he’s like them?

I can see Nightmare making excuses for his own actions, that he’s only doing all this to make them pay, he’d even say something along the lines of “so what if i am like them??” To convince himself that the idea of being like them doesn’t bother him (all while it fucking eats away at him) I can see Nightmare making excuses for why Dream would think such a thing, “you’re just drained of your magic, you’re confused”

I can see him go after Dream all the more aggressively, intent to kill cause how fucking dare he??

But then I can see the rage and fight leave Nightmare to finally settle on depression and resignation, all while part of him is still (and will forever be) in absolute denial

He knows he’s not like them, he never was and never will be

But why would he be an absolute mess by Dream saying it? Cause I wholeheartedly believe Nightmare would never expect Dream to compare him to the villagers, cause when your own twin says it it just cuts the much much much deeper

Hell I can even see Nightmare actually crying tears of frustration, maybe not in front of Dream cause Nightmare had become so used to isolating himself and keeping his emotions inside, and with his mindset of never wanting to appear weak he’d only let those tears out once he is sure he’s all alone

Because by god, he never thought it’d hurt so much to hear those words uttered by his brother, but they did hurt, and he’ll hurt Dream all the much worse for it

(Same to you!! Hope you’re haveing a wonderful day/night <333)

[cosmerelists]

Mistborn Era 1 Characters Read The Mistborn Era 2 Books

As requested by @foxofscadrial :)

[Spoilers, as you might imagine, from all of Mistborn Era 1 & 2!]

I've done this for Stormlight a couple of times: Stormlight characters read the The Stormlight Archive (link here) and they also read just the Kaladin chapters (link here). Now we're going to have the characters from Mistborn Era 1 sit down to read the Era 2 series: how will they react?

Now, just for the record...some of these characters are in both eras. For those characters, it's their Era 1 version doing the reacting, if that makes sense--like they're seeing their own futures.

1. Vin Live Reactions

Vin: This world seems so beautiful... So green... So vibrant... I'm gonna cry... Vin: THE STATUES OF ME AND ELEND 😭 Vin: Wow. I wish *I* had guns. Guns seem cool. Vin: It.....feels weird that everyone wants to be me. Like, sometimes I barely wanted to be me. Vin: ....Allrianne set the gender norms? I'm so sorry, women. Vin: TENSOOOOOOON! That speech about me...I can't take it... Vin: Killing a whole building of people, huh? Been there, Wax. Been there. Vin: I'm kinda glad Sazed became god. It seems like a hard job. Glad I didn't get it. Vin: ...Man. I REALLY wish we had guns!

2. Lord Ruler

Lord Ruler: Ugh, it's even worse than I imagined. Lord Ruler: Everything was so STABLE and SAFE under my rule. Lord Ruler: And now people have "freedom" and "fun"...and giraffes for some reason. Lord Ruler: You all are gonna do SO bad in the Cosmere-wide fight. Lord Ruler: Good riddance. Lord Ruler: ... Lord Ruler: Also, that guy who ends up taking over--Lord Mistborn or whatever. Lord Ruler: Who even is he???

3. Sazed

Sazed: ... Sazed: ... Sazed: I seem stressed.

4. Marsh

Marsh: ... Marsh: So, it seems that I never escape from my brother's shenanigans. Marsh: ... Marsh: Strangely comforting, I'll admit.

5. Elend Live Reactions

Elend: Heck yeah. Democracy. Elend: Huh. The noble houses stayed, huh? I just...don't know how I feel about that. Elend: Wait a sec....did they just recreate the noble/skaa divisions but with hereditary nobility versus workers? Elend: No...don't be crazy, Elend. At least it's not horrible slavery. Things are better! Way better! Elend: Ugh, are they abusing the outer cities too?? That train system is so horribly inefficient!! Elend: Is it too late for me to tutor Spook in legislative philosophy???

6. Breeze & Allrianne

Allrianne: Omg, Breeze, can you believe it? Our ancestor is the hero! Breeze: Seems like quite a...scruffy independent fellow. Allrianne: Not a Rioter OR a Soother, though... That's unfortunate... Breeze: Wears nice suits in the Rough, though. Now THAT I can get behind. Allrianne: I think we did good. 🩷

7. Spook

Spook: Well. Spook: Huh. Spook: Knowing that my street slang is gonna be High Imperial one day... Spook: That might be just enough to get me through all this alive.

8. TenSoon

TenSoon: I could imagine many fates for myself. TenSoon: Serving humans and the Lord Ruler forever. TenSoon: Being killed. TenSoon: Undertaking the Resolution and turning back into a mistwraith. TenSoon: ... TenSoon: Inspiring a line of stuffed toys for human children was NOT something I ever considered. TenSoon: I'm so glad I met the Ascendant Warrior.

9. Tindwyl

Tindwyl: It is...gratifying to see that the Terris people have survived. Tindwyl: And that feruchemy has survived with us. Tindwyl: *tsks* Naming a street after me, though. It would be more valuable for them to come to understand the real us, rather than mythologizing us to such a degree. Tindwyl: Wax naming his daughter after me, however... Tindwyl: ... Tindwyl: That honor I will accept.

10. Kelsier Live Reactions

(Note: This is the living Final Empire version of the character)

Kelsier: ........There are HOW many metals?!? Kelsier: Heh. Flowers. You would have loved that, Mare. Kelsier: Oof, no Mistborn. That's kinda harsh. Kelsier: YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING ME--THEY CALLED IT ELENDEL?! (muttering) They could have at LEAST called it Vindale. Kelsier: "Ascendant Warrior," huh? That's my girl. Kelsier: "High Imperial." LOL. Kelsier: Omg, Marsh?! Marsh?!? Kelsier: SAZED IS GOD?! Kelsier: Heh, nice to know I have a crew in any reality. Kelsier: Yeah. I think I'm gonna be fine.

[tang3r1n]

cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.