#but i haven’t touched the doc in a while

[mittenlady]

me when college is less in a day but also more in a day and also wow where did my free time go wow

[gaylittleguys]

My bg3 tav August lore that I’m thinking about rn

I (jokingly) made him be aware of immediate failed futures as a way to deal with my reloads, and yay give the poor man some trauma around seeing his friends die over and over again when he’s already got strong saviour issues lmao. Which I have also incorporated my near-restart into as making a deal with idk. The Time Being. to have a second chance and be sent back with a few vague memories of what happened the first time. (Also greying his hair, doubling as a way to differentiate the timelines) I’ve also decided to give him some warlock magic when I levelled up, as a boon from his choice from the Time Being or whatever. It’s fun playing with something that’s completely my own doing with him lol but it does still have consequences in how I’m playing.

I’m almosttttt at where I was on the first go. Excited to see how things will go when I’m back in completely uncharted territory again!

[generalsmemories]

Admiral, the general is touch-deprived.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: "Please do one if you haven’t where Jing Yuan is severely down bad for reader and makes it known to everyone and they are just done with him"

✧ content: established relationship, fluff, make-out scene, humor, mentions of other characters

✧ a/n: where did almost 100 of you come- bless this ask for making me write needy jing yuan i love you. not beta-read again anyway buckle up this is another one of unfiltered shame for my love for one mere general with a silly thunder lord that he nicknamed shin-kun in the jp dub because the official title was way too long for this old man.

this was written in a google doc on the phone since I'm on vacation so I apologize if the formatting is messier than the first post 🫡

There's tension in the air.

"... As for Stargazer Navidia, there seems to be another onslaught of mara-struck cloud knights making their way within the area in the next few days. I'll appoint Lieutenant Yanqing to lead a few troops there by the next hour, but be sure to send a messenger cycrane if the situation gets too out of hand or you need to divide the troops up to cover more ground."

You hear a loud "Yes!" as you flip over to the next page, quickly scanning through the documents contents, purposefully ignoring the tension in the air, muttering the details lowly to yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

It's the sort of tension you wish everyone just ignored, even though it's more difficult than it sounds.

Perhaps being fed up with your avoidance of ignoring the elephant in the room, one of the captains of the Knights loudly cough into the air before meekly addressing you, "Admiral [Name]?"

"Yes?" you look up with a smile, cocking your head to the side. A small gesture to ensure the captain that they have your full attention which makes the knight before you quickly glance to the side and away from you, although that didn't help the pair of eyes boring a hole into the side of his head, "The general…" he starts, coughing once again while glancing back and forth at you and the weapons displayed at the seat of Divine Foresight, "... Would very much like your attention, it seems."

As if on cue, the arms that were wrapped around your waist squeeze a bit tighter than normal. The sudden pressure makes you let out a grunt of surprise while Qingzu lets out another exhausted sigh. Meanwhile you glance down to lock eyes with Jing Yuan, who very much is staring at you with a small pout evident on his lips, "Oh so my darling has finally acknowledged my existence?" he jokes with a grin, meanwhile you merely stare down back at him with a neutral expression before resting your left arm carrying the paperwork on his gray head. The general uses the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your waist, playfully biting into an exposed part of your skin from where his hand had wormed itself underneath your shirt, making you squirm away from him, to which he immediately grabs your back into his hold.

"If you haven't noticed dear, you're practically leeching onto me to the point I can't even stand at my usual side, that is to per say in front of the desk and not literally quite next to you and within your arms." You whisper to him gently. Flicking his forehead before whipping your head around to address the Cloud Knights before your husband can say anything in his defense.

You ignore the looks of disbelief on some of the soldiers' faces.

"I apologize for the awkwardness this position may cause, I can only hope for your understanding being that I've been away from the Luofu for a few months helping Marshal Fua with some matters at her fleet. I've only recently come back." you explain, gesturing Qingzu over to hand over the paperwork to her before waving your hand with a guilty smile, "You're all dismissed, please be safe out there."

"Lady Fu Xuan, how may I be of assis-"

"Are you two arguing or something?" Fu Xuan interrupts before you can even finish your sentence which leaves you staring wide eyed at her with your mouth agape, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure who you're referring to-"

"The general. I'm referring to general Jing Yuan, who else would I be referring to? He sits around the seat of Divine Foresight like a kicked puppy. Which makes it even harder to get any information in OR to him because he's not even mentally present! Can you fix him? Wonderful! Let's make haste to the seat."

You're not even allowed to finish your cup of tea or give an answer before the divination commissioner grabs you by the forearms and drags you out of the teahouse.

"Jing-" you haven't even taken one step into the seat of Divine Foresight before you're surrounded by the familiar scent of your husband. A gentle hand placed by your head while an arm is tightly wound around your waist. You can practically feel the smile of utter glee on Jing Yuan's lips as he buries his face into your hair.

"Darling, I thought you had the day off today?" he mutters into your hair, sounding a bit too happy to have you in his arms again to the point he's ignoring the death glares from Fu Xuan besides you, the divination commissioner just wanting to do her part of keeping the Luofu afloat.

"I was having my day off, before Lady Fu Xuan here dragged me out because someone didn't-" you struggle free to nag at him, but your husband merely smiles softly at you before lifting your chin to give you a quick kiss, "Now that you're here I feel more energized than ever, let me finish the paperwork for today and I'll join you, we can even play a round of starchess." he suggests.

You can practically sense Fu Xuan roll her eyes in disgust, able to hear her mutter about a "lovesick fool" before walking past the two of you, Jing Yuan merely grabbing your hand to lead you towards the seat.

So much for a day off.

You can't breathe.

"Jing-" another press of his lips onto yours as you find yourself pressed on the wall beside the door, "Yanqing-" you manage to breathe out when finally able to pull a tiny bit away from him. Pressing your hand over whatever surface of his face you can reach to try to shove him away, your other hand occupied with bracing itself against the wall.

Your husband ignores your literal hand on his face, somehow having more strength to still slant his lips across your own despite your efforts, the hand he has behind your head pushing you further against him while he shoves a leg between your own to keep you still, "Train-"

There's a rather loud set of knocks on your bedroom door followed by an exasperated sigh coming from behind it, which makes you freeze but Jing Yuan ignores it, sliding his tongue over your teeth while you resign yourself to slam your fist repeatedly on his back to get him to back off.

"General! I know you missed [Name] a lot during the months they were away from the Luofu, but you know that today is supposed to be a training day!" Yanqing shouts from behind the door, and you feel sorry over the realization he's aware of what's happening beyond it.

Feeling sorry enough for Yanqing whose probably already waited 15 minutes before knocking at the door, you muster whatever little strength you have left against your husband's addictive lips to grab his ponytail and yank him off and away from you.

Jing Yuan merely grunts in irritation, looking at you with a glare and swollen lips, but you ignore him. Opening the door before Jing Yuan can grab you again and giving Yanqing an apologetic look, "I tried-"

"It's better than last time, at least." He points out to which you merely sigh before opening the door wider, "I'll give you more pocket money this month, how's that for compensation?" You suggest, shoving your husband out the door before he do anything else, Yanqing smiling in triumph at your generosity.

"You're the best! Give me extra if I manage to land a few hits on the general?"

"5 more than usual and I'll give you an extra thousand." You settle, tapping Jing Yuan on the shoulder. Your husband turns around to face you with a hum, and you lean in to peck him on the cheek, gliding your lips over to his ear, "If you're a bit nicer to him today you'll also get a reward."

Needless to say, there were two very happy boys onboard the Luofu at the end of the day.

[starsinthesky5]

dating joe burrow (headcannons) || joe burrow x reader

description: little things about you and joe’s relationship 💗💗

a/n: this was a request I got! (request can be found here) i haven’t tried this before so im feeling it out :) the fact that it took me the whole week to write this is wild 😭 let me know if you guys like this or have any thoughts, ideas, whatever 💗

side note- almost had a heart attack because i thought none of this saved. this is what i get for writing directly in my tumblr drafts and not google docs first like usual

word count: 4.1 k

warnings: allusions to smut

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he’s a total gentleman. he's always opening your doors for you, carrying your bags, and you never have to ask him to. he just does it on his own, it was a sweet unspoken rule. he says that he knows you’re incredibly capable of doing things on your own and he loves that about you, but he says you always deserve ‘the princess treatment’ and no princess should ever break a sweat or struggle with anything 

he’s always holding your hand when you two are walking together. he hated when you couldn't hold hands because it made him feel far away from you (even if you were right next to him). holding your soft hand, running his thumb along your soft skin, and having your fingers intertwined was the best feeling in the world for joe 

when you're out on the streets, he's always watching out for anything you might step on or walk into such as puddles, uneven surfaces, or grates where your heel may get caught in. you joked that he was like your personal bodyguard, and he took on that role and title proudly. he said that guarding you was a more important job than being a quarterback for a billion-dollar franchise--that's how much he cared for you 

he wasn’t a big touchy-feely guy, but with you? with you it was a completely different story. his hands were always on you, his lips were always pressing sweet kisses around some part of your body, and he was so addicted to you. when he was with you, touching you was all he could think about and when he wasn't with you, he was always fantasizing about the next time he was 

he loves kissing your neck. sometimes a little roughly to leave a few pretty marks so 'everyone knew who you belonged to' but sometimes very sweetly & gently. so many sweet kisses. his soft lips left no part of your body untouched. he was so soft around you compared to the way he was around friends, his teammates, and family. the second it was just the two of you, he became a little baby--your little baby--and was the most precious thing on the planet

you two could be watching a movie on the couch and somehow his head would end up in the crook of your neck, all his focus on kissing your soft skin instead of what was happening on the TV screen 

this would happen when you were trying to finish up some stuff for work too. you would be typing away on your computer and he'd be sitting next to you, so bored and in need of attention from you. he'd start pressing light kisses around your collarbone, and then move up your neck, his kisses getting rougher and more alluring. next thing you knew, your computer was on the floor along with a pile of both your clothes 

he loves it when you thread your fingers through his soft hair while he lays his head on your chest, which he also loves. he loved laying his head on your chest because something about hearing your heartbeat made him feel safe, feel at peace. his arms always wrapped around your middle and his cheek was always squished against your breasts. he just adored it--maybe even for a few other reasons too ;). seeing him like that after a hard day at practice or after a rigorous workout brought you so much satisfaction. you made him feel like that. he didn't need anything else to make him feel like that, just you. it was that simple 

he’s always giving you his full attention when you’re talking. it’s like you’re the only person in the room for him. you two could be on the sidelines of paycor right before kickoff, surrounded by thousands of fans and football players, but you’re the only person he’d be able to see and hear. the rest of the world disappears around him whenever he hears your pretty voice 

your family love love loves joe. 

initially, when you told them you were seeing someone and that someone was joe burrow, they didn’t believe you. they couldn’t believe that you bagged a football player, specifically the star quarterback, and you were slightly offended for a second but their initial reaction made the look on their faces even more enjoyable when you brought joe to your hometown for the first time with no warning 

joe was so nervous to meet your family, it was honestly so cute. he was so quiet and trying to keep calm the entire way to your parents' house. joe was the most confidant person and the most shy person you knew. the cool guy persona he sported every game day was there, but so was the adorable little shy baby that got in his head about things sometimes. he just wanted to be perfect for your family, wanted to show that he was the right man for their perfect & special daughter

your family loved him as soon as they saw him carefully help you out of his car, holding your hand tightly, and leading you to the front door all while making sure that your dress wasn't showing too much because of how intense the wind was that day. he was an absolute gentleman for you, and they loved that

he hit it off with your family within 10 minutes of being at your house, it was insane. he had so much in common with your siblings and even had great conversations with your parents. there was no silence in the house that day because everything was just constantly flowing naturally

he was most anxious around your dad but all of his nerves disappeared once he called joe out to the porch for a drink after dinner. joe thought he was about to get the 'you're a professional athlete, I know how they roll and I'll make your life hell if you break my daughter's heart' talk, but it was the complete opposite. your dad told him how thankful he was to joe for being in your life, for putting that everlasting smile on your face, for making you feel loved in a way you never had been loved before. that's what joe needed to hear, that he was doing good with you. doing good for you 

he’s so respectful to your parents and even addressed them as ‘sir and ma’am’ for a good second. you tried to tell him it was alright to refer to them by their first names, but he felt awkward about it because of how much respect he had for them even though this was his first time meeting them

eventually, he started calling them by their first names. you could see that he was getting more and more comfortable around them and didn’t feel the need to hold up a super suave act. he could be himself around you and your family, they felt like home to him. you felt like home to him

joe's parents loved you as soon as they met you as well 

they were so thrilled that joe had a woman like you in his life. someone who showed him so much love, care, and support 

you weren't super nervous to meet them, mostly because he gave you no time to be. he knew that if he told you in advance that you were going to Athens, you'd freak the hell out. so that's why he told you about 30 minutes before you reached his parent's house. you figured that he was just taking you someplace like a park to go on a walk or something simple like that, not to meet his freaking parents 

joe loved that he could bring you home to his family. he loved that he could show you around Athens and experience all the things he did growing up but in a new light because you were with him

he brought you to his favorite spots to eat, his favorite places to go on walks, his favorite shops, and places he spent a lot of time while growing up. he even snuck you into the football stadium--his football stadium--at the high school one night. joe remembered feeling his heart explode at the sight of your beaming smile once you stepped onto the field and saw his name plastered around the stadium. you just felt so proud of him and your entire body showed that. that's the moment he knew he loved you

he said those three special words, those eight letters, to you first. it came out so nonchalantly one night like it was something that was meant to roll off his tongue that easily. hearing those three words come from his mouth for the first time felt so right, like the stars and planets aligned specifically for you both in this moment. 

