#but my chest feels tight and I’m holding back tears and this shit always hits me out of nowhere and I don’t know why it keeps happening

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[gamblersdoll]

brat taming kirishima with his bratty tsundere girlfriend.

idk thinking that kiri can be such a soft but hard as fuck dom and it always come to a head when you get snarky, like he knows how you are, almost as bad as bakugou.

but god, does he love when you subconsciously act out.

in this sense, you had completely forgot the rule about not allowing kiri to help you with the heavier things. he hates when you get too independent. sure, he knows you carry yourself so, so good. but hes trying to make you not be so defensive, so independent where you cannot be helped because you wont let the thickest walls down.

and on top of that, you shooed him away. biggest mistake for you.

“you know youre not supposed to be carrying these heavy things, right baby?” he tries to take the big box of a black grill out of your hands, but you pull away and swat your hand.

“i can do this shit by myself, kiri.” you grumble, sitting it in the garage with a standing kirishima.

none of that mattered now, not the way he has you folded up on your back to mattress and spread eagle.

the sheer force of his body always knocked you into oblivion, thrusts making your voice so high and ragged.

“i’m sorry, im so sorr—y!” you squeal, moans just bubbling out and a thumb circling your clit.

“oh, i know.” he coos, thrusts becoming meaner by the second. oh, he was pissed. pissed because, the fuck you thought this was? let him lift heavy things for you! youre not single anymore.. and your exes were some punk ass bitches. “bet you wont do this shit again, huh baby?”

you nod, tears starting to bubble up in the corner of your eyes and trying to keep the hold of the back or your knees.

he slows, keeping that motion on your clit and thrusting once really hard. “words, baby.” he growls, pointed teeth gritting.

“yes! yes!” you hiccup, feeling his hips go back to bullying your cervix.

“such a fuckin’ brat you know?” he groans, soft slaps against your cheek. “need’a real man to fuck into you like this, huh?” he coos again, rolling his eyes at a certain tightness. “always gotta be so mean to me.”

you nod, babbling incoherent words and sentences as he circled your over sensitive clit and push his cock deeper. “igunnacum!”

“there you go, just let go and cum, ‘kay baby?”

you hate how gooey he makes you feel. how patience is his strongest suit and making you feel so pathetic in his hands. he was right, needed a big bruly man to fuck you so deep you forget to rebuild that wall you made to protect yourself.

“you going to be mean like that again?” he asked, thrusting in his needy tip that pushes and traps you into the corner of the bed that is against the wall. “hm? cmon, say something, love.”

one thing about kirishima, you know hes pissed when hes drilling you like this, and he’s mocking and laughing at you.

his hands grips your hips hard, all two eighty five hundred pounds of him loving you. “fuck— fuck! yeah, cum!” demanded, and starved. finally, he hits that gummy spot hard enough, and your clit throbs and feels like it clenches on its own, creamy translucent fluid just dribbling from your walls and he laughs out.

“oh, thats my girl.” he shushes, wiping the tears and kissing your cheek. he groans, pulling himself out from your confinements and stroking himself, looking down as he growls from his chest meanwhile his own essence drools to the couch.

you just lay there, a twitching mess as he presses your legs up. he takes the discarded shirt of his to wipe up your cream and then his own. “you okay baby? did i go to hard, again?” he thickly swallows, feeling the pat of your hand against his large bicep.

[leaentries]

through it all | luke hughes

summary: when the comments start getting to her, luke is there to show his girl he'll be there through it all.

warnings: rude comments, body shaming, fat shaming, angst (w/ a happy ending), swearing

wc: forgot to keep track but a lot

The constant ticking of the clock seemed to mock you, counting away the time wasted reading those insufferable words. You typically veered away from the comment section altogether, but something about the empty apartment weakened your resolve. 

Being away on a roadie, Luke didn’t understand the trouble that plagued your mind. He always made sure to make you feel like the only girl in the world, so why was it that as soon as he leaves, you fall apart? He didn’t understand how the words of others held so much power over you, how they held you hostage. 

You sat, legs tucked under you, holding your phone with shaky hands. Something in you had hoped for better. Maybe people changed their views about you and everything that came with. Maybe you could finally open social media without the constant fear of ridicule. Yet, you were proved wrong once again. The comments hadn’t changed and neither did the way your throat contracted in disgust and embarrassment.

User4562: still can’t believe luke would date someone like her

Fan93: get this whale outta here pls 

Hater365: luke is so much hotter then her?? shes not even pretty??

User67:  this is kinda embarrassing for her tbh

Fan42: girl needs to learn what the gym is asap

Hater6783: pretty sure her thighs are bigger than his…

User3421: comments did not disappoint💀

Hot tears filled your eyes as the negativity swarmed your senses. How could people be so cruel? Deep sobs wracked through your body as you let your phone fall to the couch. You grabbed the nearest pillow, pulling it into your chest.

You felt suffocated. The weight of being in the spotlight and the tense wave of hate was too much. You couldn’t fully understand why people were so bothered by your appearance or the fact that Luke had chosen you.

Though, in all fairness, you couldn’t grasp why Luke chose you, either. He had a roster of beautiful, fit women at his beck and call, yet he was bouncing his way home to you every night. No matter how many times he expressed his love, it was too big for you to comprehend.

So, there you sat, mascara running down your face, sobbing into a throw pillow because random people on the internet decided you weren’t good enough.

❥.

You must have fallen asleep at some point through your cries, because as your swollen eyes managed to peek open, you noticed the sunlight beginning to shine through your living room curtains. For a peaceful moment, you forgot the previous night’s turmoil. You let yourself fully wake up, slowly sitting to adjust to your surroundings.

Confusion plagued you as you realized you were on the couch. Your face fell with gloom as reality hit you like a truck. Swarms of comments flashed in your mind once more, diminishing any energy you had for the day.

Although, as you slumped back into the cushions, you heard the front door unlock.

Shit.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, only to be met with a black screen. Your phone must have died during the night, rendering your alarm to go pick up Luke, pointless. Standing from the couch, you rush to the kitchen to make yourself look busy.

Luke swung the door open, trudging in with all his bags.

“Hey angel, I thought you were picking me up?” He chuckled, “You’re lucky Dawson lives in our complex, or I would have been stranded.”

“Yeah-” You cleared your throat trying to will away the tightness, “Yeah, I’m sorry, Lukey. My phone died last night.”

Luke shook his head at your forgetfulness. He quickly set down his bags by the kitchen table, noticing the state of the living room.

His brows furrowed, “Did you sleep in the living room last night?”

Panic flooded deep in your stomach. You should have known Luke would get suspicious. After all, he knew how picky you were about where you slept.

Scrambling for a lie, you responded with a quick, “I was watching a movie and fell asleep.”

Luke walked over to where you busied yourself by cleaning the leftover dishes. You sucked in a breath, hoping you didn’t appear too disheveled. Ducking your head closer to your chest, you tried to look anywhere else but Luke’s face as he took to the spot next to you.

“Y/n?” Luke’s voice came in a soft whisper.

When he didn’t get a response, he gently reached to grab the faucet handle, turning it till the water trickled to a halt. Grabbing the dish towel nearby, he also helped dry your hands while you sat limply.

In truth, you were too afraid to speak, or move. You were afraid that if you looked into Luke’s sorrowful eyes, you’d crack. You’d finally show the version of yourself that the internet sees, the version that he’d hate.

Luke set down the towel, his eyes seeking your downcast face. “Y/n, baby? Please talk to me.”

You shook your head slightly, pulling away as his hand brushed up your arm.

“D-did I do something?” Luke began to worry, he’s never seen you act like this, “Was I gone too long? I thought we facetimed enough, but I can try to call you more.”

It broke your heart to hear him. The simple fact that he assumed it was himself and wanted to fix it. He was too good for you, the internet saw it, you saw it. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before he did too.

“No,” You let out a deep sigh, “It’s not you, Luke.”

He swallowed thickly, nerves beginning to take over his senses. “Then what is it, angel? Please, I just want to help you.”

Hot tears blurred in your eyes, he finally broke your resolve.

Luke immediately pulled you into his chest, his calloused hands moving to cradle the back of your head as you sobbed. He was at a loss. Not knowing what the correct thing to do was, he held you tighter. Luke was prepared to hold you forever if it meant you’d stop crying. He could swear a piece of his heart dies every time he sees you cry.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed as he stoked your hair, “Angel, it’s okay. I promise, I’m here.”

You gripped his hoodie, scared he’d disappear from under your fingertips.

The both of you remained in each other’s embrace until you found your breath regulating. Pulling away, you swore Luke winced when he saw your bloodshot, puffy eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go to the couch.” He guided you carefully, making sure to help you get comfortable enough to talk to him. Once you had settled into his side, he finally nudged you to start talking.

“If you’re ready, will you tell me what’s wrong, baby?”

Deciding to go against your gut will to hide the truth, you pulled out your phone, now freshly charged. You shakily opened up your social media, hitting into the comment section.

“Here,” You placed the phone into Luke’s hand, “Just scroll.”

Upon beginning to read the first few comments, you could see Luke’s face visibly grow stern and frustrated. He bit the inside of his cheek as angry tears welled in his eyes. Luke felt every muscle in his body tense with hatred and fury towards the lowlifes that would dare to say such vile things about his girlfriend.

He shut the phone off and tossed it away, not being able to handle reading another word of the electric slander on your screen.

It took a moment for Luke to compose himself, taking deep breaths and debating on how to approach the situation.

Now, of course Luke had grown used to people writing heavily opinionated articles and hate comments about him. Hell, he even got used to seeing it about his brothers. But something he never considered was the impact it would have on you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shot up at Luke’s apology.

Why is he apologizing?

He had his head down, fingers picking at each other. He looked guilty, as if, somehow, he caused all of this to happen.

“What?”

Luke wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

You shook your head sternly, “No it’s not, Luke. It’s mine” Your voice went quiet.

Luke slowly looked up to see fresh tears cascading in taunting rivers down your cheeks.

“It’s my fault for being not good enough.”

He tried to protest, but was only silenced by your words.

“It’s so hard trying to be perfect all the time. Especially when all I’m getting is ridicule for living my life. It’s not fair that I have to have my head on a constant swivel because some person decided my body wasn’t up to standard. It’s not fair that I have to wake up, everyday, worried you’ll realize you deserve so much more than me.”

Luke’s own tears rolled down his face at your confession. He couldn’t quite get a handle on how long you have felt this way.

His beautiful girl.

His heart shattered, “I- I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Luke.” You interrupted, “It’s just the way it is. People who look like you don’t love people who look like me.”

His face grew grim.

“No, Y/n. What I don’t understand is how you can think like that. I mean, fuck, don’t you realize you’re every thought I have before bed. And every breath of air I breathe when I wake up. I don’t know who these “people” are that you’re referring to, but I’m not one of them.”

Luke took your face in his hands, “You are my girl. And if I have to spend the rest of our lives proving that to you, then I will.”

There wasn’t much you could say through the thickness of emotion. You threw your arms around Luke, his own coming to dig into your plushy hips.

“Thank you, Lukey.” You mumbled into his neck.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“Always.”

Maybe you were enough for him.

[monzamash]

to be loved — carlos sainz

carlos sainz x you — “i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.” requested by @dancininseptember masterlist

The short stroll from your office to the apartment never really bothered you. In fact, you typically enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to enjoy the city you loved. But it was early February; rain was threatening the Spanish skies and the frost bitten breeze stung your already tear-filled eyes. It was a crappy end to an even shittier week, your energy wasted on people who didn’t deserve it.

You practically flung yourself through the door of the apartment and shed all remnants of the day – coat, beanie and scarf, all strewn haphazardly, and in that order, on the floor of your small entryway. It took every ounce of energy you had to kick off your heavy boots, each one hitting the wall much harder than you intended. Maybe it was an unconscious way for you to let out frustration, the scuff marks on the white wall a stark reminder of your last straw.

The smell of fresh bread and bolognese sauce hit you as you slunk down the hallway, your tummy grumbling on instinct. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, a terrible habit you had fallen into lately and Carlos had noticed. He was home more during the cooler months, easily picking up on your little habits that both endeared and worried him. So he made sure, while he was close to you, that you came home to a warm meal every night – because looking after you was his calling in life.

“That smells incredible.”

Carlos briefly glanced over his shoulder and gave you a bright smile before turning down the stove and grabbing a washcloth to clean his hands. You loved him like this; soft and relaxed, in his element. The kitchen was his playground and you remember the sigh of relief that left your lungs when he told you he loved to cook on your first date, because you weren’t particularly gifted when it came to the pots and pans.

“Hope you’re hungry,” He sang, circling the island in the middle of the kitchen to say a proper hello to his beautiful girlfriend, “How was your day?”

A rigid sigh fell from your lips as you fell into his arms, the loving embrace triggering tears to spring to your eyes for the third time today. Carlos held you tight and brushed his hands down your back, comforting you through the sobs wracking your aching body.

“Ay, mi amor,” He soothed, “Breathe for me please.”

Carlos guided you through a couple of deep breaths, chests rising and falling together in synchronicity until your sobs subsided, air finally filling your lungs again. A tight squeeze around your waist brought you back to the man holding you in his arms, worried eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay as you pulled back and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” You sniffled, head shaking.

Carlos tutted as he thumbed away the trail of tears from your face, “Do not say sorry, my love. Talk to me…”

Anger replaced sadness as you told him about how your sister had completely disregarded your feelings for the millionth time, accusing you of only caring about yourself while she’s all alone and stressed about wedding planning. Carlos has managed to get you to sit up on the counter beside him while he finished dinner, but not before pouring you a glass of red wine to nurse while you purged all the negativity from your day.

“She called me a bitch and then uninvited us from the wedding, which by the way I didn’t want to go too to begin with,” You huffed, hands animatedly flying around while he tried to keep up with the drama.

“And all I said to her was that work has been stressful and that us trying for a baby hadn’t been… fruitful, I guess. She flipped out when I said that because her dickhead fiancé doesn’t want kids and she thinks she can change his mind…”

You took a sip of wine and noticed Carlos' eyes rolling like they always did when the topic of your sister came up. He was as sick of her shit as you were, unapologetically scoffing at her selfishness. Making you feel bad when all you needed was someone to confide in was one thing, but lashing out on you was something he couldn’t stand by and watch. He knew he couldn’t do anything right now; maybe he would make a stern phone call tomorrow once the dust had settled.

So instead of getting upset, he put down the wooden spoon coated in the most delicious sauce you had ever tasted and nestled himself between your swinging legs. His warm chocolate eyes stared into your soul as he planted his palms on your thighs, tethering himself to you.

“You know I can take care of you, mi vida,” He said, voice deep and barely above a whisper, “No matter the problem, you won't need anyone but me, I promise.” 

For the first time in weeks, you felt your heart slow down and return to a normal rhythm as Carlos pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You softly moaned in unison and gripped the grey shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, pulling him in closer – not that he had any plan on going anywhere.

No, all he wanted was for his girl to feel heard and to be loved because all he needed was you.

a/n — loved writing carlos again. inbox detox is still open !!

[tomshelbystitsfics]

Untitled Fic.

Eventual!Carmen x Reader

(this is just the beginning for the fic. its storyline/plot building. also the reader is midsize. not skinny but not plus. in the middle)

(im posting this its the beginning to a fic im writing & i just wanted to post this lil excerpt. hoping to get some feedback & see what people think! please, let it rip:)

Home. Home? What did that word mean to you? It was a noisy, dirty, yet charming city. An old house, at least sixty years old. Paint now peeling, gutters full of old leaves and shit. Home, a minute's walk across the road. Inside a warm dish of delicious food awaits. Michael hands you that first plate. There it was, the moment of truth. Determining if you were friend or foe. Not really though, just testing to see if you were a narc. (Later you would argue with Mikey that his logic made no sense whatsoever.)

You found a home in the dysfunctional, crazy ass Berzatto family. They quickly accepted you as one of their own. Having been Carmy’s best (and only) friend. Always so polite and sweet. Until Mikey or Richie pissed you off. They were always picking on you and Carmy. And sometimes they pushed hard enough to set you off. That is exactly why you’re all in this situation now.

“Fucking A. You ain’t gotta hit me that hard asshole! Seriously, it was just a fucking joke man! Lighten the FUCK UP!” Richie yelled. You sat across the island from him. Mikey was digging through the freezer. He was trying to find something to ice Richie’s face. You had given the bastard a black eye and a bloody fucking nose. Mikey was more than impressed. So was Richie, but he wouldn’t be telling you that any fucking time soon.

“I’m sorry Rick,” he scowled as you called him that. “I tried to warn ya that you went too far, but no, you just had to go there.” He just stared at you, deadpan. You sucked in a breath, cheeks puffed out. Head in your hands you let out the breath. Standing up and making your way in front of the man. A hand extended out, an olive branch.

Scoffing he smacked the hand away. Your chest tightened, Richie was basically your older brother. His rejection hurt, a fucking lot in fact. Not wanting him to see the tears starting to well up, you start to turn away. That is when you feel it. Two long, solid arms wrap around you. Twisting around, you rest your chin on his shoulder and grasp the back of his old ass hoodie tight. Fingers clenching the fabric.

“It’s all good Doll. I still love ya. Even if you broke my goddamn nose.” Richie held you, then after a beat, “I mean shit. My cheekbone feels like a grown man split it, kid.” The tender moment was over for now. Richie is trying to make a joke out of it. You smirk, shoving him by the shoulders into his previous seat.

“ ‘S what ya get asswipe! Quit fucking with her when she says. It’s called ‘boundaries’ cousin? Ever heard of the concept?” Mikey slapped a steak on his eye. The other man groaned.

“FUCK SAKES MIKEY! Please, could ya be a little more considerate or some shit? I already got rocked. Don’t need a worse fucking bruise.” Mumbling as he pushed Mikey’s hand away, holding the slab of meat.

“I am not eating that shit later Mikey, no fucking shot.” Giggling, you give the man a kiss on the cheek. “What’s for dinner anyways?” The dark haired man seemed to think for a moment, then said something similar to what landed Richie his shiner and fucked nose.

“Ask Carmy, I’m sure he has a few ideas for what he wants.” Wagging his eyebrows at you. The smirk was audible. Mikey seemed to be proud of himself for the quip.

“Y-You…motherfucker.. I swear I’ll end you, Berzatto. YOU BITCH, C’MERE.” You took off around the island to where he stood in front of the kitchen sink. Richie was screaming and crawling up onto the counter, “ You two fucks better watch out for me. My shit’s busted enough. Get the fuck outta here!”

The memories of Mikey and the family keep swirling through your head as you stand in front of the funeral home. It had been a year since you physically saw any of the Berzatto clan. Too many years since seeing your best friend. Carmen Anthony Berzatto. A name you desperately wanted to forget. The name felt hollow to say, a distant memory. A smoke show that never existed except only in the dark recesses of your mind. Brought up when you wish to torture yourself even more than usual.

Drinking in the cold Chicago air, you begin the trek up the stairs. One measly step at a time. Hoping to calm your racing heart. It felt like the organ was lodged in your throat, bound to come up in a grisly mess at any second. The walk into the foreboding building felt like it took light years and seconds all at once. Standing before the doors, hand hovering over the knob. Psyching yourself up you finally grasp the knob and starting to pull and-

“Fucking Christ! This is fucking insane.” A familiar voice barks out. The door was quickly and haphazardly thrown open. PANG! Jumping back it only caught your arm a bit. The pain was nice and a needed distraction.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I-I didn’t realize anyone…” a small gasp of surprise and a tearful chuckle. Then a slow shaky intake of air, “Doll, is-is that you? Or am I just fucking nuts?” Desperation paints his tone. His words crack and waver with emotion, no, sadness and grief. And a bit of hope.

“Hey cousin, I guess it's only fair, I did bust ya up good when we were younger. An eye for a, uh- arm, I guess.” Your voice was thick with the tears ready to be shed. Before you know you’re shoved into his warm chest. All you smell is stale cigarettes, and his woodsy, Ed Hardy cologne. The aroma of smoke, along with bergamot and amber soothes you. There was a time you despised this fucking scent. It was always too strong and pungent. Telling Richie he smelt like a hooker, wanting to piss him off.