the funny thing was, he said it as you guys were stargazing. you were lying on a big blanket in his backyard and watching the planets & stars together

you were looking up at the sky and there was a big smile on your face as you counted how many stars you could see. joe also had a big smile on his face, but not because of the stars. it was because of you. he was looking over at you, thinking about how he was genuinely the happiest he had ever been in his life at this moment, how things finally felt right in his life. it was all because of you

"the stars make me think about how infinite the universe is, but even with all that endless space, the thing I want most in the world is right here next to me. being with you makes everything else feel small, like all I need is right here," he said to you

and then he ended his sweet small speech with an adorable, sorta quiet because he felt nervous, 'i love you'

you felt your heart explode when you heard him say those three words. the same three words you wanted to say to him since the day you met. you had never loved someone like you loved joe, this was so special and you both knew it 

his house was so clean and organized, the exact opposite of what you thought it'd be like when you first came over. you thought it would be full-on bachelor pad, messy, boy vibes. but it really wasn't. it was clean, organized, well-decorated, and it stayed like that. it really felt like a man lived there, not a boy. and joe was a man all right, that was very clear 

joe loved to send you cheesy football puns. his personal favs were "you're the touchdown to my game-winning drive", "you've intercepted my heart and I'm not even mad about it", and "you're the MVP of my heart"

lots of late-night snack runs after prime-time games. it was honestly insane to you at first because you thought he'd want to get home ASAP, but he wanted his sweet treat--and he wasn't just talking about you ;)

he even brings you to practice sometimes. you loved to watch him from the sides, doing his thing and watching him in his element. he sometimes even through the ball back and forth with you before or after practice--always showing off a little to make you laugh

your form had definitely gotten better ever since you started throwing with him. you are learning from the best of the best

joe's closet is your closet. he loves it when you take his shirts and hoodies. you love how big his stuff is on you and also how everything smells just like him. it's even better when he's away and you're missing him. his scent is always on you no matter what

joe's always there for you whenever you come home from a hard day at work or are just having a shitty day in general. he's always there, holding you against his chest, letting you soak his shirt with your tears while he presses soft kisses on your forehead and listens to you vent about everything

he knows how hard you work, so it breaks his heart to see you crack under pressure or feel like you weren't doing enough. he gave the best advice and was the best listener, having him in your corner was the best thing that could've happened to you

it was also the best thing that could've happened to him. you were his escape from the pressure that the football life brought. his peace after all the chaos that transpired on the field. his calm within the storm

joe likes to get up early, like early early. he says that he likes to get the most out of the day, which is fair. but it's honestly so bad because you hate getting up early, but his adorable morning smile makes up for it. it's the first thing you're graced with when you get up

when he wakes up, you wake up (even if you feel like dying because it's so early). he always ends up laying his head on your chest as he presses kisses along your skin, your fingers lightly scratching his scalp at the same time. it's the best way to wake up in all honesty. in each other's embrace, all warm, cozy, and secure

he's so cute in the morning. his hair is all messy and he has this raspy voice that makes you want to pounce on him, even if it is still a little dark outside as the sun isn't even fully up. 

during the off-season, he made it a rule that he'd cook you breakfast at least twice a week. joe wasn't the best cook (he was learning) so his attempts at cooking breakfast were always so sweet to watch 

also because watching him cook breakfast half-naked was like personal porn for you. his tan, bare, muscular back was the star of the show

he'd attempt to make you french toast, pancakes, waffles, literally anything your heart desired. he got better each time he made you food, but also because he'd help you out whenever you made dinner so he picked up on a few skills 

it was pretty funny whenever he'd have breakfast fails. like the first time he tried to make french toast, he burnt them and one piece even caught on fire. it was so funny to watch him run around frantically trying to make sure he didn't burn the house down

he loved to help you out when you made dinner. he made himself your little sous chef, helping you out in any way he could. he'd turn on some music so you two danced around in the kitchen as you cooked together, it was something so simple but it brought you two so much joy

your favorite songs to dance around to together were disco by surf curse, my girl by the temptations, angeleyes by abba, heavenly by cigarettes after sex, apocalypse by cigarettes after sex, hunger by ross copperman, pretty boy by the neighbourhood, and lover by taylor swift

sometimes you were so caught up in dancing together that you completely forgot about the food on the stove. the dancing sometimes led to some other things, so naturally, you got distracted. you would end up ordering some chinese takeout and calling it a night whenever that happened 

joe loves kissing you. like a lot 

sure, he loves kissing spots around your body, but nothing could compare to the feeling he'd get when your lips were pressed against his

that man loves his sloppy, sexy, slow makeout sessions more than anything. noses brushing against each other, his hands wandering around your perfect body, tasting each other...it was so good. especially because 90% of the time they led to some other things ;)

joe was so careful with you in that sense. he always made sure you were alright before you two did anything. he never pressured you for anything, everything would be done on your terms 

he's too good in bed. like it's insane. he quite honestly takes your breath away. he can do it all. slow lovemaking & hair-pull worthy, sheet-gripping sex. the way he worshipped your body was truly something out of a fairytale. you'd lose track of time whenever you two got in bed like that, and it was honestly worth it. he was just so damn good. you wanted to stay like that with him as long as you could

he's a lowkey blanket hogger too. he wraps himself in a little burrito blanket, looking all cozy and soft while you stare at him with a straight-lipped face. buttt he caves and lets you into his little blanket burrito. it's so comfy, especially in the winter. the combined heat coming from his body and the blanket made you feel like you were in a soft cocoon 

joe loves it when you call him joey, J, burrito (a funny play on 'burrow'), or JB. you didn't really use his other nicknames such as shiesty, joe cool, or joe brr because it felt wrong. those were all football joe names. your nicknames for joe were just joe names 

he loved that he was just joe to you. he made sure when you first started dating, you got to know just joe. not Cincinnati Bengals star quarterback joe burrow. just joe

you always found joe doing the most normal things super hot and sexy. he could just be sitting on the couch and doing something on his iPad and you'd find yourself drooling (it was definitely because of that man spread that sent you into orbit)

bringing in bags of groceries out of your car, washing the dishes, putting away your laundry for you, cleaning up the kitchen. it was all so fucking hot. he was just so hot 

sometimes while he was doing these things, you'd have an epiphany. you'd realize that he was all yours. nobody else's, just yours. he'd laugh whenever he caught you like this. it was so enchanting to him how you'd randomly become hyperaware that you were his girlfriend and he was your boyfriend 

you and joe love flowers so much. you always surprise him with random flower deliveries (especially after a loss) because you know his face will automatically light up once he sees the beautiful plants. he also scheduled weekly flower deliveries for you. a vase of flowers would be at your door every monday morning, the perfect way to start off the week

he loves to pamper you as well 

he's always buying you things without reason. clothes, jewelry, books, random little knick-knacks. he just loved to show how much he loved you in every shape and form possible

all of your daily jewelry was given to you by him. your two necklaces (one being a necklace with his initial), your 3 bracelets, your 4 rings (two on each hand, one being a promise ring), and your anklet which had 9 citrine orange gemstones in it along with multiple diamonds

proper date nights are a must in your relationship. even during the season, he made sure you had one night in the week where you two went out for dinner together. but you'd also have the best date nights at home

sometimes you just ended up building legos on the floor & watching a silly movie as a date night, but you two loved doing simple things like this. sometimes you'd just eat dinner outside in the backyard together as a date night. sometimes you'd just go on a night stroll together. simple things like that were special because it kept you two grounded. you didn't need to go out and drop $200 on some fancy dinner when you could have the same level of enjoyment by sitting on the floor, building a lego set from 'the office', and stuffing your faces with takeout. as long as you were together, you didn't really care what you did 

he never fails to tell you how amazing you are. those sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear every night before bed were the things you craved the most in your previous relationships. just being told how much you brighten his world, how pretty you are, how easy it is to love you, and other things like that made your day. he never skipped out on telling you those things

you love hearing his laugh. whenever he laughs around you, he laughs with his whole body. it's such a sweet sound, a sound you wish you could hear forever

you were so obsessed with joe’s body. his thick thighs, large muscles, veiny hands, and gorgeous face. he was a literal greek god, it was so hard to believe this man was real. he was equally as obsessed with your body too, and he made sure to show you that almost every night ;) 

your friends love joe so much. they always call him your prince charming, the man who made all your dreams come true and the man who treats you like you're a real-life princess. they always tease you because of how down bad you act for him too. whenever you're with them and joe isn't there, they have to keep a tally of how many times you bring him up or say 'i miss joe'. they find it precious that you act that way for him 

when he first met your best friends over dinner, he was lowkey intimated by them. they're so protective over you, so they had this tough front on. the entire dinner was like a test for him, and he passed it with flying colors

they watched as he paid such close attention to everything you said, how he was holding your hand under the table, how he subtly checked in on you to see if you were comfortable, offering his jacket in case you were cold, stayed off his phone the entire time, his nonchalant & genuine compliments towards you, making sure you were included in all the conversations, actively engaging with your friends and making a genuine effort to get to know them, his gentle touches like placing his arm around you or lightly rubbing your arm, how he spoke so highly of you, how he took care of the small things such as filling your water glass without you even having to ask, the little inside jokes you two had, and noticing and responding to your little signals when you got anxious that only your friends knew about until now

after the dinner, your girls pulled you over and they had the biggest smiles on their faces. they told you to send them a save-the-date invite ASAP because they knew you were going to marry that man. they saw the way he acted around you and that alone was enough to seal the deal 

his friends loved you too. they instantly noticed how perfectly you matched joe's vibe, how happy you made him, and how you were practically made for one another. they called you two peanut butter & jelly; you went together so well

game days were always so fun for you two

you grew up in a football family so you were already a big football girl before you even met joe. being a football players girlfriend was written in the stars for you 

joe didn't believe you initially when you mentioned to him how much you loved football. he thought you were just saying that to impress him. he found out the hard way that you were being serious 

you two were watching a MNF game (prior to actually becoming boyfriend/girlfriend) and your (then) favorite team was playing against one of their longtime rivals. joe's jaw was on the floor the entire game because of how you were screaming at the tv, jumping onto your feet at every bullshit flag & call, and so locked in on everything that was going on 

your keenness towards football made your relationship even more exciting. you'd get to watch your boyfriend do what he loved, which happened to be one of your favorite things in the world

seeing you in his suite every week gave him an extra boost. he knew you were watching him and he wanted to make you proud & happy at all times 

he also loved to see your game-day outfits. seeing his name, his number, his colors all around your body did some unspeakable things to him. sometimes he wondered how fast it would take for anyone to notice he was missing. the storage closet seemed like the prime quickie spot on game days ;) 

you had a routine before kickoff too. you'd go down to the sidelines before the start of the game to give joe a little pep-talk and it always ended with a passionate kiss and little handshake you two made up on your first date (a sort of good luck manifestation tactic). at the end of the game, win or loss, you'd be waiting in the tunnel to give him his post-game kiss and a singular rose (as you know, he loves getting flowers)

the orange rose you gave him after the 2021 AFC championship game (the super-bowl sending game) sits in his office. he got it pressed and plated by a professional, a way to preserve the special memory that the flower held 

the love you two shared was truly something that only came around once every few lifetimes. it was so special, so rare, so exciting 