“At least one of us is shaking ass and making some cash Doll.” SMACK! Richie shook his hips at you.

“You made it inside yet? ‘Course not, fuck. I-I’m sorry Doll, my brain is fucking lost. I-I don’t have a goddamn clue about what’s going on.” Apologizing and rubbing his nose roughly.

“Can’t lose something you never had Rick.” You smirk, jabbing him in his ribs.

“Hardy har. You got fucking jokes, eh? Nice, real nice…Shit.” Richie let out a loud sigh and looked at his feet, “Don’t call me fucking Rick man. Shit wasn’t cool when you were a kid, sure as shit ain’t cool now pip squeak.” He smacked you lightly on the back of your head. Reaching into his coat he grabs a cigarette, and swings the pack towards you. You quit smoking, (mainly vaping) a year ago. But, fuck it.

It is a funeral after all. Might as well take the edge off somehow. Being sober was fucking awful at times. You both finished the cigarettes in silence. After stubbing the cherry out, you gestured to the door.

“Think we should, uh, ya know?”

Richie swallowed his nerves and gave a single nod. The man had a hold of the handle before you could even think about it. Walking into one of the absolute worst possible moments of your entire fucking life.

[peachesofteal]

Cupcakes

Maybe this will be a thing. Or maybe not. Either way, I've got the Pedro brain rot.

Joel Miller/female reader One shot - 1.1k words - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, mentions of blood, violence, gore. Joel is bad at feelings. Descriptions of explicit sex. Joel doesn't understand you.

He doesn’t understand you. You smile. With your mouth, your pink lips curling above a deep scar on your chin. 

“It’s my trophy.” You told him one night. “I got it from a crazy fucker who had a barn fulla clickers.” He’s not sure why any person would be penning up a bunch of those things, but you did say he was crazy. “Killed him though. Was one of my first ones.” He watches your face go dark with the memory, and he tries to imagine what you were like before all this. Soft, sweet. Probably someone’s wife. Maybe you stayed at home. Made dinner, made breakfast. Maybe you were the type that made cupcakes, real ones from scratch, with sweet spun sugar icing. Maybe you took care of someone. 

He doesn’t understand the way you think. You’re always telling him to take it slow, take it easy, take his time. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. He has to move fast, quick, easy on his feet. He cannot slow down. You have no problem making pace, but it doesn’t keep you from voicing your opinion. 

“You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack. Don’t the doctors usually start old men on baby aspirin at your age?” He’s not that old, for christ’s sake. He’s not even forty-five yet, he thinks. When you laugh at your own jab, it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. 

He doesn’t understand the way you fight. You creep around like a god damn cat, brandishing a knife in your hand, another two slipped in your boots. You liked surprise, and you hated guns. The first time he had watched you put a blade in someone’s clavicle, he thought he was going to be sick. He didn’t like you having to get so close, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were fine. And he hates how his head spins when he watches you put that same knife in the side of a clicker’s head, twisting it for good measure, before you’re shoving off of them and bashing their skull in. 

“Can’t aim worth a shit.” You complained the day he took you out for practice. You couldn’t hit a single bottle, and he couldn’t fight the grimace that graced his face. When you saw it, your cheeks turned a different color, and guilt burned inside him. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so fucking stubborn. Why you don’t listen when he tells you to do something, when you blatantly ignore him when he tells you not to follow the crying little kid that’s begging for help. 

“It’s not like it was life or death.” He turned on you so fast he watched your eyes go wide, his arms pulling your shoulders towards his chest. “It is life or death!” He had yelled. You had run into that building without a care after that kid, and he could hardly keep up. Turns out, the kid’s mom was already infected, and he didn’t understand. He was only five. You covered his eyes while Joel put her down. You had carried him all the way back to camp, even after Joel had offered to take him, arms wrapped tight around his back as he cried. So stubborn. But you let Joel hold you that night, for the first time. In the dark, your hand running up and down his spine, your whispered words repeating over and over. “I’m fine. I’m fine, Joel.”

He doesn’t understand your feelings. The way they shift from one day to the next. He doesn’t like how it feels when he catches you crying, drop of tears webbed in your pillowy lashes. 

“What is it?” the words are gruff, and he wishes he was softer for a split second. You sniffle and shake your head. “It’s my dad’s birthday. Or would’ve been.” He gets it, he does. But he doesn’t know how to show you, so he just sits down on the step, his shoulder against yours. You wrap your hand around his knee after you’ve dried your tears, and he holds his breath while you turn your tear-stained face up towards him. “Thanks, Joel.” His name on your lips makes his blood sing. 

He doesn’t understand the way you talk to people either. The way you make everyone feel like they’re some ray of sunshine in your life. Like they matter to you. You give everyone your smile, and your eyes, and your touch. You rub Rita on her back when she throws up every second week of the month, like clockwork. You braid the Marshall girl’s hair when her mom isn’t around to do it. You try to arm wrestle John when you both get a free moment, and he can hear your laugh clear across the yard when he lets you win. 

“He gets a kick out of it.” You tell him one night. “Makes him feel good. Shitty world we live in, you know?” 

He knows. 

He wants to make you feel good.

He hasn’t had a woman under him in years. He’s all rough sandpaper, and he can’t imagine that scraping against your porcelain skin. But, that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. He dreams about bending you back on one of those shitty mattresses, your skin rippling in goosebumps under the tips of his fingers. He imagines the way your mouth tastes, how your hand would feel wrapped around his cock. He thinks about how you’d sound, with his mouth on your cunt, his tongue licking up inside you, pulling an orgasm through your gritted teeth. He’d hold your hip in one hand and fuck his fingers into you with the other, feeling the way the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. He thinks about how he’d push your hips down onto his cock, your back arched in his arms, your mouth pressing into his shoulder as you moan. “Joel.” you’d whine, tongue darting out to lick your lips, hand gripping his forearm. “Fuck, Joel. Please.” He’d bite the skin of your neck, bringing it between his teeth, pulling the blood to the surface to brand you. You’d be his. 

These things he wants, they’re just a fantasy. A gentle dream, like the memory of the world before. He knows that, he does. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting. From watching you when you’re on guard, hips swaying with every step you take. Doesn’t stop him from taking himself in his hand when he thinks about the curve of your waist, the prominent dips in your hips, the soft crease where your thigh bends when you sit, legs folded against each other. He wants to pin you beneath him until you’re shaking, wants to hold you to his chest while you sleep. He wants the sweet, soft spun sugar that melts in his mouth, the feeling of you in his arms. He wants the cupcakes, the real ones. 

He wants it all. But it’s only a fantasy. 

[neophele]

[21:13]  You’re Working Too Hard – college!au, boyfriend!Jeno, comfort, fluff

A warm body pressed against your back, angular face nuzzling into your shoulder. 

“My baby,” his deep voice breathed into your skin. His large hands lingered on your shoulders, stroking down your arms until they reached your chest, lightly tracing the curves of your body until settling on the crook of your waist. He took a breath, wanting to get a hit of the scent that was so uniquely yours. 

You huffed, a sharp breath snatched from your lips as he squeezed you tighter. 

“How did you know I was here?” You asked, raising a hand to the back of Jeno’s hair, stroking down from the top of his head to the base of his neck. 

“A hunch,” he replied, letting you go and taking the seat next to you. “I know you like to work in coffee shops more than in your room.” 

You smiled with tight lips, not wanting to let him know how pleased you were to see him. As much as you tried to keep on top of things with your current and those ever-looming deadlines, you were struggling to keep your head above water. Maintaining the expectations that had been placed upon you, the weight of years and years of achievement stacking up. You couldn’t fail now. 

“Sorry, Jeno, I just have so much to do,” you apologised, unable to look away from your screen as you desperately tried to keep up with the words you swore were spinning around your head. 

“I know, honey,” the affectionate name that rolled off his lips so easily made you bite down on your lip, finally breaking your sore eyes away from the screen to look at your boyfriend. Now that he could see your face properly, his heart dropped. Eyes red from staring at a computer screen, puffed dark circles hollowing your face, brows stuck in a permanent furrow, lips raw from where you’d been biting the skin anxiously. He could see the stress and anxiety etched into the face he only ever wanted to see smiling. 

“You’re working too hard,” he said, pulling a hand up to the side of your face, brushing over your scowl with his thumb as if he could wipe it away.

“I’m barely on top of things, I think I’m not–” He stopped you with a kiss, a gentle peck that made you soften your shoulders. He pulled back, looking into your eyes so deeply that you felt you could feel him swimming in your mind. His hand stayed on the neck of your neck, keeping you close to his face.

“Don’t you dare say you think you’re not doing enough.” He warned you. “You’ve been getting up at six AM every morning these past few weeks – I know because I heard you always apologise to me for leaving me alone in bed. You pay attention in every single class, and you take notes more meticulously than anyone I’ve ever met – I know because mine are shit, and the guys all beg me to take photos of yours. You study for hours until it’s dark outside – I know because you always come home late, and then stay awake even longer. You don’t go to bed until two AM– I know because I always stay up so I can hold you when you finally get some rest, so I can see you sleeping peacefully.”

Your lips quivered at his words of frustration, the acknowledgement of the effort you’d been putting in, ruining your body and forsaking a large part of social life just to live up to the standards that, along the way, had grown into a demon larger than life. But he wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at the demons clawing at your back. 

A tear fell from the corner of your eye, one that Jeno quickly wiped away with his thumb before kissing the space under your eye from where it had fallen. He gave you his signature smile, crescent moons lighting up your sky. He pulled away, taking both your hands in one of his and closing your laptop. His care for you was certain. Never wanting to get in the way of your potential and ruin the achievements you’d worked too damn hard to let a boy get in the way of. It was something you’d established at the outset of your relationship, and he respected it greatly. But this was beyond the limits any human could take; it was slowly eating you alive. 

“Let me take you home. We’re gonna order food, watch a shitty film, and you’re gonna fall asleep on the couch so I can carry you to bed, where you will sleep for more than twelve hours. You deserve – no, you need it.” 

[bruisedboys]

hi!! i just found this blog and i really love your writing! could you please write some hurt/comfort for james potter x gn!reader where he takes them on a date to a restaurant but the restaurant is really busy and loud so they end up panicking and james helps them?

thank you so much!! this request was so sweet, hope this is ok my love

gn!reader 0.5k words

James’s hugs are grounding. He’s strong with his hugs, arms tight around your biceps and his hands on your back, pressing your chest to his like he wants to be like this forever.

You think he’s telling you to breathe, but you can’t really hear him over the sound of your own heartbeat. It’s deafening, like a drum in your ears. You search for something else to focus on. Luckily, James has pulled you so close that you can feel every breath he’s taking, his firm chest rising and falling against yours. You try to copy it to the best of your ability.

You don’t realise your heartbeat has disappeared from your ears until James speaks again.

“That’s it,” he’s saying into your hair, and his voice is smooth and calm and pretty as ever. It sends a rush of comfort from your head to your toes. “You’re okay, baby.”

Finally, finally, you feel like you can breathe again. It’s quieter out here than you thought, only the trickle of light rain hitting the pavement and muted music from the restaurant, faraway voices and distant laughter.

You take a deep breath, your nose pressed to James’s chest. His scent clouds your senses. Honey, bergamot, and the rain that clings to his hair and dampens the shoulders of his dress shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying, because he’s all dressed up and you’ve ruined the night. You’d freaked out in there and left James to usher you out of one of his favourite restaurants in the middle of dinner. You feel so guilty you could cry.

“What?” James sounds genuinely confused.

You look up at him, thinking he hadn’t heard you. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, chin to his chest, feeling close to tears. “For, um. For freaking out.”

James face crumples. His lips morph into a frown and he looks so sad you almost take it back.

“Darling,” he says, sticky as honey and twice as sweet. He releases you from his hold and you panic for a second but then he’s taking your face in his big, warm hands, fingers spread over your cheeks and jaw. “Don’t apologise for that shit. You can’t help it, you know?”

“I know, but—“

James bends to kiss your nose and your words are lost to the wind.

“Don’t,” he whispers, shaking his head softly, his lips hovering near your own. “It’s okay to get overwhelmed sometimes, honey.”

Your knees feel suddenly weak. He’s so lovely. So kind. Sometimes you think you’ve made him up in your head and he’s just a figment of your imagination. You clutch him closer to make sure he isn’t.

“Thank you,” you say. You think there should be a word, a saying, that means more than just ‘thank you’. All you can think of is, “I love you.”

James beams. The streetlight behind him creates a halo around his head, water droplets cling to his curls and his smile is so bright it’s blinding. He looks like an angel.

“I love you back,” he says like he always does. He bends to press a kiss to each of your cheeks, his hands sliding down to your shoulders. When he pulls away he’s still smiling bright as day. “I’ll love you more if you come home with me and raid the freezer for ice cream.”

How could you say no to that?

[mathanlin]

Hero AU where Tommy can take any hit — at the cost of feeling pain later.

It’s worth it. Tommy’s powers land him right in SBI’s team, surrounded by his favorite heroes. They *adore* him, and Tommy soaks it up without a moment’s hesitation.

Even when they hurt Tommy themselves.

It’s not on purpose, of course.

To them, it’s just training. They think he’s invulnerable, after all — and hell, Tommy flat-out tells them not to pull their punches. 

And… they don’t.

They’re not famous heroes for no reason — and Tommy should be elated they want him on their team so badly, spending every spare moment with him. 

Little chats. Games. Gifts. Non-stop affection—

—and non-stop training. 

“If it doesn’t hurt, why do you keep flinching?”

Tommy narrowly avoids Wilbur’s swing, stumbling back. “What?”

“You always look scared.” Wilbur frowns. “Why? It’s not like anything can hurt you, quit wasting your time by dodging.”

*Quit wasting /my/ time,* Tommy hears.

So he listens.

But he still tries to bargain.

“Do you have to hit so hard?” he says, trembling as he pushes himself off the mat. 

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Techno says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, get up. The worse I can do is knock you over.”

And Tommy doesn’t say a word.

Because, no.

SBI can do far worse than hurt him. They could *leave* him — because what use is an ability like Tommy’s, if he can’t take the pain?

So he stays quiet, burying himself out of sight whenever the pain hits. 

Until one time, he can’t. 

It’s a chaotic battle, but Tommy’s not scared. Sure, he’s taken a hundred little hits already, and he’ll pay for them later. But he’ll be fine.

Until some amateur villain wrenches him into a grapple—

—and jams a gun into his gut.

“Let me go or I’ll shoot him.”

Tommy struggles frantically, heart stuttering as the villain’s grip stays tight. 

He’s never been shot.

He doesn’t know if it’ll kill him.

“Wil— Siren,” he chokes out into his comm. “Angel? Blade? Please, I need help, please—”

“Hold on,” Wilbur says, and Tommy’s heart leaps at the concern in his voice. 

In a heartbeat, he’s there. The villain snarls, pressing the gun deeper into Tommy’s ribs as Wilbur skids to a stop.

He tilts his head. Tommy’s heart soars—

—and then Wilbur starts *laughing.*

“False alarm,” Wilbur calls into the comm, still grinning as he turns away. “He’s fine.”

“No,” Tommy cries, fighting (maybe for his fucking *life*). “No, no, don’t leave, please—”

The gun goes off.

The villain drops him. Tommy crumples, clutching his stomach despite not feeling a thing.

And he doesn’t get up.

Fear makes him weak. 

Even as the battle rages around him, he can’t force himself to stand. Can’t even hear through the ringing in his ears, shaking as he braces for the pain to come. 

But he should’ve been listening.

“For fuck’s sake, Tommy.”

It’s Wilbur that finds him, still huddled in the rubble. Tommy uncurls, forcing his tear-filled eyes to focus.

*God, this is going to hurt so bad.*

“Where the fuck were you?”

Tommy blinks the tears away, shivering. “What?”

Finally, his vision focuses.

And he immediately wishes it hadn’t.

Wilbur’s bleeding. His mask is half-shattered, revealing a black eye, narrowed in fury.

And standing behind him, the Angel & Blade aren’t much better. Cuts, bruises, covered in dust and rubble.

And Tommy’s unharmed. 

Wilbur stalks forward, slamming a finger into Tommy’s chest — right above where the bullet landed.

“You’re our fucking *guard,* Tommy,” he yells, jaw tight. “We can’t take hits, that’s *your job.*”

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

Wilbur throws up his hands. “We called you, Tommy. You didn’t listen.”

*I called you, too,* Tommy thinks dimly. *You just laughed.*

But he still whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Get up,” Wilbur snaps, cradling his bleeding arm. “We’re going home. You can clean up this shit while we try not to *bleed out.*”

That shouldn’t be relieving. But it is. All Tommy needs is a quiet place to wait out the agony. He stands—

—and the pain hits him all at once.

(And SBI? They’re not out of earshot yet.

They may have never heard Tommy in pain, but that agonized scream is horribly familiar.

Even if it’s silent by the time they find him.)

.

.

.

“You asked me to stop, and I didn’t.”

It’s Techno that breaks first. Techno, with his inhuman, brutal strength. Techno, who’d forced Tommy to train the most, who’d never held back.

Who’s now crying at Tommy’s beside, head buried in the hands that’d never hesitated to attack him. 

“Why, Tommy? Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, voice thick with tears. “Why did you let me hurt you?”

Tommy curls in on himself. The bullet wound doesn’t hurt anymore, but the fear does. 

Because, desperate, he whispers, “I can do it again. It didn’t hurt that bad.”

*And you wouldn’t spend time with me if I didn’t fight,* he thinks. *Right?*

Because that’s who he’d taken the pain for — them. Shielding them with his body? Suffering under their own hands?

It was better than losing them. 

“Bullshit,” Techno says, voice cracking as Tommy flinches. “Tommy, I saw you. I heard you *screaming,* I can’t—”

He’s… shaking. Hands balled into fists (making Tommy’s stomach flip), face turned away & refusing to look at him (which is somehow worse).

“I can’t do that again.”

“Techno—”

Techno stands. He’s shaking less now, determination written in every feature.

“You’re done, Tommy, I’m never letting you fight again.”

“But I fucking *can,*” Tommy says, throwing the blankets off and gesturing at himself. “Look at me, Techno. There’s no marks, there never was, you didn’t even have to fucking bandage me—”

Techno’s jaw tightens, reaching out to push Tommy back into bed—

And Tommy flinches.

Techno’s face crumples.

And so does Tommy’s heart. 

Because even as his skin aches for Techno to just *hold* him, it also burns with every bruise that’d never formed, mind straining against its instinctual fear.

“No. I didn’t have to bandage you,” Techno says, voice wavering. “But I had to hold you. I had to listen to you crying, Tommy, you were begging us not to leave. ”

Tommy’s face burns with shame. “I— that wasn’t— I didn’t mean that.”

“But you did.”

Now Techno’s the one to curl in on himself. “I heard you. We all did. You sounded so *scared* when you called for help, I had to stop myself from running to you.”

Tommy shivers, stomach turning with the memory of the gun pressed to it. 

And the sound of Wilbur’s laugh. 

“But I didn’t,” Techno says, every word cracking. “I left you. I let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t know,” Tommy whispers. “I never told you.”

“But how many times did you *try?*” Techno shudders. “How many times did I ignore you?”

*I can’t even count,* Tommy realizes. How many times he’d pleaded to skip training, for them to go easier on him, to have one day without suffering under their hands.

For them to love him, without feeling like he needed to be useful first.

“No,” Techno says, standing. “No, I’m not doing it. You’re done, Tommy, forever. You’re off the team.”

Tommy’s heart stops. That’s it. That’s the fate he’d dreaded, the end he’d fought to avoid. All that pain, just to lose them, just to get their affection taken away—

Techno takes a shaky breath, then sits.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you.”

(And he doesn’t. None of them do.

There’s always someone at Tommy’s side — like *they’re* guarding *him.* 

There’s no more non-stop training. Only the opposite, unending affection freely and softly given.

It doesn’t take Tommy long to unlearn his fear.)

[kill-the-hand-of-shakespeare]

“We’re just two slow dancers.