“every time I look at you, I feel like I’m falling in love all over again. the way you laugh, the way you move, even the way you think—it’s all so beautiful to me. i could spend the rest of my life just watching you be yourself and never get tired of it. i can’t stop thinking about you. you’re always on my mind, like a song stuck on repeat. every time I’m with you, it feels like the world fades away, and all I can see, hear, and feel is you. i’m completely mesmerized with everything about you," he said to you

--The End--

[princelythirsts]

I have a couple recommendations but I want to say I can relate, I tend to gravitate towards more dark / morally grey f/o’s bc I feel like the more light hearted ones wouldn’t really get it. Still, if anyone wants to ship with a less dark character they can, whenever.

that said… my two recommendations are from my own f/o list at some point (I’m cool with sharing) - off the top of my head, my first thoughts were Silco from Arcane

an imposing crime lord who’s ruthless with his enemies - and anyone on his side that steps out of line - but also capable of being soft and loving with people he sees as family, like his adoptive daughter Jinx. he’s very traumatized from a betrayal in his life, and latches onto people he feels have had similar experiences of loss.

second character I recommend - Eddie Gluskin from Outlast: Whistleblower

also deeply traumatized, but gets attached quickly. a bit of a yandere. he’s obsessed with finding the perfect wife* and having the perfect 1950s sitcom life, no matter who he has to kidnap or kill to get it. he’s very violent and idk your limits when it comes to intense / dark subject matter (so if you want more info on Outlast etc let me know). still, he desperately desires a loving spouse and to start a family of his own to make up for the lack of security and safety he had in his own childhood.

*he has a heteronormative idea of romance in canon but I’ve seen him attract thirsty fans of every gender / sexuality etc.

I can check my longer f/o list for more if you want… I tend to like characters who have Seen Shit (ie traumatized) and Done Shit (committed some crimes) and also can be very affectionate, or need some love themselves.

I might have some younger ones but I think it’s mostly like middle aged villains on my f/o list lol.

… actually just talk to me more if you want other recommendations, much of my f/o list is like this but I’m not sure your preferences. like do you want more tragic or more overtly evil characters? young or old? do you want female characters recommended as well? etc

Self-ship struggles

tw: mention of blood and violence and murder.

One of the things I've always struggled with with self-shipping is, I crave to be comforted. My life has been hard. I want to be cuddled, kissed, to be given head-pats and unconditional love, but at the same I have this darker side (probably born from trauma) that loves fictional violence, murder, and gore and I cannot ignore that. I feel like this juxtaposition of needs and kinks can't be reconciled with any of my f/os. 💔

My villain f/os would never give me the soft comfort I need, but I'm too dark for softer f/os to completely accept. *sighs* I need a guy that can do both, and I haven't found them.

Anyone have suggestions or f/o recommendations?

[absolutelynotsanebaby]

I've had this one-shot in my docs for a while, I decided to post it here. It's villain au, specifically a moment in Cole's time in the temple with Yang. You can find more info on this au here. The tag for this au is 'villains.au'.

CW: graphic violence, abuse, blood (in the form of ectoplasma), eye injury.

Fic is under cut:

The door to the bunks slams shut with a deafening bang. 

Cole stares at it from down the hall. Behind him, Lloyd and Nya are crowding but also hiding in a way. They don’t move past his shoulders. Distantly, Cole wonders where Zane is before coming to the conclusion that he’s in the Bridge, staring at a wall or—or something. 

“What’s his problem,” Lloyd hisses, voice suspiciously wet. Cole looks down at him and finds Lloyd’s eyes shining and lip curled up in a scowl, clearly hiding a hurt expression. His cheeks are all red and Cole finds his hand is reaching out to rest on Lloyd’s head.

For a moment Lloyd looks conflicted, face going through a series of expressions—confusion, anger, sadness and then it’s all wiped away. He leans into the touch anyways, though without looking Cole in the eyes.

Cole runs his fingers through his hair softly, thumbling along Lloyd’s forehead. It seems to calm Lloyd some, his shoulders slumping a bit. He looks up at Cole with tired eyes, bags under them, and glances at the bunks.

“Just go sit down, alright?” Cole says, “I’ll talk to Jay.”

Lloyd is quiet for a moment before nodding and walking off.

Not before he mutters ‘what an asshole’ under his breath. Cole almost wants to snort. 

Of course, Nya doesn’t budge.

“Nya—” he starts but she interrupts, hands flying out in an angry motion. 

“No! You can’t—can’t tell me to go sit down!” she yells, her face is all screwed up. She tries to move forward but Cole steps in front of her. She glowers at him.

“I wasn’t going to say that, just…just let me handle him alright?” he explains, hands in a placating manner. 

“I can handle him.”

“I know.”

“He needs to get his head out of his ass,” she says quietly but with a viciousness, “he’s not the...the only one who’s hurt right now. Kai left all of us but he—he’s so—” she breaks off into an angry, growly sound.

“Trust me, I know. It’s just—Nya, he cares about you so much. I don’t want him to say anything to you that the—the both of you would regret, y’know?” Cole says, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulders.

“I don’t love him.” she says back.

“I didn’t say that,” Cole squeezes again. Nya huffs.

“Yeah, yeah you didn’t,” she mumbles, “don’t you worry about it? What he’d say to you?”

“Nah, I got tough skin,” he grins and then hurries to continue before she gets mad, “not that you don’t! I’m just used to Jay, he’s my best friend and all.”

Nya raises an eyebrow, her expression is still pulled taunt and face flushed miserably but it’s—something. “Best friend, right, right, sure.”

She turns around, shrugging out of hands and begins to walk away.

“Hey now, I don’t like you’re implying there.”

Nya throws her hands up in a shrugging motion and turns the corner, exiting Cole’s line of sight.

He lets his shoulders slump. A weary, shaky sigh leaves him, expelling…some sort of feeling into the air. He waves it away. He brings his hand up to his face and just—rubs it. Presses into the crease between his eyebrows with an exhausted sort of energy.

Then he takes a deep breath and squares out his shoulders again. He glances at the bunk door and for good measure, takes another breath. He doesn’t really need to breathe but it makes Cole feel better. More steady.

He walks down the hall, his feet making no sound and grabs the doorknob. He goes still for a moment before turning it and opening the door. The room is dark and cold, they haven’t spent too much time in it as of late. It feels like too much of a reminder, he guesses. Kai’s bed is always empty.

Jay is curled up on—Cole’s bed actually. Cole’s eyes go soft. Jay is laying on his side, knees up to his chest and arms haphazardly thrown in between. Cole can’t see his face, it's covered up by the dark and also Jay’s stupid, curly bangs.

“Is there a reason you’re in my bed?” Cole asks.

Jay takes a moment to answer, “...it’s bigger.”

“It’s not,” Cole says as he sits down. The bed creaks a bit under his weight.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Cole is trying to gather his words but he can’t seem to find them. His tongue is all heavy. He doesn’t know…how to help really. Ever since Kai left there’s been an open wound in the team. He’s done his best but he has the equivalent of duct tape and a dream when what he needs is cement.

Jay’s foot brushes against Cole’s arm. For a second, he thinks it’s an accident but then it happens again. Cole reaches out to brush his fingertips along Jay’s ankle. He’s got a little scar there, he realizes. Just a small nick on the back of his heel. Jay twitches a bit and Cole smiles faintly. He’s always been ticklish.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cole asks quietly, letting the words reverberate into this quiet, vibrating silence they’ve made.

“No,” Jay says back, muffled, “what’s there to talk about.”

“Oh,” Cole’s voice goes deep and soft, “I don’t know, maybe why you’ve been so angry at everyone?”

“I’m not angry.”

“You were just yelling at Lloyd,” Cole recalls, resting his hand on Jay’s ankle, “what’d Lloyd do to you?”

“He—he…” Jay trails off, “...nothing.”

Cole hums, “you can’t keep doing that Jay, they’re getting mad.”

“I’m not,” Cole says.

Jay scoffs, bitter and resentful, “yeah, well, who isn’t mad at me?”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

“I think I got all my ‘mad-at-Jay’ out of my system already,” Cole says, “I don’t know if you remember but we kinda fought. A lot.”

Jay scoffs again but it sounds just a little bit more like a laugh.

Cole squeeze’s his ankle, “come on, Bluebell. Talk to me, it’s what I’m here for.”

Jay goes quiet and Cole resigns himself to waiting again. After a few minutes, Jay finally sits up, he does so slowly, pushing on his arms. Then he flops into a slouched over criss-cross position. He’s still not looking Cole in the eyes but he’ll take what he can.

Jay’s hands begin to mindlessly draw out patterns in the bed sheet. It's an anxious tic, Cole has noticed. He does it when he doesn’t know what to say.

That’s okay, he can start, “Jay, I know you’re mad but what happened with Kai isn’t your faul—”

“It’s not that!” Jay interrupts, then he deflates a little more, “Okay, maybe it’s a little that.”

“Jay–”

“But it’s just—just…how could he just leave like that?” Jay says. Cole’s been thinking the same thing, logically he knows it was that—damned staff. Twisted Kai’s mind. Kai loves them, he has to have faith in that, it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt though. “I can’t be him.”

Jay continues, gesturing desperately like he really wants Cole to understand, “I’m not—good at what he does. The on the spot plans and—and Nya. Lloyd. Hell, I don’t even know how you’re so good with them.”

“Listen, I get it dude. I’m out of my depth too,” he says, squeezing Jay’s knee, “but we just have to hang on.”

“So…” Cole starts, “you’re lashing out at them because you’re…not sure how to help?”

“I—I mean, when you put it like that,” Jay mumbles. Cole pats his knee.

“How long will we have to hang on?” Jay says miserably.

“I…I don’t know, Jay,” Cole says quietly. Jay sighs and then tips sideways onto his shoulder. He rests his head there, staring out forward. Cole slips an arm around his back. Jay leans into it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jay mutters, his voice is shaky, “for being mean. I really am trying but—but I’m probably going to be mean again.” Cole rubs his back.

“I know,” he says back, “but it’s alright, I’ll be there to rein you in.”

“That’s not your job,” Jay turns his head to bury his face into Cole’s shoulder.

“Sure it is.”

Jay goes quiet for a minute or so. He’s all wiry, all bony and thin muscles. Cole wouldn’t call him anything like small or delicate, Cole’s seen him take way too many hits that have sent him into a wall before and his shoulders are too broad but he feels so small sometimes.

Jay shifts, “I miss how warm you were.”

Cole’s hand pauses on his back before continuing to rub. He looks down at his hands, trying to swallow everything down.

“Yeah I—uh,” he takes a very quiet breath, “me too, buddy.”

“It’s not fair, y’know? You and Kai were always so warm but Kai’s gone and now you’re a ghost,” Jay mumbles,”’s not fair.”

“I know,” Cole closes his eyes, “I know.”

Jay opens his mouth to reply but the only thing that comes out of it is the sound of wood smashing against the floor.

Cole startles awake, stumbles and dragging himself away from where he thinks the impact came from. His eyes can’t focus and he’s—he’s still half asleep. He tries to sit up fully but the end of a staff stabs him dead center in the chest and slams him into the ground. His head bounces against the floor and he lets out a pained, shocked noise. 

“Cole, don’t you think it’s time to wake up?”

A staff member hit him in the face, shoving his head to the side. 

“A–Ah–!”

“Get up.”

Cole stumbles up finally, frantically backing away. His eyes—eye finally focus enough to be able to see what’s going on. Yang is standing in front of him, staff clenched in his hand and looking down on him with a vitriol. Cole breathes heavily. His—his eye hurts. It’s not fair that the one type of person who can hurt him without water—another ghost—is the one he’s trapped with.

“Yang,” he whispers. He covers his eye and yanks it back when it comes away—wet? No—No, not wet, just…slimy. His hand is bright green, it sort of looks like blood.

“Ectoplasma,” Yang comments. 