Last ones out.”

—

The bookshop was a mess of scattered books and toppled furniture. Pages fell from the upstairs landing and flittered to the floor seemingly in slow motion. It was eerily quiet.

The last place on earth.

It will end, as it started, in a garden. And not the garden of Eden- where god had begun it. No. The last place on earth; that was now fire and molten lava, was the bookshop- a garden of knowledge. And Crowley stared at it from his place on the floor, defeated.

He had done everything. He had tried to stop the second coming with everything he had, but it was all futile. He was half of a whole, always had been. His other half, who had abandoned him, was across the room staring at the mess he’d made.

The demon could see the gears turning in the angel’s mind. See the way his fingers shook where they were pressed against his lips; how his head turned and gaze flicked quickly around the space, mimicking an animal of prey. How he stumbled about and muttered under his breath, unsteady in every sense of the word. He watched an exhale leave him like Azira had been punched in the gut when he looked to where Nina’s shop had once been, and instead was met with the vision of flames and hot liquid from middle earth.

Crowley could see the cracks forming on porcelain skin, and refused to watch him break. The Angel didn’t deserve an audience.

He took a long swig from the bottle of red in his hand- it tasted shit, but got the job done on numbing the hole that was growing in his chest from his emotional turmoil.

He let his head fall back and hit the wall, press into it like his back was doing, and pulled his knees up closer to his chest.

Closing his eyes tight, he listened to the Archangel shuffle around the bookshop and whisper to himself. He couldn’t make it out, but it was something along the lines of ‘What have I done? She wouldn’t want this... this... this wasn’t the plan... this... this isn’t what was supposed to happen.’

Crowley kept his eyes closed. The shuffles grew closer, and soon enough he felt a vibration through the wall as Aziraphale fell against it and slid down to the ground heavily.

They were quiet. Crowley swallowed hard. He could feel Aziraphale holding his breath, and that only meant one thing.

He didn’t flinch when he Angel let out a quiet sob.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked to the Angel on his right, seeing his face turned away from Crowley. The Angel needed to be close- maybe for comfort, but was too embarrassed to look at his once friend- maybe even lover. He couldn’t let Crowley see the hot tears fall down his pain-twisted face.

Crowley sighed through his nose and set the bottle down on his left, before he reached up slowly and took off his glasses, setting them beside the bottle. He looked at Aziraphale for a moment and he took in a breath, clearing his throat. He smelt the smoke seeping into the bookshop. Tasted it.

“Aziraphale, look at me.” He said, his voice hoarse from yelling pleads to cease the chaos as the world went to ruins. The Angel shook his head and let a quiet wail leave him, hands bunched tight in his lap.

“Angel...” the word made Aziraphale almost gag, Crowley could see the lurch of his chest and stomach.

“Angel, please look at me...” Crowley asked again, and the begging tone in his voice wasn’t his choice- his body did it on its own. The pain in Aziraphale’s cries made his heart pang with guilt. Aziraphale wiped his face and turned to look at Crowley, even if it was useless- the tears kept flowing, quick and hot.

They stared at eachother for a moment, Aziraphale frantically searching Crowley’s eyes for something - anything to make this better.

“I-I’m so sorry, Crowley. I didn’t... I didn’t think... This is all my fault.” He said, looking away from Crowley to look at the bookshop, to the shadows of flames dancing on the yellow walls. Yellow he had once found cheery. Yellow like eyes of his most loved person. Yellow of home. “I did this...” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “This is my doing...” he sobbed.

Crowley tongued his cheek and nodded slowly, looking around. He couldn’t deny it, he wouldn’t try. His hurt was too loud in his ears now- roaring like the flames licking at the bookshop doors. He chewed at his lip and jutted his chin, letting his gaze work back to Aziraphale. He looked so small. So scared. He too, was defeated. No one won a war when there was no prize, no reason truly to fight... Aziraphale knew that just as well as Crowley. And the demon’s hurt couldn’t form hatred, or anger. It would be so much easier if it did. But nothing ever came easy.

“Angel, my Angel, look at me...” he asked again, and when he held pale blue gaze, he just reached up and gently cupped the angels cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered again, stuttering in a breath. Crowley only nodded, and gave a sad smile.

“I forgive you.”

—

OOUF! Just a little piece from my mind after looking at @drunkenmantis works tonight. Goodnight! 🤗😈

[00ops1e]

Sunshine for Everyone pt.2

Pricefield! Fluff!

Life is Strange - Max Caufield x Chloe Price

After saving Chloe at the expense of Arcadia Bay, our favorite girls are forced to flee their hometown. It soon becomes apparent that while they can run from the storm, running from their desires just isn't plausible.

click here for part one

“I swear I could sleep forever,” Max mutters, cuddling into the blanket further. The motel had proven to be a good idea, using someone else’s hot water and blankets was always nice. The pair were too tired to even notice the television only had four channels, or that the mattress was a little lumpy. Maybe things just weren’t so bad if they had each other.

“We can stay as long as you'd like,” Chloe trails off, “s’cheap enough anyways we deserve a vacation.” she babbles with eyes half closed, no longer sure of her words. The girls lay in bed, inches between. The last room available happened to be a single, and she had managed to haggle the price down, so fucking score again. When the man in the office mentioned the single bed, Chloe felt something flutter deep in her gut. It was a giddy, childlike feeling, but muddled with some sort of anxiety. 

Max shifted in the bed, mind still racing, “Will you hold me?” She heard the words fall from her lips before they even registered in her brain. The question appears to catch both girls off guard. It hung in the air for a moment, Max began to babble, face growing red, “I- 'm sorry I really didn’t mean to… I just, I can't stop it's all too much. I don’t know what's w-wrong with me.”

Without hesitation, she pulls the smaller girl into her arms, as if rehearsed, as if Chloe had been waiting a lifetime. Instantly the tension evicts Max’s body. The sweet musk of her shampoo, perfume, whatever it was completely enveloped Chloe. Holding her tight just felt natural, like all was well with the world. Comforting others has never come easy for Chloe, always awkward, never knowing what to say or do. Not with Max though, she made everything easy. Existing with her felt like hearing an old song and singing along perfectly, yet recalling none of the lyrics. She traces small circles into Max’s back, the smaller girl somewhat buried in her chest.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Chloe starts, angry at the world for putting her max through all of this, “y-you didn't ask for any of this. You shouldn't have seen even half the shit you did. Max, I swear to you if there was a way I could take it all away, I’d do it.” Max looks up at her, tears in those beautiful blue eyes threatening to spill. A pang of fear hits Chloe right in the gut. Did she say something wrong? Did Chloe cause those tears? 

She begins to ramble, “Shit, I’m not saying I'm not glad I found you again, or that you shouldn’t have saved me or-or anything like that,” a sense of urgency laced her tone, god she was supposed to be helping not making it worse. “I just- I wish I could fix it, seriously Max. I am so so fucking happy you’re with me again. I don’t know, I guess, i-i just feel like it's all my fault” Her voice thickened towards the end, holding back a sob. ‘This is not about you Chloe,’ she thinks, reprimanding herself for being so selfish. But the guilt had been festering, gnawing at her organs like some feral dog with a bone. She was the reason the whole world had turned upside down.

“C-Chloe,” Max mumbled, sitting up to look at her properly. With shaky hands, she took the girl's face in her hands. Forcing Chloe to meet her eyes, hands lingering on her cheeks a bit too long before pushing the messy blue hair behind her ears. Her hands rest languidly on Chloe’s shoulders, reassuring her somehow. Max sat and contemplated her next words before answering, “None of this was you, okay? This is some freak-supernatural stuff okay? I do not blame you. Do you hear me? Please don't ever think that. I’d go through it all again if it meant I had you. Chloe, you're my best friend.”

It was like Max was able to reach inside and undo the knots in Chloe’s stomach. No one had ever done so with such ease, such grace. Not even Rachel, though that hurt to admit. Max just knew her, regardless of the years apart. Deep down, way below the rough punk girl exterior, Chloe was still the same little girl Max had grown up with. A soft smile inched its way to the surface, god how could she not smile looking at her? The way her hair fell, perfectly framed those soft doe eyes. Those fucking freckles and long lashes. The way Max would look up at her, eyelids heavy, how could anyone keep a straight face? Chloe hadn’t realized she was staring until she felt a soft squeeze on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Chloe mustered up, embarrassment pricking at her cheeks. She shifted in place, yearning for closeness once more. These feelings, they can't be normal. Max’s words reverberate in her skull, ‘my best friend’  they stung a little. Those ten letters formed a lump in her throat, a pit in her chest. The words had some sort of mal effect on her, and she just couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Chloe once again chalked it up to just feeling weird about Arcadia.

The blank look in Chloe’s eyes prompts Max to speak. Whatever had her in such a trance could not possibly be kind. Max used a shaky hand to brush the girl’s cheek, “Do you think we could get some sleep now?” she proposed, pulling Chloe from the complexities that danced in her mind. 

She nods silently and lays her head on the pillow, wriggling slightly to settle in. Max drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling that mess of blue hair onto her chest. Upon feeling the weight on her chest, Max lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. This was a comfort unknown to her, never before had she felt this light. An absentminded hand travels to Chloe’s hair, despite all the bleach and dye damn it was soft. With her fingers tangled in the blue locks, everything felt right in the world.

“Everything that happened was so terrible,” Max breathes, wanting to offer one final comfort before slumber claimed them both, “It was so terrible, we’re not okay. But we’re gonna be. We can work through it Price, we’re a team and-and we can heal together. I’ll help you, we don't have to face things alone.” max consoled, her voice wavering ever so slightly. 

“It's you and me against the world Caufield, now and forever,” Chloe assured, tightening her grip on the smaller girl, as if afraid she’d get snatched away, “seriously max, what would I do without you?” she let out a small chuckle before closing her eyes and passing out, still entangled with her best friend.

I have yet to begin writing the rest of this (call of duty brainrot is taking over my life) but i promise my google doc has many many ideas. stay tuned ig? lots of love, liz

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜a promise made is a promise kept.

cw; talks of mental health 『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

“I’m fine, Kat,” you mumble, swiping a tear away from your cheek. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he countered, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Y’shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

You turn to face away from him, hiding the emotions unraveling in your eyes. “It’s how everyone else does.”

“Fuck that!” Katsuki doesn’t mean to shout at you, but he’s frustrated at how everyone else has made you feel. He hates seeing you like this.

“Y/N, you are good enough. You’re strong, one of the strongest people I know.”

“What if I don’t wanna be strong?!” You choke out, swinging back to face him with tears flowing from your eyes. He physically recoils seeing you in such an emotional state. “I’m tired, Katsuki. I’m exhausted from just...existing. Everything feels heavy and I don’t know how much longer I can carry it!”

The air is heavy between the two of you in the living room of your apartment. Katsuki doesn’t know what to say, your words weighing on his heart. He removes his hand from your shoulder and slides his hand atop yours on the couch cushion.

“ ‘m sorry,” he whispers, brushing his thumb on the back of your hand gently. He’s dying to kiss away your tears and hold you until you fall asleep, but he can’t and it kills him. You are his best friend - there’s nothing that hurts him more than seeing you slip away into the dark clouds of your mind.

You stifle a sob, trying to hold back everything from flooding out of you. “I don’t want it to be heavy…I want to see color in the world again.” Your head falls into your hands, soaking your palms with discarded tears.

Katsuki puts a hand on your back, trying to soothe you by rubbing in light circles. “I want that for you, too.”

“Kat?” You ask, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“Yeah?”

“C-can you hold me?”

You’re hiccuping between sobs as he tugs you into his chest, wrapping you in a tight embrace. “Y’don’t even have to ask. My arms are always open for ya.”

A few moments go by as he’s stroking your hair, delicately combing through it with his fingers to help calm your nerves.

“Sometimes, I feel like I need to shut down for a few weeks and reboot myself,” you snivel into his shirt. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like death, but not actually dying.”

The thought of you not being here hits Katsuki like a truck. He can feel his lip quivering as he struggles not to cry.

“Please…don’t say that,” he pleads, squeezing you roughly as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t want ya to think shit doesn’t matter. 'Cause it does, and I wanna show you it does.”

He’s the first person to ever challenge your depressive episodes consistently - in a good way. Past partners, other friends and even family had never gone that far for you. It’s usually sympathetic nonsense, accompanied with “don’t worry, it’ll get better” and not “I’ll make it better.”

“What do you mean by that?” you question, unsure of what his intention is as you pull back in his hold to look at him.

Katsuki moves a piece of hair out of your face and his beautiful ruby eyes shimmer, staring straight into the depths of your soul. You can tell he’s nervous. His eyes never fail to express his true colors.

He hesitantly leans forward and places a feather-light kiss to your forehead, followed by the apples of your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Each one is tender, slow and full of love.

“I won’t tell ya how to feel, but I can promise that I’ll do everything I can to make the sun shine for you.” He takes your hand in his, kissing the back of it like he’s in the presence of royalty.

You blink a few times to bat away the tears in your lashes, his actions and words making your heart flutter.

"That's...the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," you squeak, another onset of tears forming in your doe eyes. "You're already a light in my life, Katsuki. Not to sound cheesy, but you're like my lighthouse in the fog, always leading me back home."

How did you flip this around to make it so now he wants to cry?

Katsuki smiles to himself, praying his stray tear won't catch your attention. He takes your hand again, wrapping his pinky finger around yours.

"Sappy or not, I promise," he whispers.

You reciprocate and smile. "Thank you, Katsuki."

Taking a gamble, he cradles your face, approaching your lips at a snails pace. He's giving you time to stop him, to pull away if this isn't what you want - you don't.

Your lips cautiously graze one another's, testing the waters of your friendship. He presses further to deepen the kiss and you happily accept. Once you part, you dive into his arms and snuggle against him.

"You'll always be my light."

[corrodedhawkins]

I’m thinking of really rough sex with Eddie but then the female character says her safe word and he immediately stops and comforts her

Thank you for requesting! I got another pretty similar ask so I combined them ☺️

Content warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex, hair pulling, overstimulation, safe word use, crying, lots of aftercare.

“T-too much. It’s too much”, you pant, gasping for breath.

Eddie’s between your legs, two fingers shoved into you as he pounds them against your g-spot, thumb firm on your clit. He had just made you cum for the third time but he wasn’t stopping. His fingers kept moving as you spasmed rhythmically around them, squirming from overstimulation.

“You can take it”, Eddie only finger fucks you harder, replacing his thumb on your clit with his mouth.

Your back arches, head thrown back against the pillows as you cry out, another orgasm ripping through you.

“Turn around”, Eddie hisses before you can even catch your breath. Once you flip over he grabs your hips, pulling you onto your knees with your ass hiked up. He pushes into you, groaning as you clench around him.

He grabs your hair, fist twisting until he has a tight coil wrapped in his hand. He pulls, yanking your head back to expose your throat.

“Are you going to cum again for me?”, he pants into your neck.

You shake your head as best you can with him holding your hair, “n-no please. I can’t. I can’t cum again.”

Eddie chuckles, grazing his teeth against your pulse point. “You have your safe word kitten, I know you remember it, you told me so before we started. If I don’t hear it I’m not stopping.” He pulls your hair tighter, forcing you further back onto his cock as your back arches.

You try to squirm away, the feeling of Eddie’s cock rubbing against your oversensitive g-spot almost unbearable.

When Eddie hikes your ass up higher, his cock head rams into your cervix on his next thrust in, the stimulation shifting from too much to painful.

“Red”, you gasp, tears suddenly leaking from your eyes. “Red!”

Eddie freezes the second he hears it, thrusts halting as he pulls out as gently as he can.

“Okay, okay. We’re stopping”, Eddie coos. He gathers you into his arms and cradles you against his chest. ”C’mere. I gotcha, you’re okay.”

You’re crying into his chest, shoulders shaking with every sob. “I know, I know. You’re alright”, he whispers. He holds you closer, hands running soothingly over your back as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

He’s so patient with you, waiting for your cries to die down before he asks what happened.

You shake your head, a wave of fresh tears hitting you. “I’m sorry”, you sniffle. “I-I don’t know what happened. I was fine, and then all of a sudden it just became way too much and I panicked.”

“Shh. Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to be sorry for, babe.”

“I ruined it, though. You didn’t get to cum”, you frown.

Eddie snorts, “you didn’t ruin shit. I don’t care if I cum or not, I just want you to always feel safe.” He cradles your face in his hand gently, eyes searching yours. “This is why we have safe words, sweetheart. For this exact situation. If you’re ever uncomfortable, we stop. No questions asked.”

“You’re sure?”, you ask through wet lashes, sniffling softly.

“Yes, I’m sure. C’mon”, he rubs your arm soothingly. “Time for aftercare, my specialty.”

Eddie scurries out of the room, clambering around the kitchen noisily. A moment later, he returns with a bar of chocolate, your favorite fluffy blanket, and an ice cold bottle of water.

He laughs as you make grabby hands for the chocolate, unfolding the blanket to drape it around you. Once you’re comfortable, he gets into bed beside you, arm slung around you to pull you close. He hands you the remote, bestowing the ever sacred honor of picking the movie for tonight upon you.

You scroll through Netflix until you hear Eddie groan beside you, his eyes catching what he knows you’re going to choose before you even see it. Once you do, you squeal, excitedly hitting play on the remote.

He pulls you closer as you settle back into the pillows, tucking you into his side. He places soft kisses to your forehead as you watch the Summit logo pass by on screen.

“I’d never given much thought to how I would die”, you repeat with Bella. “But dying in the place of someone I love seems like a good way to go.”

Eddie sighs, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before he rests his cheek on the top of your head to watch the movie. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Sure. Let’s pretend you don’t think Edward is badass”, you say as the deer starts to run through the forest.

“Well he is”, you hear Eddie grumble under his breath.

@ghastlyentity @sweetpeapod @e0509 @stardustmunson @simpingoverfictionalppl @quinnswife86 @munsonquinns @thorfemmes @khaleesibubblegum @manddoublee @mcplestreet @lizziesfirstwife @kellynickelsgirl00 @wroteclassicaly @msmimiandrew @emokid-ellie @stardust-galaxies @escapingthereality

[writer-akihiko]

Hi! If that's okay could i request some angst for the first years (+Grim, Crewel and Crowley? Platonic only for them)

MC/Yuu runs away from NRC due to all the shit they've been put through because of Crowley not doing his job, they do finally find them some days later but MC refuses to go back to NRC and tells Crowley that they despise him.

Reactions?

First Years + MC Running Away [+Plat!Crewel & Crowley]

I love the angst for this, and planning the emotions that they would feel! The dorm leaders also make a cameo in Crewel and Crowley's part. Cut for length.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Emotional Manipulation, Curse Words, Wounds and Mild Violence. Please read at your own discretion.

"I'm not going back."

"Wh... What?" He was astonished. "YN... I've looked far and wide for you- please-"

No words left his mouth as you stepped away from him, tears in your eyes and you were going to make a run for it again.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was in a dilemma. He wanted to go back to NRC because of Malleus, but you refused to. You still meant a lot to him of course, but he still wanted to stay in NRC. He reached out to you, holding you in place with his Fae strength.

"YN, we have to go back. Please don't be unreasonable," He begged. There was no way he wasn't going without you.

You shook your head, trying to tug against Sebek as much as possible. There was no way you could fight against him, and you wouldn't want to hurt him either. "Sebek... Sebek just let me go. I'm just a human and..."

The moment was ruined with Crowley showing up, yelling at Sebek to bring you back. You mustered as much of your voice as you could. "No! Don't take me back!" You screamed at Sebek, who was holding you in a lock. "I hate him! I hate him, don't do this to me Sebek!"

His grip almost loosened at you saying you hated Crowley. Actually, he thought it was directed at him. It took a lot of effort for Sebek not to cry because he knew. He knew how much you didn't deserve the things you faced. The Overblots, the treatment and sheer alienation from other students, Crowley's neglect... He knew.

He blamed himself for getting so caught up in what his Master was doing that he forgot to care about you. When he found out that you ran away, he felt as if he deserved it. He pulled you in, tucking you against his chest and allowing you to cry.