“Ecto—ectoplasma?” he stutters back, his hands shake.

“It’s how a ghost bleeds, child,” Yang says.

Cole backs away but Yang starts to advance. A ghost's steps are supposed to be—quiet, unheard but Yang’s are loud and heavy. Like a beat to a drum that hurts Cole’s ears. 

“Y–Yang,” he stutters, “Yang! Stop!” 

His voice is raw and shakes, his hands twitch out in front of him. He can fight, he’s trained to fight but he’s so—so scared—

“Stop!”

Yang strikes out and Cole screams, ducking lower and stumbling back under the staff that flies over where his head was. He can’t breathe—he can’t think! His feet are tripping over themselves. Yang slams his staff into Cole’s side, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

Cole chokes and grabs at his sides. He screams again when Yang’s staff slams into the ground besides his head. He pushes himself back by his feet, clutching at his side and eye bleeding. He throws his arm up just in time to block another hit to the face. Still it catches his chin and sends a shock wave of pain down his arm.

“Sloppy, weak,” Yang spits, “scared.”

“Yang—” Cole sobs. 

“Did you forget everything Wu taught you?” Yang says, spinning his staff and Cole flinches, sobbing, “or did he not teach you anything at all?”

“Why—why’re you—why’re you do–doing—” Cole’s voice cracks and he flinches again when Yang lifts his staff. He covers his face.

He tries to think—how to stop Yang and punch him in the face and so many other things but he can’t think. His brain’s all muddled up and his eyes bleeding and—and—

He sobs, voice cracking and hitching, crying without any tears. Yang steps forward, until his shadow covers Cole. He forces the end of his staff under Cole’s chin and forces his head to tilt up. He stares Cole dead in his eyes. 

“You need to be trained,” he says lowly.

“I’m not your student!” Cole yells back.

Yang lifts his staff again and Cole—Cole kicks his knees in. Yang flies back with a shout, slamming into the wall. He groans and Cole stumbles up, running away. He runs down the hall, turning the corners so fast he nearly slips. After a moment, he can hear Yang start to follow him.

Cole makes it to the stairs and stumbles up them. Yang catches up and grabs the collar of his shirt. Cole yells, throwing the both of them into the wall, pin–balling between them until Yang lets go with a grunt and a battered body. The walls creak but Cole flies up the stairs. Once he gets to the top, he turns around and kicks Yang down.

Then he continues to run. He’s on the second floor so now he just needs—needs to find somewhere to hide. He turns the corner and finds a series of doors, he freezes, panicking before he hears the sound of Yang stumbling up the stairs.

“F–Fuck,” he sobs and runs to one of the door—he doens’t even know which, just one of them and throws the door open. He runs inside and slams the door shut, his fingers are shaking badly but he manages to lock it. He looks around frantically.

He’s in a—closet? There’s a couple of dusty boxes and chests and Cole hits his knees. He shoves them in front of the door, leaving one behind. He curls behind it, shoving his face between his knees. 

He hears Yang start walking down the hall, his staff tapping ominously. Cole shutters, heaving a breath and struggling to muffle his cries. He slams his hands over his ears but it doesn't drown out the tapping.

He shakily extends his fingers to feel around his eye and flinches when they make contact. It’s—puffy and sticky with ectoplasma. He needs a mirror or something. His hand pats around where he’s curled up blindly. He jolts when he feels something. He runs his fingers over it and its—glass?

He grabs and brings to his face. It’s a glass shard, about as long as his hand and half as wide. The edges are sharp but it shouldn’t hurt him.

He positions it over his eye and sucks in a breath. It’s all swollen, puffed up and bright green. The skin around it is completely black. Ectoplasma is leaking—no longer dripping—out of the socket. Cole bites back a sob and lightly probs it, trying not to flinch.

It—it should heal. 

He hopes so, anyways.

Yang slams his staff into the floor outside his door.

“Cole!” he yells, loud and angry, “come out!”

Cole swallows a sob and presses his hands harder over his ears.

“Cole!”

“Stop—stop,” he whispers wetly, biting onto his knuckles to muffle himself. He curls into a tight, painful ball.

“Cole!” Yang screams, voice ragged and vicious, “this is childish! Come out!” 

“Jay—” Cole sobs.

It takes a long time for the tapping of Yang’s staff to fade away. Cole remains curled up behind the box. 

“They’ll come for me…they’ll come for me…” Cole mumbles into his knees.

“I just have to…wait…”

Jay shoves him down and lays directly onto his chest. He shoves his head under Cole’s chin.

“Oh-ho, sleepy?”

“Just shut up and sleep.”

[dadsbongos]

Hi!!! Hope you’re doing well - I just want to take a moment to gush before I ask something, because I’ve really enjoyed your blog since finding it:

1: your writing is SO good I’ve reread your dunmesh fics several times now & just eat them up every reread. I’m stoked you also have funger content & can’t wait to eat those up

2: your blog’s aesthetic is just 🤌🤌 chefs kiss

3: your chilchuck’s wife fic - I’m convinced you are the chilchuck expert you characterized him so well (& the bit in the 3some fic when he choked the reader ? gulp)

OKAY on the with the actual question: I was wondering if you have any chil thoughts for the chilfuckers? Maybe some sfw / nsfw?

thank youuu :] i'm so glad to provide for the dungeon community with both meshi and funger <3 and also extra glad to make the chilchuck people proud, he's my fav lil man

i have so many chilthoughts bc i am a verified chilfucker i need that middle aged man

nsfw chilthoughts 

MEAN mean man

Likes to make his partners huff and whine, especially if they start haughty or mouthy

Facefucking, especially, for the mouthy ones. Wants to shut you up and make you drool

Lately the thought of Chilchuck fist-fucking a bigger race has been making me sweat… like yeah lil man, get up in that thang… I need to write it. Maybe some dwarven wench who keeps mocking Chil, or an ogre that feels its appropriate to pick n lift him up while working

Schrodinger’s breeder kink - sometimes its all he’s thinking about and sometimes the thought is entirely uninteresting

Touched on it a BIT in my body swap fic but i think Chil has a really sensitive neck and likes being held there (maybe not choked, but grabbed and stroked for sure)

Has a secret goon for younger partners but doesn’t like admitting to it, the taboo of it makes him all hot especially since he knows most other races can’t tell. Like a VERY poorly kept secret that could ruin his distinguished reputation

i also have chilchuck fic ideas that i haven’t fleshed out, but thought it’d be a shame if they sat in my ‘puter unseen:

Idea 1: Reader is a young elf, only about 72, and against all odds began dating Chilchuck. On his 30th birthday, it's brought to attention that you’ll be in your 90s when he dies. Leading to a spiral wherein you’re just trying to live in blissful ignorance to your races’ lifespan difference, and Chilchuck assumes you’re mature enough to handle his death, move on, and remember him fondly… lol… anyway. When Chilchuck dies you study how to maintain your own mana without a dungeon and practice minor healing spells until you can do a full revival, which fails on Chil, so you have to turn to dark magic. Basically rewinding his life until he’s the same age as when you two met and he’s upset you brought him back because YOU could get in major trouble and that’s when you confess you didn’t tell anyone when he died bc you knew you’d bring him back -- and you’re a nutcase that keeps doing this every time he dies despite knowing he wants to die peacefully. Omg loving someone so much you need them at all costs even ruining their perception of you… 

Idea 2: Chilchuck helping a 20-ish(+?) y/o half-foot negotiate a contract for themself and he thinks they’re soooooo cute so they get together, and he’s kinda nervous to bring them around cuz you’re crazy young compared to him. Not even a child to speak of GASP. The party doesn’t notice at ALL cuz they have no idea about anything about half-foot aging and customs -- but his daughters look at him sideways lmao

and this is literally not even a full fic idea but i have a note from my chilchuck master doc for you lol

im so normal about him

[ash5monster01]

Could you pretty please do Marty Mcfly x reader? One where they're friends and they're hanging out in the Doc's garage and marty is showing her everything and idk where to go from there.

I'm so glad you write for him. I feel like he gets no attention!

Thank you!

All of You

Pairing: Marty McFly x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, unreciprocated feelings, self doubt, cheesy lovesick teenagers, soft intimacy. 

Summary: When your lifelong friend and short time crush invites you to spend an evening in Doc’s garage, you don’t expect the outcome it actually brings. 

word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

When you had agreed to join Marty during practice tonight, that is what you had expected him to do. Especially since he was dead set on landing the school dance gig. Yet the second you walk through the doors of Doc's garage that entire plan is thrown to the wind. Marty takes one look at your curious eyes and next you know he's showing you everything the large garage witheld. Every trinket, experiment, odd and end. It started with the clocks, him explaining Doc’s incessant need to collect so many. Then it spiraled from there, a prideful look on his face as he explained all the mystical things the garage held. 

“You know, I’d think you’d be more into science then you actually are based on how much you know about this stuff” you tell him while he’s showing you a particularly weird trinket, not even beginning to understand what it does or at least what Doc says it does. 

“I don’t know, I find it interesting, but science has never really come to me. Not like it does for Doc” Marty shrugs, hands reaching to set down one of Doc’s inventions. You knew he really cared for his relationship with the older man, most likely because he wasn’t all that close with his father. 

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re smart Marty, I’ve known that my whole life” you tell him, hand reaching to squeeze his shoulder and you miss the way he tenses at your touch. The longing in his eyes as he lets the compliment settle into his bloodstream. 

“Don’t you hear Mr. Strickland? You’re a slacker Marty” the boy mocks the teachers voice, flopping onto the couch and closing his eyes. You sigh and move closer to him, taking a seat in the spot beside him before setting a comforting hand on his thigh. 

“You’re not a slacker Marty, in fact you’re one of the most dedicated guys I know. You need to stop being so hard on yourself” you say a touch annoyed. It was exhausting how often you had to remind the boy how amazing he was. His attitude was a direct response from years of watching his Dad think he wasn’t good enough. To you he was one of the most caring and genuine people you knew. 

“I know, but why should I if you’ve got all the confidence I need” he says, a teasing tone and smirk on his face. You roll your eyes and give him a slight shove, trying not to smile when he laughs loudly at the action. 

“It’s exhausting carrying around mine and you’re own confidence. Besides, you need yours to land this band gig. Which brings me to my next point which is you haven’t even attempted to practice yet” you tell him, a pointed but unserious look on your face. If you were being honest he didn’t really need the practice. He was already amazing at what he did. Sometimes he got carried away but that was rock n’ roll, it’s how to was supposed to be. 

“I don’t want to practice. I just want to sit here with you” and he instantly blushes at how whiny and needy he sounds, especially towards his own best friend. You don’t even notice though, trying to mask your own heart stuttering in your chest at the sentiment. 

“If that’s all you want, who am I to complain” you say before readjusting and leaning into him. You try not to focus on how warm he is or the way your palms begin to sweat from nervousness. This was Marty after all, you’re eldest friend and the one person in the world you should be the most comfortable with. Yet the thing about crushes is you couldn’t control the things they will do to you. No matter who it’s on. 

Marty doesn’t expect the closeness but allows it anyway, lifting his arm so you can tuck up underneath his side, lowering it around you the second you’re comfortable. He prays you can’t feel his heart racing in his chest, the way you settle against him so naturally, it made him wish you were his. The one person in this world to love and to keep. Not be held back from kissing you or telling you how he feels every time he fears he will lose you as a friend. 

“You ever wonder what it would be like to be more than friends?” You blurt out, a mix of confidence and desperation causing you to ask the blunt question. Maybe it was easier because he couldn’t see your face. Or maybe it was the annoyance over how you could be so close to him like this and not gain anything from it. You were tired of tip toeing around the fact that he was the one person in this world you truly loved and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

“What?” Marty asks, a bit shocked and thrown off guard and you can’t help the way you stiffen beside him. 

“It’s just, we spend so much time together and I’ve never been uncomfortable. It just seems weird that two people who know each other so intimately haven’t been, well, intimate” you blush a deep red, even the tips of your ears fading into a soft pink, thankful he still couldn’t see your face head on. Yet you thought to soon because Martys hand is grasping your chin, turning to look him in the eye where you can see his own face is a soft shade of pink as well. 

“I’m not really sure what to say” and suddenly you’re embarrassed, that confidence long gone as you begin to shake your head, and fight of the burning feeling at the back of your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I’m being stupid, I shouldn’t of said anything” you start to move away from him, feeling like an idiot and ashamed you would even bring it up. Yet his hand on your arm stops you, your eyes glancing at his grip and then up to meet his own, a desperation and something else entirely bubbling underneath the surface. 

“It’s not stupid, in fact I think about it all the time myself if I’m being honest” he admits sheepishly, eye glancing anywhere but your own and you swear your heart freezes in your chest. Trying to understand what this could really truly mean and if it would mean what you hope it does. 

“Really? And it doesn’t weird you out?” You ask and the boy snorts, trying not to laugh too loudly because you had amused him with such a silly question. 

“Why would it weird me out? Just because I’m your friend doesn’t mean I don’t notice how gorgeous you are. In fact it’s kinda hard not to notice especially since your my favorite person in this world” he says like it’s the most obvious thing and now you’re sure your entire body is fire truck red because the boy you loved just called you gorgeous. 

“Yeah well if you weren’t so damn cute all the time neither of us would be in this predicament” you agree and finally Marty smiles because he knows you. He knows this is your way of joking about your feelings to soften the blow if it doesn’t go your way. That if right now he said he didn’t want you it could be a cushion to protect you from the punch. 

“Hey, I like you more than friends. I never had to wonder because it’s how I always look at you” and you gulp nervously, not expecting the forthcoming honesty, considering this whole conversation had been you both tip toeing around each other. 

“Really?” You ask, voice slightly shaky and mostly hopeful and Marty smiles, pulling you close. When he doesn’t provide an answer you feel the panic begin to swell but then suddenly his nose is nudging against your own, hot breath fanning across you lips, and just like that you’re puddy in the boys hands. His answer comes when his lips press softly against your own, not to desperate but just enough to get the point ocross. It takes a moment to even process what was happening, how you were locking lips with your best friend, but when reality sets in you can’t help how desperately you kiss him back. Needing to feel closer to him in this moment than you ever have. After was feels like hours he finally pulls away, pecking one soft kiss into your lips before his eyes focus into your own.

“Believe me now?” He says, oozing the confidence you had tried to pull out of him when you had first gotten here and you can’t help the way you giggle as you hug him close.

“Yeah, I believe you” 

[noforkingclue]

Hi! Could you write a first kiss with Twelve ? Cute and fluffy. I love your work!!!

Note: requests are currently closed

Aww, thank you so much anon! I hope you like the fic :)

Title: Kisses

You laughed as you and the Doctor burst through the TARDIS doors. You slumped against the wood as the Doctor ran around the TARDIS console. Seeing him run like this, with that much excitement, made you forget just how old he really was. How small you humans must seem to him.

“There,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts, “we’re safe.”

“You sure about that Doc?”

“Have I ever lied to you before?” the Doctor made his way over to you, “and what have I said about calling me ‘Doc’?”

“You know you love it really.”

He stopped directly in front of you and looked down at you. He raised his eyebrows at you and you held out your hand.

“Are you serious?” he asked

“Yes.”

“What,” he leant down slightly, “are you incapable of lifting yourself off the floor.”

“I’m asking for help,” you said, “I thought you liked helping people.”

The Doctor gave you a pointed look before shaking his head.

“I do,” he said, “but you are fully capable of doing this yourself.”

“But Doc-”

“Don’t whine,” he said sternly, “and don’t pout.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes you are.”

Of course the Doctor couldn’t tell you the real reason he wouldn’t (or couldn’t) help you. To touch you, to pull you up and inevitably against him, to have you so close to him. Well, he might do something regrettable. You smiled up at him and wiggled your fingers. Damn it, maybe this time-

You let out a yelp as the TARDIS doors were flung open. You fell backwards and looked up into the confused face of Nardole. Damn it again. The Doctor hadn’t even realised you had landed. Nardole glanced between you and the Doctor before saying in amusement,

“I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

“No,” you said, pushing yourself to your knees, “No. Just the Doctor refusing to help.”

“Refusing to help. Now that is surprising.”

You shrugged and finally got to your feet and left the TARDIS. Nardole walked further into the TARDIS as the Doctor rested against the TARDIS.

“Shut up.” the Doctor said

“I wasn’t going to say anything, sir.”

“You were. You had that annoying look on your face.”

“It’s just my face, sir.”

“Exactly.”

Nardole watched for a second longer as the Doctor continued to fuss about the console.

“I bet you want the human to call you sir.”

“What did I tell you about shutting up.”

*

It had been almost a week until he saw you again. Bill said that you had some coursework due and needed to concentrate. Secretly the Doctor was relieved. He still had the image of you on your knees in front of him and he didn’t want to face you while he still thought of you like that.

You deserved better.

“Anyone home?”

You knocked on the TARDIS door but she let you in anyway. The Doctor glared at the machine but she just twinkled her lights back at him. Even she was betraying him.

“So,” you said slowly as you walked towards him, “sorry I haven’t been around. I had-”

“Coursework,” the Doctor interrupted, “Bill told him.” he added quickly

“Yes,” you shut the door behind you, “I did ask her to pass on the message but you know what she’s like.”

An unusually awkward silence fell between the two. Even in the limitless space of the TARDIS the Doctor suddenly felt claustrophobic.

“So,” you said again, “about last week.”

“Last week?”

You were by his side now. The Doctor could practically feel your body heat and the smell of your perfume was dominating his senses. You nudged him playfully and he finally looked down at you. You smiled up at him and opened your mouth but the Doctor was quicker.

In a flash he was cupping your face and had pressed his lips against yours. You let out a squeak of surprise, a sound which was muffled by his lips. You put your hands on his shoulders and for a moment the Doctor thought you were going to push him away. However, your hands curled against his jacket and pulled him towards you. You broke the kiss far too soon for his liking but the Doctor also knew that humans had a greater need for air.

“Well,” you said, licking your lips, “that took far too long. I didn’t think I was exactly being subtle last week.”

“Subtle?” it hit the Doctor, “you were… flirting with me?”

“Bill’s idea,” you rested your head against his chest, “but I’m not exactly the most flirtatious person in the world.”

“Now then, I definitely think I’m interrupting something.”

You and the Doctor looked over at Nardole. He glanced between you and slowly backed out of the TARDIS.

“I’ll leave you to your,” he waved a hand, “thing.”

“How long before he’ll tell Bill?” you muttered as he left

“Almost immediately.” replied the Doctor

“And no chance of us telling her before him?”

“No chance.”

“That’s what I thought.”

[swampstew]

Can I request Buggy with Fluff N3 for the event? Thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️

Hello anon❤️ Thank you for your submission and patience! I hope you get a chance to read this :) You requested fluff, subtle intimacy, and I give you: [ Simple Touches ] Bandaging/stitching up an injury

Oh Captain, My Captain Buggy

Warnings: None. Fluff and cute stuffs. Ended up sorta sweet n' romantic in a way I wasn't anticipating but Buggy deserves it tbh, cutie but wet n' pathetic King of the Pirates❤️ Word count: 1.1K

“OOOOOWWWWW!”

You push through the pained howls of your Captain as you stitch up his latest injuries. For a man who had eaten the chop-chop fruit, he sure got brutally chopped up by other people more than he should reasonably be.

To be fair, his latest network of contacts involved some intense and no-nonsense individuals. Two in particular who seem to have a rather tight hold on his gorgeous blue head as he did their bidding and processed their contracts.

“DAMNIT Y/N that HURTS!” Buggy hollers at you, tears spilling down his face in pure agony. It makes your heart break. Still you push on.

“It will hurt more if it festers and worsens. Then we’d have to seriously chop pieces off you,” you chide him gently, done with pushing the needle through the tail end of the long gash on his chest. “This is going to sting a bit but I’ll count down from 3. 3—” you tightened the sutures securely before he could hold his breath.

“YYYYEEEEOOOOOWWWW!!!!” his head flew from his neck, as did his hands and feet from his body. “GRR!! YOU ENJOYED THAT TOO MUCH!” he spit at you.

You give him an unimpressed look, “You know that that’s not true. Now get back here. You have some wounds on your face and right hand that need to be disinfected and bandaged. If you can make it through without any complaints, I’ll give you a treat. Sound good?”

His head reattaches to his head but his hand floats down to grip his chin, “A treat? What kind of treat?”

“A nice one. We got a deal?”

With a nod, Buggy reassembles himself and sits still as you inspect each cut and bruise. Washing away the dirt and dried blood, applying a salve on the wounds, and wrapping each one in a bandage or long, woven cotton wrap to soak up any leaking from the cuts. A hushed song brews in your throat and without realizing it, you start to emit the tune from your lips as you patch him up.

Buggy watches you closely as you lightly hum to yourself while you work. Normally, he would literally talk his ass off about anything and everything – but watching you treat him so tenderly has his mouth dry and his mind quiet. Trying to understand the feelings in his chest that you cause him to have with your firm but kind personality. Not understanding why you treat him with such dignity and warmth despite his antics; you’re one of the few people who sees through his bullshit but you also accept it, encourage it even. In his brain playing back all his interactions with you over the last year that you’ve been on his crew to better understand what your deal is.

His eyes bug out of his head for a moment, a memory unearthing itself. With Alvida.

“I think the new doc likes you, Bugs,” she tilted her cowboy covered head at Buggy. When he gave her a confused look, she scoffed and used her head to gesture at you sitting at the bar with his most trusted men. “You’re telling me that you’ve NEVER noticed how much time they manage to spend with you, or how they always talk you up? That they know almost everything about you that not even your own crew knows about?” Buggy scoffed, “Most of my crew are idiots, why would I tell those morons anything?” Alvida gave him a bewildered look, “Then why do you share anything with the doc?” “I don’t share EVERYTHING!” “Oh no? So you haven’t spilled to them how Emperor Shanks is the only man you can respect as the next King of the Pirates?” His hands flew to her face and smothered her speech, “QUIET YOU DAMN WOMAN!”

Buggy felt like an idiot.

That was maybe three months ago.

“All done. You should heal up in no time but if you feel worse, you know where to find me.”

Buggy brought his hand to the back of his neck, “Yeah. Sure.” He wasn’t sure how to pivot from being a crybaby patient to a flashy guy with rizz when he suddenly felt…overly aware of how he acts around you. To be perceived by you and now knowing that you were perceiving him.

“Wh-where’s my treat?”

“Oh that’s right I do owe you a nice one. Wait right here.”

His mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to plan, trying to scheme a charming personality in 2-seconds flat as he watches you go to your desk and pull out a dark bottle. Buggy didn’t notice how attractive your face is as he did just now. He always thought you were the most attractive in the crew in general, but now he was seeing your face. And he found that…he actually quite liked it.

Your step falters are you become aware of his intense stare. You feel…insecure suddenly. Is there something gross on your face or scrubs? Does he not like liquor suddenly? Oh no, is your hair messy?? With a trembling hand you tuck some loose hair behind your ear and lightly touch your scrub as you present the bottle.

“An aged rum that I nicked from our last raid. I hear it’s a grossly expensive brand.”

Buggy took the bottle and rolls it in his hands quietly, not saying anything at all. You watch him nervously, anxiety eating at your gut, a hot flush spreading behind your ears and the back of your neck. You know for a fact that Buggy likes expensive things, no matter what it is. Even if he hates what it actually is, like that time he tried bull fighting fish caviar. He was laid up in your office for a week after that one. He still keeps a preserved jar around, just so he can say he has it on hand.

“I hear it goes well with steak, or something,” you mumble, confidence draining away slowly.

He perks up to that, “Steak? Oh yeah, yes that does sound like a good pairing.” He stands up from the cot and shifts on his feet.

Buggy the Star Clown is shooting his shot.

“If I make Cabaji cook up a few steaks, would you…be interested in joining me for dinner? A flashily impromptu date?”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, that being the last thing you expect to hear from him. You had been certain that you would have to ask him out yourself with all the hints and nudges you gave him in the past seemed to go, well, right over his head.

“Oh! Y-yes that sounds nice!”

Smiling, Buggy turns to exit. Passing through the threshold he turns back to add, “I’ll pick you up at your cabin later. Escort you to the dining hall and all that jazz.” He ducks out of the room.

You’re glad he isn’t there anymore because your knees weaken and you grab the cot in support. Thrilled, you look at your schedule and decide to close up early. The injured would have to stay injured on their time, you had an important date tonight.