He didn't bring you closer to the others, neither did he bring you away. He kept you close to him, as your tears stained his perfect uniform. Not a word came from him when you cried into him. It was kept that way, as the half-Fae dared to growl at Crowley and anyone else that took a step closer to you.

"YN... You're safe with me, alright?"

Ace Trappola

He told himself that he wouldn't get mad, but your refusal just rubbed salt in wounds as he remembered the sleepless nights of trying to find you. Beneath all of it, he was scared. He was scared that he lost you to some one else. He was scared that this world never suited you, and you finally went to your own, leaving him alone.

"What do you mean you're not going back?! YN, stop screwing around with me!" He screamed, throwing his magic pen to the ground. At this point, he was pissed about anything relating to magic. Magic was useless when it came to finding you.

"I'm not going so leave me alone Ace..." You told him, tears nearing at your eyes. "I don't want to. I don't want to. I'm done with Crowley's shit and I'm done with NRC."

You took a running start, but Ace caught you, pushing you to the ground. His expression caught you off-guard. He was crying, eyes puffy and tired as his face was pale, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep.

"You're done?! How could you... I..." He didn't know what to say. You were right. You had dealt with enough. You never deserved it... If it weren't for him and his troublemaking ways... Maybe you wouldn't have to suffer...

"I'm sorry..." He coughed out, his voice strained. He kept you pinned on the ground, as his tears flowed with yours. "I'm sorry for being an idiot. I'm sorry for dragging you into trouble. I know you don't deserve it but I'm an asshole that does anyway..."

"Ace..."

"But!..." He went on, his eyes glossing over as he admired you once again. Oh... you were beautiful to him, even if you were crying in his arms. "But I'm selfish. I didn't want to let you go so I went after you instead... So hit me if you want, scream or punch me... I don't care, just don't leave me."

He sat up, pulling you into his lap, his chin under your head. "I was so lonely without you YN..."

"Godammit I love you..." He choked out, his tears never-ending. You both sat there, hugging each other as if it were your last days. You didn't dare to let go of him this time.

Deuce Spade

He didn't know how to respond. All he knew was that he had to hold onto you before you ran away from him once again. "YN... Wait... Don't leave!"

He wondered if he even made the right choice to stay on the side of bringing you back. From just the look of you, he knew you were tired. He knew those responsibilities were never yours. Your suffering just proved to Deuce how powerless he was. Maybe that's why he wanted to bring you back... as proof that he could do something for you.

"YN... I'm sorry..." He said, holding you close to him. There wasn't a thing he could do for you. All you went through... It was Crowley's irresponsibility. He did this to you. Deuce's grip tightened on you, as he though of what it could've done to your psyche. "YN... YN... I'll make sure he doesn't touch you. I'll make sure that he never comes near you again... YN, you trust me right?"

For all the times he wasn't with you, he was determined to make up for it. Deuce wasn't going to let you suffer through this alone, even if it means he gets hurt. It was better for him to get hurt than you, even though he was so desperate to ask Crowley to find you.

You nodded, hiding into Deuce's chest. His heart was beating so fast, most likely from the never ending search for you. You never regretted running away, but you missed Deuce and your other friends, and Grim too. The one thing you regretted was accepting Crowley's offer to stay here.

"I don't care what you do to me," You told him. "Just don't take me back. I don't to go back. I don't want to go back to NRC..." Your body trembled at the thought of moving back to NRC, but all thoughts of it were abandoned as you saw Crowley approach you.

You screamed, but he never touched you. Deuce stood in the way, as he shielded you with his own body. He pushed you back, as he grabbed tightly onto his magic pen. Abandoning all morals of propriety, he glared hard at the principal.

"...Don't touch her."

Jack Howl

He wasn't going to let you run away this time. "Don't move."

Jack couldn't believe that he found you so quickly. No, that wasn't it. He couldn't believe that you were still here. Despite him having a scent on you, you could've been miles away without him knowing. He thought you went back to your own world. He thought you hated him, but by the way you hugged him, it reassured him of any thoughts he had.

There was not single part of you that did not tremble when Jack told you he wanted to take you back. Your sheer refusal turned into an argument quickly, as you listed all the sufferings you went through. It was confusing and agonising for Jack to listen to you. He knew you needed this, but some of the things you said sent shivers down his spine.

"I…"

"It's okay YN. You don't have to go back," He whispered to you. Jack's ears flattened as yours tears made your eyes puffy. He got flustered since he didn't know how to comfort you any further, busying himself with wiping away your tears instead.

Jack was sharp. He knew Crowley was out to get you, even if you didn't want to. He wanted the easy way out, but Jack wasn't going to give him the chance. There was no reason why Jack shouldn't help you… but he'd be lying if he weren't scared of what would happen if you both were caught.

You and Jack had the same train of thought, so you shook your head. "No Jack… I have to…" You told him, your voice raspy. "You already found me and there's no use. You… You can't outrun him with me…"

Jack growled, baring his teeth at the person who caused you such misery. His claws were out, as he hid you behind him. You didn't make a sound, paralysed by the very person that pulled you in this hell. You only met eyes with Crowley for a moment, as the world swirled around you.

"I know I can't… But I'm sure as hell am going to try…" Jack ran away from the principal, with you tightly in his arms as he made a run for it.

Epel Felmier

He was more than angry. He never understood why you and him but now it was evident. It was because both of you were stubborn. You both always tried to grasp what you wanted, and in the light of attaining it, you both always made a run for it. For him it was power… and for you, it was freedom.

"Damn it!..." He cursed underneath his breath, quickly removing his jacket and covering your head in it. You were probably hungry and tired. You were probably scared. What was he supposed to do?...

How did it come to this? He was supposed to be the one that supported your desires, no matter how big or small as you did the same to him. But now, with him using Crowley to get to you… What was he doing? This was hurting you, not helping you.

He moved away from you, ripping off the magical tracking device off of him. "You damn liar!" He screamed. "How dare you hurt her like this… Do you think I'm some stupid puppet?! Like hell you're gonna reach her with my help!"

Epel stomped and tore the device apart, grunting at every time the magic deflection hit him. He didn't stop, ripping further into the grass as he cried for your sake. He never meant to do this to you. He got up, taking you by the wrist and pulling you much deeper into the forest.

"YN… YN we have to go. They were tracking me and they- they might…"

You stopped in your tracks.

"YN?"

You hugged Epel, holding him tight. He snapped out of his delusions, turning to panic about your well-being. "Are you hurt? If you can't walk I'll carry you, but we have to get away-"

"Stop Epel," You said, taking his hands into yours. "Stop… It's okay… I'm okay… I can't make it any further and I don't blame you… I just… wanted it to not hurt for a bit."

He broke down in your arms, as you both collapsed to the ground. Filled with exhaustion, you could only grip to his hands weakly. Before your eyes darkened, you remembered his last words.

"I'm sorry…"

Divus Crewel

He's horrified at your state. All his emotions were bottled for the time being. There was no reason for a puppy like you to be exposed to such horrid emotions from him. He shrugs off his fluffy coat, covering you in the coat, as he carries you in the coat.

Dire was quick to catch up to him, but alas, all that Divus had for him was disappointment. Even from teacher to teacher, no… even from magician to magician… all respect for Dire that he had vanished. The dorm leaders caught up with the principal, and from the looks of it, they were horrified.

"For this puppy to end up like this…"

No, he couldn't get angry now. He had to be the example to other students. Rosehearts, Al-Asim and Ashengrotto were in tears, while Draconia and Kingscholar were murderous. If it weren't the difference of authority, Divus would bet those two would maul Dire where he stood.

"Draconia. Schoenheit. Take YN away and treat her wounds," He commanded. Still wrapped in his coat, Malleus brought you to the others, as Vil observed for any of your wounds. Divus signalled the other students away as he took off one of his gloves, glaring at Dire. "I need to talk with the principal."

Dire was still, as Divus delivered a clean punch across his face. There was no need for further violence. It'd be an insult to what you suffered. Divus grabbed Dire by the collar, almost sneering at him. "Did you realise what you've done to that puppy? She's scared, she's suffered all because of you."

He left Dire alone. It's what he deserved. There was nothing to be done. If he further pummeled the crow man, he might just kill him right then and there. Divus, for now, had to be by your side as your father figure and welcome you back safely to NRC as you were meant to be. Before leaving, he picked up his sullied glove from the floor, saying his last to Dire.

"You don't deserve to be her father."

Dire Crowley

He was ashamed to use his magic on you, but he had to prevent you from running. It was a necessary measure, but the real thorns were your words that pierced through his heart. You yelled insults, curses and cusses at him as if you were held at gunpoint, your lungs exhausted from the constant shrieking.

"No no! Let me go," You begged. "I hate you, I hate you I hate you!" You chanted it as if it were a spell. "I wish you never took me in. Don't touch me!"

The words were enough for the magic to weaken, granting you your escape. Dire was not swift enough, but the Dorm Leaders were. They heard everything, every complaint you threw at Dire and every insult you had for him. Malleus caught you, but as soon you knew it was him, you pushed him away.

"No… NO! I am NOT GOING BACK!" You cried, holding your head in your hands, crouching into a ball. Leona quickly knocked you out. If you went on, you would've hurt yourself and the injuries you sustained from running away was concerning enough.

Against all odds, those seven turned to the principal, with faces of betrayal. All you had been through… They did not realise what burden Dire, and subsequently, they placed on you.

"Crowley… you were never gracious."

Dire was hopeless. He couldn't comfort you, he knew he couldn't be forgiven. He stood in his place, accepting his fate at the moment. He couldn't ask for your mercy nor forgiveness, and perhaps that was his fate. To be cursed by whoever he neglected.

"Please, take care of her for now."

[nocturnalazura]

What am I supposed to do? | Dabi x Reader

Dabi x Reader

This is my submission for @kingkatsuki & @bakuroo-writings' Frozen Hearts Collab A huge thank you to Onyx for beta reading and helping me name this! Like everything else in my life, we're just gonna pretend this isn't late. This may or may not get a second part. We'll see how I feel.

Warnings: Unstable relationships, injury (reader gets burned), minor mention of blood.