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fight The Feeling

Pairing: Wriothesley x reader

Content: mild injuries and medical themes, cursing/sexual language and innuendos, technically coworkers to lovers, not exactly a clear confession, ongoing situationship, reader is a doctor, reader is said to be pretty strong or good at fighting, not really proofread 😅

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: i wrote this several weeks (or months?) ago and i decided to finally finish it up so i could share it! maybe not my best work but i do want to kind of branch out into other fandoms that i enjoy (one piece will forever by my main though!) hope you enjoy!

Sigewinne knocks on the door to your office- a private room within the infirmary of the Fortress of Meropide- before opening it.

“Doctor l/n! His Grace has sustained a serious injury to his shoulder!” she shouts at you while wheeling the man in question in on a stretcher.

He doesn’t look to be in lots of pain, but then again he has a way of putting on a facade even when he is.

You sigh, “Thank you for bringing him here, Sigewinne.”

While pulling on your gloves, Wriothesley stands up from the stretcher, much to Sigewinne’s annoyance.

“Your Grace, let them help you-“ you try and fail to have him sit back down.

He waves you off insisting that ”It’s just my shoulder that’s messed up,” and “the rest of me is perfectly fine.” The Duke says that last part with a secret wink in your direction.

You roll your eyes; he’s always so insistent that his injuries are of no importance and it kills you. With a hand on his good arm, you insist, “Sit, Your Grace. Please.”

He smiles gently and complies, lowering himself onto the patient bed in your office instead of the stretcher this time. “Just for you, Doc.”

You look down at Sigewinne to thank her again, and she leaves your office.

“I can’t believe you entered another fight in the Pankration Ring.”

“I was bored, finished all my paperwork-“

“And so that’s a good reason to go and injure your shoulder?” You gently press at his shoulder to examine it. He winces and you frown- no matter how annoying it is, seeing him in pain is what really bothers you.

“Well, you know how it is down here. Not much entertainment wise- hiss” he sucks in a breath as you touch a particularly tender spot.

“Sorry…” You mutter as you continue cleaning a small open wound on his shoulder. It’s superficial, but it needs to be dealt with before you can bandage his arm for it to stay in place.

“-besides fighting. And you, of course.” Wriothesley lays a hand on your side with a featherlight touch.

But, you resist the temptation to lean in to him in favor of getting him bandaged up first. “Not now.” You hiss and push his hand away.

“Aw, c’mon. You haven’t missed me? You’re not worried?”

“I saw you just this morning… And I always worry about you, because the moment I’m out of sight you go and do stupid shit like this, so I can’t say I’m any more worried than usual.”

Something in your scolding causes a grin to break out across his face. You turn to grab the bandage wraps from your cabinet, and when you turn back around to see him smiling, you frown. “What?”

“You care so much.”

“I’m a doctor. It’s part of the job.”

“Sure, but you wouldn’t be staying all the way down here in the Fortress if it was just a job.”

“Wriothesley!” You scold him once again, scandalized.

“I mean it, y/n.” He lifts his arm for you as you move to start wrapping the bandage around his shoulder. “You could live in any nation you want; and you could be… Well, any kinda doctor you want. But, you’re still here.”

“I like my job here.”

“Tending to wounded boxers?”

“It has its benefits. Plus, you gave me this nice office and my own lab. I have everything I need to conduct my own research on my own time.” You tie off the bandage and meet his intense stare. “I like it here, Wriothesley, really.”

“And I like you, y/n. Really.”

You look back down and start to roll down his sleeve for him. Such a simple gesture, but it exemplifies just how unprofessional your relationship with the Duke has become. “…You can’t just say things like that.”

He grins his wolfish grin again, “Why not? Can’t handle the truth, Doc?”

“It’s not the truth, and it’s not funny enough to be considered a joke. Therefore, it’s a lie.”

“You wound me, y/n. You’re telling me you don’t feel the same for me?”

“No. You’re my boss.”

“Barely. And we’ve slept together before, what’s wrong with admitting you like me?”

“Still; technically my boss.”

“Then, I give you full permission to admit to your feelings for me.”

“I don’t- I don’t have feelings for you.” You button the cuff of his sleeve and start to pick up the spare bandages and whatnot.

“Now who’s lying?”

You choose not to justify his question with an answer, ignoring him as you turn back to the supply counter and cabinets. He waits patiently while you pretend to organize your already very neat storage area.

“I’m sorry for fighting again.”

There’s a pause in your frantic organizing, then shake your head with a dry scoff. “Well it’s hardly fair. You’re stronger than most of-“

“Most? I’ve been the reigning Champion of the Pankration Ring for years-“

“And yet,” you turn back to look at him with a falsely sweet smile, “I can still beat your ass in a duel.”

Wriothesley laughs, “Oh yeah? What about the first time we dueled? You didn’t put up much a of a fight then-“

“I hadn’t been expecting my new boss to challenge me to a duel.”

“Couldn’t resist; you seemed like a worthy opponent.” True. “You know, when we first met, I thought you were the most beautiful doctor I’d ever seen.”

“Hm, except you thought I was a new prisoner, didn’t you?” You correct him, already knowing the story.

“… A very stunning new prisoner.” This earns a giggle out of you, and Wriotheseley takes it as an opportunity to continue. “Can you blame me? The only new people we ever get down here are prisoners.”

“True, true.”

You finish pretend organizing your supply cabinets and make your way over to stand at the foot of the patient bed. But instead of making another flirtatious comment, Wriothesley pats the spot beside him- he’s sitting upright, so there’s plenty of room. With an overdramatic sigh, you comply. When you do, he give you a satisfied, albeit surprised smile.

Choosing to ignore the fact that you’ve just given in to one of Wriotheseleys attempts at getting closer to you, you ask; “And now?”

“Huh?”

“Your opinion of me compared to when we first met.”

“I think you’re a lot more than pretty, now.” He punctuates with a wink.

You playfully punch his arm, not nearly hard enough to actually hurt the man though. Still, His Grace exclaims in pain.

“Oh shut up, that wasn’t even your bad arm.”

“Only if you kiss me.” The force of your punch seems to be forgotten as Wriothesely’s icy blue eyes bore into your own.

Your mouth gapes. This isn’t the first time he’s asked to kiss you. And you have, on several occasions, on late nights when the two of you are both lonely and bored of work. Or during meetings in his office that lead to something less than professional. Still, you don’t usually indulge him when you are in “work mode,” as you are now.

“What?”

“I’ll shut up,” he takes the hand closest to him and wraps it in both of his, not even wincing when he moves his injured arm to do so, “but only if you kiss me.”

And, much to Wriothesley’s and even your own surprise, you do exactly that.

[lemonzestywrites]

So the whole Perfume Thing made me think of your eddie feminization fic!! Anything new you’d wanna share with us?? No pressure

anon. i love the way your mind thinks

as most of you know i’ve been experiencing some pretty big horrors™️ as of late but since the ep dropped i’ve been writing but a little bit!! admittedly i haven’t touched this doc in a while but anon for you i’m happy to give you a little gift

anyways here’s wonderwall-

also shamelessly counting this as my seven sentence sunday

(nsfw beneath the cut!!)

====

“Look at yourself in the mirror.”

Without pause, Eddie obeys, eyes fluttering open before he refocuses his vision over to the mirror. The other half of the order isn’t spoken, but Eddie knows it’s there. He meets his own gaze in the mirror the way he knows Buck wants him to.

The thumb at the head of his cock presses a little bit further down and ohhh, fuck-

“Good girl,” Buck purrs, blue hungry eyes latched onto Eddie’s own visage in the reflection. “Fuck, baby. You’re so perfect.”

Eddie’s hips fucking buckle wildly- from the stimulation or Buck’s words, he’s not sure. He doesn't really care. Between the fingers buried inside of him, curling against his prostate and the way Buck’s thumb is rubbing his cock like-

Like it’s a clit, his mind supplies.

Eddie’s body fucking burns. He whines behind his gag, so unbelievably turned on. So unbelievably wet.

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym Au Wip (Part 15)

A quick clean-up of the burned food later, they sat in front of a fast mixed-together meal from the remains of Sanji’s fridge and the parts he could still use from the meal he had planned. They sat at the table near the window, and Zoro smiled at his plate. The food was amazing! If he hadn't seen the burned rest and how quickly Sanji had come up with something from the - actually sparsely - food he had left, he’d said this had taken hours, if not days, to prepare.

“Why are you smiling like an idiot?” Sanji wanted to know while looking at his plate.

“Because this is fucking delicious, and I haven’t had a meal that good for a very long time,” Zoro explained, shoving another fork full of food into his mouth.

“It would have been better if I wouldn't have let the food burn…”

Zoro’s grin widened, and he reached out to ruffle Sanji’s hair. His eyes snapped up as he felt the touch of Zoro’s hand. After their forced talk a few weeks ago, touching each other became natural for them - at least on Zoro’s part. Yes, before, there were times they would shove each other or lightly hit each other, bump shoulders, and such - in a rival-friendship kind of way. But now? Zoro would always touch Sanji somewhere when they sat together - and if it was just his fingers tapping lightly against his bare arm when they talked at the Gym. And Sanji wouldn't comment on it. It seemed to calm Zoro from whatever was stuck in his mind. Sanji wasn't much of a tactile person. He ruffled Zoro’s hair now and then - to annoy him - but that was that.

“Soooo…” Zoro stretched the o for a moment. “About your green eye? I’m curious! It looks so…beautiful!”

There it was again. Beautiful…Sanji’s heart fluttered and hurt at the same time. Was he ready to talk about this?

“Soooo…” he mocked the way Zoro had said the word. “You were addicted? To what?”

Zoro made a dumbfound expression; then he laughed quietly.

“Should have known you’d change the subject very subtle.”

“I’m a natural.”

“Sure you are!”

He scratched his head and lowered his eye.

„I haven‘t talked about this in a long time,“ Zoro mumbled.

„You don’t have to…“

„No, it‘s fine. It‘s just…it‘s dumb, that‘s all.“ He smiled a little forced and put the fork down. „I was an alcohol addict a few years back and…“

„And you just drank beer! Why? You should have said no when I offered! I have other stuff to drink with no alcohol!“ Sanji stared at him wide eyed as Zoro laughed and shook his head.

„I‘ve got it under control, Curls“ he explained and grinned when he saw Sanji‘s ‘that‘s what they all say‘ - expression. „Really. One beer is not going to throw me back into addiction. It‘s fine every now and then. I know when to stop. I practiced self-control a lot and I won't let this get to my head ever again - it…I was miserable. Besides…”

Zoro stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, as if he were considering whether he should continue or not. For a moment Sanji thought he wouldn't say more, but then Zoro sighed.

“I almost couldn't get my too surgery because of it...I already had ruined my chance of a bottom surgery. So I was more than willing to end my addiction and never fall back to it.”

“Why would that get in the way of you getting surgery?”

Sanji was actually confused by that. He heard of cases where top surgery was risky or denied because the person used a wrong binder or binding method or used it too much, besides the many, very transphobic reasons and laws a person had to go through to actually get the gender-confirming surgeries - but because of alcohol?

“I wasn’t exactly suited for making major decisions at that time. Yes, I had a psychiatrist and I was on my way to getting better but the doc said there was no chance - at that time - for me to get the surgery done with the way I lived.”

“And now?”

Zoro pursed his lips while thinking and Sanji couldn't look away. Ah fuck, he was down bad for that man and Zoro didn't even know.

“I don't know…I think I learned to live with it. I mean it has his pros and cons to have a vagina as a transman,” he grinned but then realized what he had said.

His eye snapped up at Sanji to intake the damage he’d probably caused. Disgust? Rejection? Lack of understanding? But all he saw was a small trickle of blood flowing from Sanji’s nose.

“You…you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Um…because… you have a nosebleed.”

“What?!” Sanji brushed his fingers over his philtrum - they really came back bloody. “Sorry! I…”

He jumped from his chair and walked over to grab a tissue and press it to his nose.

“Does this happen often to you?”

“Not usually…not with a guy,” he muttered the last part to himself, hoping Zoro hadn't heard it. “It should be over in a moment.”

“Alright.”

Smirking Zoro started to eat again. That was interesting. One more thing he could put to the list of Sanji’s little quirks.

Prev/next

First part

[givemeanaccountalready]

The Anti-Team 7, Formally Known as Team 6 (Komorebi)

First, I’d like to thank the wonderful @pumiih for drawing my little heathens. You made them (and Naruto) so beautiful.

It’s kind of funny. I picked the number 6 as their team number because Naruto would be the sixth Hokage (Kakashi is serving as Tsunade’s Jounin Commander for now) in my little AU world. I then learned that Team 6 was the number given to Jiraiya’s team with Minato and I thought, “Well, that’s a better reason to keep it as Team 6,” so here I am.

The Word doc that I made to actually plot this thing out to a degree has the title above for the Naruto-sensei arc. That’s somewhat touched on briefly before Naruto meets his team in the flesh, where he’s joking with Sakura that “This is their Sasuke, this is our you, and this is our me,” as the two of them look over the files Tsunade gave him. And he’s technically not entirely wrong about it lol. They just have really superficial connections to the OG Team 7. I even asked Pumiih to put them in the same order as the Team 7 picture. I haven’t posted it yet, but fic will be called Komorebi which translates to, “sunlight filtering through trees,” and I liked the imagery of that, so that’s the name.

Anti-Sasuke: Chitose Hyuuga 🍬 (prestigious clan with magic eyes)

Anti-Naruto: Kaito Isobe 🪁 (orphan, known troll)

Anti-Sakura: Tsurigane Kashiwagi 🔔 (girl)

I feel slightly bad for reducing Tsuri to that but I’m laughing too hard at the summary to care. She is probably the easiest anti-parallel to spot. Whereas Sakura didn’t really have an overarching goal until the Forest Death scene, Tsuri is the only one on Team 6 with an overarching dream/goal. She wants to gain Kage level strength, even though she doesn’t necessarily want the hat, and go down in history as a legendary kunoichi. Tsuri pretty much has a five year plan, meanwhile, Chitose is doing this ninja stuff because it’s what Hyuuga do, and Kaito is simply trying to earn a living until he finds something else that he likes. There is enough internalized misogyny in this girl to power a small village. You can thank her parents for that one. Tsuri despises fan girl behavior and she even lost a friendship over her best friend choosing to like and giggle over a boy. Eventually, she’ll reconcile with her, but for now, no. Very stubborn, very bull-headed, and very driven, Tsuri does not do things by halves.

Chitose is probably the least anti-parallel of the three, since her story revolves around bonds just like Sasuke’s had. Whereas Sasuke formed new bonds within Team 7 and wanted to protect them until Itachi and the Sound 4 happened, causing him to think he needed to sever his bonds and fuel his hatred to achieve his goals, Chitose’s story is a bit different. She wants to form bonds with others, and while she doesn’t have a deeply traumatic backstory, Chi definitely has some serious hang-ups stemming from the divide between the main branch and cadet branches of the Hyuuga family. She is not close to Neji or Hinata, but she has seen them grow into stronger, happier individuals because of their teammates and the work they do, and she wants that growth too.

While she does not have the Caged Bird Seal, Chi knows that’s only due to who her sensei is and not because the clan has changed its mind. Hinata is doing her best to change the Hyuuga’s ways after the war, but at the very beginning of the story, it seems more unlikely than not. Chi and the rest of Team 6 are about 6 years younger than Naruto so Chi couldn’t have possibly been sealed on Hinata’s third birthday like Neji was. She was going to get the Caged Bird once she either finished the Academy and became a kunoichi or sometime later if she had failed. The only reason she didn’t get sealed immediately after passing the graduation exam is because a certain someone told Hiashi that Naruto was being considered as a possible jounin leader and Hiashi wisely decided to hold off on it. The Hyuuga compound is still standing… for now.

Kaito is my lil goblin. He’s a snot-nosed brat whose fear of losing another loved one and screwy sense of self/self-worth resulted in his constant trolling and mouthing off. A little hater who graduated the Academy with two full time enemies and one part-time enemy, an unrequited rival (unrequited on Kaito’s part, he doesn’t want it). Like Naruto, he is stubborn and very perceptive of others’ emotions, but while Naruto clawed his way to acceptance and changing the way things are, Kaito is more content to crash and burn in the status quo. As a result, he does not have any big dreams or goals. If Tsurigane’s story is about learning to constructively use strength for herself and on behalf of others, and Chitose’s is about learning to let others in without making herself small to accommodate them, then Kaito’s story is about finding internal peace and taking the chance that the past won’t repeat itself.

I definitely spent too much time trying to think of what I wanted the other rookies besides Team 6 to look like. There’s three other rookie teams, and Shikamaru is the jounin leader for one. I just hope that they’ll be liked when I have enough written that I’m comfortable posting so I don’t have too much dead time in-between chapters.

And because I can… NaruSaku for the main ship. Team 6 ships it.

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 7 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Please lemme know if you are liking this series I'm desperate for reassurance and validation <3

Synopsis: You're no longer in the hands of the enemy but the memories still linger. Ghost helps you through a nightmare. Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: injuries, nightmares, torture, kinda graphic, non-con touching (men are creeps) Ghost x gn!Reader (callsign Rags): Hurt/comfort. Loads of fluff. Nightmare trope!

———

It was pitch black when you woke. You reached up to tug at the eye mask when a warm hand covered yours, pulling it gently over your head. Cobalt eyes met yours.

“Ghost.” You breathe. You missed him.

“The very same.” He replies with a gentle nod. Soap and Gaz have left and the Lieutenant has dragged a chair over to your bedside; barely leaving any room for his legs. He is leaning forwards, tattooed forearm resting on the rail and dangling near your thigh. He’s no longer in uniform or tactical gear; his mask replaced by a simple black balaclava. Suddenly you realise you have no idea where you are. He tilts his head, watching you as though he can see the thoughts running rampant behind your eyes.

“Where are we?” You ask, thankful your voice isn’t as scratchy as it was before. Ghost leans back a little but keeps his arms resting on the rail.

“A base somewhere in Europe, I’ve not really asked to be honest.”

You frown, “That’s unlike you.”

“Yeah well,” he laughs softly, though it isn’t a happy sound, “geography wasn’t quite the priority, was it, love?”

“Suppose not,” you mumble. His eyes soften and he reaches out to pat your knee.

“I’ll ask Price when I see ‘im. It’s somewhere nearby, though. Didn’t have enough time to RTB.”

You nod slowly, fingering one of the wires by your side. Ghost just watches, waiting for you to speak.

“No one’s told me anything.” You feel like a child being left out of adult discussions. “Haven’t even spoken to the doc, Price didn’t properly debrief me – even Soap and Gaz wouldn’t talk about it. What am I missing here?”

The Lieutenant knew it was coming. He’d waited to see you just for this reason. You needed rest, not intel.

Ghost sighs. “How about I get you a cuppa? Let’s start there.”

———

Broken ribs, cigarette burns, slight pneumonia, minor internal bleeding, a handful of lacerations – to name a few. Ghost had brought you your file and held your steaming mug of camomile while you flipped through.

“What’s this?” You ask, pointing to a thick black line, roughly drawn. “Why’s someone redacting my personal medical shit?”

“The same reason Price won’t debrief you yet – you need rest, Rags.” He swipes the file from your hands and before you can argue settles the steaming mug in your grasp instead. You glare at him as you try not to spill it, craning your neck to take a sip. Ghost shakes his head and wraps an arm behind your back, supporting your weight while he readjusts the pillows. You lean back, his hand lingering until it’s pressed between your warmth and the bed. He lowers himself back into the chair, his hands wrapped around his own mug.

“That isn’t fair.” You finally say, too tired to argue but not willing to let the subject drop. “I have the right to know.”

Ghost takes a long sip before replying. “You do.”

“Then why–“

–“Because it’s a lot.” He says, cobalt eyes firm as they hold your gaze. “It’s a lot and you aren’t well yet. You can barely sit up on your own and can’t stay awake for more than a couple of hours. Please trust me, you’ll know in time.”

“But I want to know now,” your mumble, looking down as tears prickle against your will. The Lieutenants eyes soften.

“I know you do.”

“I just don’t like not knowing things.” A tear escapes. You swipe at it angrily.

“I know you don’t.”

“I just –“

–“I know.” He nods, wrapping a hand around your wrist, sliding it up to your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your lip is wobbling now but Ghost doesn’t move. His thumb swiping over the soft part of your wrist. Back and forth.

“I know, Rags.”

And you get the feeling that he does. He doesn’t talk much about his past but you can recall a few months ago when a mission went awry and you walked in on Gaz stitching him up – shirt rolled to hang loosely around his neck. Scars weren’t abnormal for soldiers, but the markings were repetitive and consistent. Corporal punishment. Something you were all too familiar with as of late.

The Lieutenant doesn’t stop. Gentle and slow. Letting you know you were with him and you were safe. He watches as you fight the sleep weighing heavily on your eyelids.

And when your eyes fall shut and your breathing deepens he still stays.

———

“Ah, дорогая,” a voice whispers menacingly in your ear. Fingers stroke down your cheek, your chest and down over your navel. Your stomach muscles ripple and flinch away on impulse. The chain rattles as you lean away from his touch. His grin widens, yellow teeth glinting.

“Ready to talk?”

You clench your teeth; jaw locked and tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth.

“Still not talking, дорогая?” He’s rougher now, hand coming to grasp your throat, the squeeze a warning.

“I have nothing to say.” You spit out, swallowing against his hand. He chuckles.

“So feisty.” He shakes his head, patting your cheek roughly. “It won’t last. You’ll be screaming soon. I’ve always found the screams of women far more satisfying than men.”

The smell of burnt flesh wafts up to your nose and you look down. He’s holding a lighter against your bare torso. Why can’t you feel it? You watch as your flesh melts away into a gaping trench; your eyes watering at the stench. Blood bubbles and boils around the edges. The pain hits you in a wave, bursting and overflowing. The damn breaks and a scream rips from your throat. He laughs then, tipping his head back as he watches you writhe.

“Rags!” Hands shake you roughly, wrapping around your shoulders. You try to shake them off but they refuse to let go.

“Rags!”

Your eyes snap oven, hair sticks to your sweat covered face and you fight the hands holding you still.

“No, no, no, please!” You can’t help but cry, twisting in their grip. “Please.”

“Rags.” The voice is soft but firm. “Look at me.”

That voice. Where have you heard that voice?

You wrench your eyes open, tears pool and trickle down your cheeks. Cobalt blue stares back down at you, blond brows creased in concern.

“Rags? Are you with me?”

You’re gasping like a fish out of water. Chest heaving; breath ragged.

“G–Ghost?”

His mask has slipped down, lower than you’ve ever seen it. With a shaking hand you tug it back up. He catches your wrist, a finger circles and tickles your palm.

He nods, his other hand stretches out and gently brushes strand of hair away from your forehead. “S’alright. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You feel so tired. Rung out like a rag and set to dry in the wind. His hand has settled on your cheek. Cautious and gentle. “They took my camomile.” You whisper and Ghost tilts his head, confused.

“What do you mean?”

Your face crumples under his concerned gaze.The thoughts running through your mind are no longer logical. “The camomile I keep in my spare pocket – they took it.”

His thumb swipes under your eye, catching a tear. He frowns, “That’s ok, I’ve got some with me.”

Your chest heaves again and a sob slips from your mouth. “I was worried you wouldn’t have any left and Soap and Gaz only drink coffee – Price too.”

“Oh, darling.” He breathes, eyes sad as he strokes your jaw.

–“and you would have no-one to drink camomile with if I was gone.” You gasp, now clutching at his own wrist was you ramble. Your breathing is picking up again, a machine beeps more rapidly behind you.

Ghost’s face has crumpled completely as he watches you, unsure what to do. Your grip on him tightens, almost grasping the Lieutenant as though he will slip away.

“Would you like a hug?” He asks, throat constricting. He knows how hard it is to accept touch after experiencing the nonconsensual grip of the enemy. You nod frantically. It feels like you are falling apart at the seems and you need him to hold you while you sew yourself back together.

Slowly – making sure his hands are always in your line of sight – Ghost collapses the bedrail and slips in beside you.

“Show me where I can put my hands, love.” He murmurs in your ear and with shaking hands you guide his arms around you. You settle against his broad chest, your breathing slowly syncing with his own.

“Thank you.” The words so quiet he can barely hear it. He tucks you in closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.

“This ok?” He mumbles into your hair. You nod gently against him.

“Stay?”

“No place I’d rather be.”

— — —

Masterlist

Next Part:

[plush-rabbit]

Selfish Moments

Summary: I wanted to write something soft and this has been in the docs for a while, so here it is!! 

Characters: Dabi and Shigaraki 

Word Count: 1.4K each -

Dabi:

It's become a routine for him to invade your home and make a mess of things. To have dirt and grime in the shape of his shoe stain the floor, to have picture frames bumped and knocked over when he stumbles into a room. It’s become addictive with the way that you allow him to do this, smiling softly and setting him down on the couch. And you clean him; you dab a white towel that has turned dirty with blood and ash. And when you smile and touch his face, wiping away at the dried blood that streaks down and falls to the floor, you lean over, and you kiss him sweetly. You tell him that he’s making a mess of things, and kiss his lips again, hands clutching at his shirt, desperate to keep him here, and he’s reminded how vile he is for having invaded your life. 

You’ve reminded him countless times how he’s always welcomed in your home, how you’ll have  a meal ready for him, warm and ready, made to perfection. You’ll shower him in love and care, in tenderness he’s only ever known in memories, and he’ll wonder if he could ever do the same for you. 

A part of him wants to. He wants to return the tenderness, the comfort and care that you’ve given him. He wants to be without debt, without having to lay awake and wish that he would have kissed you more, would have kissed you again and again if it meant that he didn’t have to guilt bleed through his lips and have his body aflame in wishing and wanting.

He doesn't need to hear you say an "I love you", doesn't even need for any words to be said out loud or whispered when he's asleep. He just wants to know that you do. And in these soft moments, when he's sitting on your couch, the smell of smoke and cheap cologne seeping into the fabric of your couch, he can pretend that you do. That you feel the same way that he feels for you. 

Loving you comes so easy to him. It's nice, and warm. It's welcoming, and it's you cleaning him up and making him a space in your home. It's him ruining you. It's him leaving scorched handprints on random pieces of furniture. Stealing hair ties and scarves. Leaving shirts for you to wash and for him to return to, his scent gone and replaced by yours. 

"Dabi." He can feel his heart race when you call his name. 

If you were to call him anything else, he thinks he would combust, explode into himself and scar you beyond belief. 

And yet, he wants to tell you to call him by his given name. He wants to know how that would sound, if it would sound as soft and adored as his chosen one does. And of course, he knows the answer. He knows that you’d cherish that name, that you’d whisper it to him, and never grow tired of it. If he were to tell you what his given name was, he’s positive that you’d hold it gently on your tongue, and you’d only tell it to him, and you’d never dare to whisper it anywhere else but in your room. 

He hums in response. His eyes haven’t left yours. 

"I asked if you wanted to spend the night." Your hands brush at the side of his head, pinching two fingers between a lock of hair and pulling at it, letting the soot fall to the floor. "It’s late and you look like you need sleep.”

His stomach churns at the thought of spending the night, twists and flips violently, and he hates how his heart sputters and jumps at the thought of sleeping in your bed. He wishes he could stare at you forever. He gives a crooked grin and stands up, watching as your hand falls and returns to you. "Lead the way," he says. 

You hand him clothes that are too pristine for him to wear. He knows that if he changed in front of you, he’d ruin it all, ruin your perception, ruin your floors, ruin the clothes that you’ve cared for. There’s no need for him to talk and explain himself as he walks into the bathroom and lets steam fog the mirror and he bites the insides of his cheeks when the water stings his back. He stands underneath it, watching the blood and grime swirl down the drain, gone forever, but the tile stays dirty, and he smells like milk and honey when he stands at the doorway, watching you read something.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice him, and when you do, you make space for him beside you.

In the night, through the blinds where moonlight comes in pieces, he watches you sleep. You've dropped all your defenses around him- there's no need for you to feel unsafe around him. And sometimes, he thinks that you're an idiot for that. Sometimes he wants to wrap his hands around your throat and have you wake up to him with blood painting at his cheeks and dripping onto you. He wants to be violent and bare his teeth at you, and spit fly when he yells. He wants you to cry and hate him. He wants all of the ugliness to show itself fully to you. 

But then you twitch and your hand finds his, even in slumber, you reach for him. And he hates himself for all he is is death and war. He wants to be soft. He wants to wake up in the morning with birds singing at the window sill, and the morning news muffled between the walls. He wants life to be with you where he doesn't have to part ways and sneak out through the window and be trapped in a box. He wants to lie down and kiss at your face and your hands and feel safe. He wants you to care for him, to ignore the blood on his hands.

He needs you to feel the same way- to want the same as he does.

“What are you thinking about?” You murmur with your eyes still closed and with sleep heavily laced into your words. 

“How’d you know I was awake?” He asks, desperate to keep his hand limp and not grip at you with ferocity.

“I can just tell.” A yawn interrupts your words, and you don’t speak again, but a light squeeze of your hand tells him that you’re waiting for his response.

He’s going to lie to you and even if you do know it’s a lie, you’re far too polite to confront him. “I was thinking about how I’m going to sneak out.” 

“You don’t have to,” you add. “You can spend the day and leave at night.” 

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I always want you to stay.” You say it without pausing, and it’s honest, and it makes him scowl. 

He hates how he needs to ask you if you want him to stay, and he hates it even more that you’ll never say no. “Okay,” he says without a fight. He hates himself for wanting your acceptance. You hum, and press yourself closer to him, your breathing soft and steady. “Only cause you’d twist my arm if I said no,” he adds, trying to save face, trying to ignore how tight his chest feels when you’re beside him.

When he's gone from your life, he needs you to cry. He needs to know that you sobbed and heaved and begged to be taken with him. He never wants you to heal from him. He wants to run you through the ground, leaving you too messed up for anyone else, the hole that he would leave too big and too great to ever be filled. He wants you to claw at the dirt and grass and beg for the world to swallow you whole- to search for a corpse that was never buried and never loved. 

All he wants is to sit at the table with you and share breakfast. He needs you to want and crave every part of him, the ugly and the wretched, the soft parts of him that only reveal themselves when you’ve turned a blind eye. 

Dabi is a tragedy at heart. It’s his birthright, the only one given to him.

-

Shigaraki Tomura:

The itching only stops for a moment. For a minute, he’s left without pain, left without having to claw at his neck and chest, the need and want to tear himself open, to rip out his skin and have his bones bare and bloody, can only disappear for so long. For a moment, he’s at peace, the nerves that have clawed and had bile pool under his tongue thinned and nothing more than a reminder of just moments ago. 

You’re on his lap, arms wrapped tight, and face hidden where his shoulder and neck meet. He can feel your breath, steady and warm, fan across him, and the only reason that he knows that you aren’t asleep, is because of the shapes that you trace over his forearm. 

Your fingertips are soft compared to his. 

He stares blankly into space, and he wants to speak. He wants to tell it all to you. All of his life, all of his day, all of thoughts; only if it meant that he could hear you speak to him, to know that you are real, and that he is loved. He thinks about the countless times that you were so eager to tell him anything and everything, and just knowing that it was him that had you seeing stars, made him eager and obsessive for you. He made you happy. You wanted to talk to him despite it all, despite who he is, and where he’s been.

He never wants to leave you. He never wants to move from this spot. He wishes that this moment would be forever still. Tomura wishes that you would stay curled up in his lap for all of eternity, frozen in time, frozen and loved, and he’d be victimless, trapped beneath you, wanting to forever feel your warmth. 

His hand hurts. The part where his fingers used to ache in pain and he wonders how long it’ll last, and he wonders if he could do anything to make it hurt more until he’s gritting his teeth and biting his tongue. 

It’s worse than an itch, but it’s all the same. The desire to poke at it, to make himself bleed, but also the knowing that it wasn’t him who got rid of his own appendages. It made things difficult for a while, and when he’d catch you staring at him, he knew that there was pity in your eyes. You’d treat him as if he were glass. You’d hold his hand delicately, fingertips brushing just at the edge of the scarring, ghosting over the marred flesh that wrinkled, and you’d get lost in those simple motions. 

Tomura has been under your gaze before, peered through your lashes, watched and terraced by your hand as you studied him in a way that made him feel all too seen. He craved those moments, needed you to look at him, through him, to see how red his irises are, and trace his scars, letting your fingertip brush at his lashes. 

He remembers being unable to breathe during those times, stiff and unmoving, afraid that even the simplest gesture would have you retreat and never look at him again. 

But after his fight, you shifted your focus to his hand. You’d cradle it gently, and when he went to change the bandages, you offered to change them for him. He heard your breath hitch, felt your breath on the sensitive skin and when you kissed at the center of his palm, too worried that you’d injured him with a featherlight kiss, he felt his whole hand go aflame. 

As if reading his mind, you grab at his hand, and finally, you move, and life returns to the world, and he is aware that at some point, he’s going to have to leave, and he’ll be cold without you.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, running the pad of your index finger up and down his, tracing over the lines on his knuckles. 

There’s an ache in his chest, tight and unforgiving, and it makes it difficult to breathe. “I hate meetings,” he mumbles. The bile in his mouth makes it difficult to swallow.

You breathe out a laugh, and swipe your finger in a curve, your index now tracing over his middle finger. “I’m not too fond of them either,” you admit, and you’re looking up at him. 

When he looks down, he finds it difficult to stay looking at you, but he wills himself to. “Why do you stay then?” His voice is strained, and once again, he’s unable to breathe. 

“I like being with you,” you answer earnestly. You smile up at him, it’s a slow smile that slowly stretches and you look down at his hand for a brief second before looking back up at him. “You’re gonna be busy for a while, and I wanna get in as much time as I can with you.”

Oh.

It’s difficult to keep looking at you after that statement. It’s enough to have his chest tighten and he looks away, turning his head to look at the door, wondering if someone will save him from this grief.

What you told him is true- he will be busy, and you sit around in boring meetings with people who you aren’t close to, to just be with him. All you want to do is spend time with him. It makes his chest hurt, and he’s unable to breathe, too aware of it to keep it normal, to make it seem like what you told him isn’t a big deal. 

“I want-” his voice cracks and he swallows whatever little spit he has- “I want to spend time with you too,” he says in a low whisper, unable to make it any bit louder. He’s positive that if he were to tell you this sentiment out loud then something bad would happen.

You return to hide your face in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his, your hand sliding down to envelop his and he’s sure that that position couldn’t be comfortable, but even so, you stick with it, closing your eyes and keeping close to him.

His canines bite into the soft flesh behind his lips, and the pain isn’t nearly enough to have him distracted. The hand that you hold, that hand that has been through hell and ripped apart, burns, and the need to scratch and peel his skin grows great.

Even if he tries to keep himself composed around you, you know him. You know how he panics, and you kiss at his neck where his heart pumps and you can feel his pulse quicken, beat and pour blood and he’s sure that if it were possible, he’d gush blood out his body, leaking and staining your clothes and you’d hold him to your chest and coo nothing but soft words to him. 

He’d never hurt you. He’s made you cry and he’s apologized and kissed your tears and made broken promises that he would never dare to make you cry again. Of course, he’s still made you cry, and you still sought out comfort in him, pressing yourself against him, clinging and twisting his shirt in case he did just vanish into thin air. But, even so, he hopes that when you die, you are taken with him. You’re wrapped around him, clinging to him, stuck forever with him. He wants to take you to the grave, to keep you forever his. 

A part of him hopes that no matter what happens to him, that you would never move on. It’s selfish and cruel of him, but he wants it with his whole being. He could lie and tell you and wish to the stars that you’d end up with someone normal, with someone who can take you out, but he doesn’t want that. He wants you to sit in your room, holed up and blocking the outside, because you’d miss him too much. He wants you to never move on, that you’d grow out your hair because he touched it, and you could never part with his touch, not even with one that was so fleeting. He wants you to sob and wail over him, to bury yourself in grief. 

If the last thing he could ever do was to curse you with his own feelings, he’d do it. He’d do it a hundred times over, to know that at least you cared for him, that your feelings for him weren’t just temporary, but that they were forever, that they were permanent. 

Tomura hopes that you’d never want to move, that you’d have the same curse that you gave him. He hopes that when you think of him, it becomes harder to breathe and harder to want anything else but him.