Summary: You never thought Dabi would actually hurt you, he never thought he would hurt you either. Now what does he do?

Wc: 1632

Soft clouds of smoke dance and swirl around the shitty living room the two of you stand in. The tension in the room feels like it’s suffocating you as you stare at him. Small blue flames lick across his arms as he clenches his hands repeatedly. Neither one of you wants to make the first move here, you both know that this moment is verging on explosive. You’ve been arguing for what feels like hours, an empty bottle of whiskey sits on the floor, long forgotten as the liquor courses through his veins.

“You can’t treat me like this, Dabi.” You start, trying to stay as calm as possible. “I’m not your doormat and you know it.”

“If I treat you like such fucking shit, then why the fuck do you stick around? You act like you’re not to blame for all the shit here.”

“Don’t you dare fucking try and blame me for anything! I have stood by your side through everything. You’re the one that pushes me to the side all the damn time!”

“I wouldn’t have to fucking push you if you would just get the fuck away from me every once in a while! I don’t need your clingy, bitchy ass hanging off of me all the damn time!”

“At least, I’m not an emotionally distant psychopath!”

“Don’t act like you’re not as fucked up as I am because we both fucking know that you’re a fucking train wreck.”

“Fuck you! Fuck everything about you. Why are you such a piece of shit all the time?!” You shout, walking towards him. Stepping into his space, you raise a hand and press your pointer finger into the middle of his chest before letting your anger take over. “One day, I’m gonna walk out of that door and I’m gonna leave your sorry fucked up ass here to die alone.”

“Go right ahead. I don’t need a sorry little bitch like you around anyway.” Dabi growls, leaning down to get in your face. One of his hands grabs your wrist holding onto it tightly, you flinch slightly at the tight grip only for him to yank you closer and the scent of whiskey on his breath is almost unbearable. His voice drips with venom and the hand on your wrist slowly starts to heat up. “You act like you’re so much better than I am, but you’re fucking nothing. Just a sad, little gutter rat who wants to act like she’s something more, like she’s better than all of us, but you’re not shit.”

You try to free yourself from his grasp, but he holds firm while he speaks. Tears burn your eyes as the heat steadily increases burning your flesh until little blue flames flicker around his hand. Your other hand slaps at his chest as you try and wiggle yourself free.

“Dabi! Stop it! You’re hurting me!” You shriek, trying to plead with him to let you go. Suddenly, his flames extinguish and he’s shooting away from you. Clutching your arm to your chest, you stumble away from him, falling backwards as you trip on something. Looking up at him, you notice the look of pure shock written across his face as he stares at the fear written on yours.

“Y/n.” He tries slowly, taking a small step towards you.

“G-get out.” You whisper.

“Y/n.”

“I said get out! Get the fuck out!” You scream, scooting farther back until your back hits a wall. “Go.”

Cradling your arm, you watch him swallow roughly before finally turning and grabbing his jacket, heading out of the door with one last look at you. The burned skin is raw and red. You know this could have been worse - this was unusual, even for Dabi. He’d always done little things like heat a fingertip up and press it against you, but it was never hot enough to leave this kind of damage. It had always been done as a joke, you’d whine and swat at him, but this? This was different. This was fear inducing; you had never looked at him that way before. You had never actually been afraid of him before.

It’s a grueling week of not seeing you. He does everything to avoid you and let you work through what happened that night; he stays away but always keeps a close eye on you. He knows he fucked up - he’s well aware of that fact. It’s not like he can change it now; he hurt you. He did the one thing that he promised he would never do. It eats away at him slowly, replays in his mind constantly as he walks around the city. In all honesty, he never imagined he’d care enough about someone to feel actual regret for hurting them. Then he saw your face, the never ending fear and heartbreak swimming in your eyes.

You spend the week away from Dabi taking care of the burn on your arm and attempting to rid yourself of the fear you now had from the incident. Every time you leave your home, you can feel eyes on you. You know they’re his, you know it’s him, it’s always been him who watched you. Walking along the streets, you do your best not to think about him, not to think about the way you loved him, and the way you thought he had loved you.

After a week passes, you open your front door one morning to find a little stuffed bear on your doormat. Staring down at it questioningly, you step outside and look around for the person who set it there, but the moment you pick it up you know. The scent of cigarette smoke and cologne wraps around you as soon as you pick it up and you know. The scent sends an oddly comforting feeling throughout your body, the subtle sob of your forearm reminds you why he isn’t around. Reminds you that this isn’t his normal disappearing act. You asked him to leave. You needed him to leave. Looking at the little bear, you set it back down and go back inside, pretending you never saw it. Dabi watches from the shadows and lets out an annoyed little huff. It becomes a thing between the two of you. He leaves a gift on your doorstep, you find it, look it over and set it off to the side, so it’s easier to step around. This goes on for almost another week before he can’t take it anymore.

Almost two weeks after he burned you, Dabi finally walks up to your door and knocks, which on its own feels totally foreign. He stands there, fists clenched, teeth grinding until you finally pull open the door.

“When is this going to be over? When can I come home?” He grunts out. “I gave you space. I let your arm heal.”

“That’s what you have to say to me? You burned me, told me you didn’t need me and that I was just a sad little gutter rat looking for love, and you ask when you can come home?”

“What else am I supposed to do, y/n?”

“You’re supposed to not be an ass. You’re supposed to apologize for hurting me and make me believe that you actually care about me, but you don’t. Clearly, you don’t and you never did.”

“Look, I'm sorry. I fucked up and burned you. Just let me come home so we can fucking move on already.”

“I shouldn’t have to prompt you to apologize to me, Dabi. Move on? You want me just to move on from you burning me? How do I move on, Dabi?” You yank up the loose sleeve of your sweater and hold your burned arm up. “How do I move on when every time I see this or it hurts, all I see is your hand wrapped around me? How do I move on when I can still hear the way you talked to me and the way you looked at me while you did it? How the fuck do I move on when I know you care so little about me that you left burns that will probably leave permanent scars?”

Dabi looks over your arm, face pinching up as regret tugs at his heart. The movement of a soft sting tugging under his eye has him wince slightly before he feels the warm trickle of blood. “I said I fucked up and didn’t mean to do it, ok? Just let me come home.”

“No. No, it’s not ok and I don’t know if it’ll ever be ok!” You shout as tears start to burn your eyes.

“Doll. . .”

“Don’t doll me, Dabi. This was more than you just fucking up. I can’t look at you the same way. Right now, I actually find it really hard to look at you at all. So, if you care about me at all, do me a huge favor and just stay the fuck away from me. You’ve done your damage now just leave me alone.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply before you step back inside and slam the door shut in his face. Leaning back against the door you fight the urge to open it and let him in. Locking the door, you move through the apartment and curl up on your bed as tears stream down your face. On the other side of the door, Dabi stares at the spot you had just occupied before swallowing roughly and stumbling backwards. His heart beats out of control as he processes what just happened. This isn’t how this was supposed to happen; you were supposed to let him in so he could fix this. He was supposed to be able to fix this.

[chiwhorei]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

𝐚𝐤𝐚: 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐑𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬!!

pairing: t. amajiki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~1.3k

tags: pervy!tamaki, mean!tamaki, dubcon, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, tentacles in all of readers holes, dacryphilia, choking

a/n: this is my very late contribution to the whorehouse porn compilation, the rest of this questionable browser history can be found here! strap in because this might be the grossest shit i’ve written so far. no plot, porn is the point here friends.

(cross posted to Ao3!)

hymn: gooey by the glass animals

The first time was an accident, genuinely.

He meant to text you he would be home early, ever the courteous roommate, but it truly just slipped his mind. Surprise would be an understatement when he swings the front door open to the high pitched whines coming from your bedroom.

Curiosity piquing, Tamaki lines his shoes up by the door and follows the noise. He can see the outline of light seeping through your open door and hears another round of cries. 

“Hey, are you ok--” His words flop lifelessly on the floor in front of him. Oh.

Oh.

His eyes trail up from the end of your bed. The open laptop propped in between your legs, the bottle of lube sitting next to your knee, your bare thighs and--

“Do you like what you see, Suneater?”

Tamaki flushes, heat starting at the bridge of his nose and spreading across every inch of skin. He should really say something, or better yet, close your fucking door and do the rest of his processing on the other side. 

He can’t seem to do anything but stand and stare at the dripping wet toy still being pumping in and out of your cunt. It seems to have completely hypnotized him, watching the way the silicone disappears in between your slick folds, he swears he can see the quiver.

“What do you think about my toy?” Purple and oblong, you pull it all the way out. Tamaki’s stare burns right into the suction cup ridges and slim, curved tip. You drag it in a wet line up your skin, meeting your lips with a pout. 

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

* * *

First time, shame on you.

That’s what they say, but Tamaki finds himself pressing against your doorframe and peering into your room for the 3rd time this week. His feet pull him here like a nasty habit, the crack in your door is far too welcoming. 

You left it open just for him.

Tamaki’s ears twitch, forehead tacky with sweat as he presses against the frame. Every time he finds himself in this very same position, shame trickles down his spine like poison.

Every inch of your skin is exposed to his stare. Looking upon you is invasive and slimy and wrong but fuck, with every movement of your toy, pumping in tandem with the hand around his painfully hard cock, the more each stolen glance feels intravenous. Tamaki is addicted. 

All he wants to do is touch you. Wrap you in his hold and explore every inch. He wants to know what your skin feels like. 

What does your hair smell like up close? He’s only ever been privy to the occasional carryover of strawberry as you walk by him in the kitchen. How do your moans feel vibrating just above his mouth? Would you cry out for him to stop or to keep going?

He’s never stepped closer than the line between carpet and hardwood, but that's really only a technicality. 

You feel it, foreign but unmistakable. The touch of something crawling up your leg, soft and sticky. It wraps around your leg, crawling upwards in salacious vines. Your voice rings in Tamaki’s ears. He repeats every syllable like prayer, his invitation.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

There’s no movement to stop him, you don’t scream or tell him to fuck off. Your body seems to welcome him, back arching as five quirked fingers wrap around your arms and hips. The popping of suction cups trail from your belly button, dragging against your breasts before you feel pressure at your neck. Your skin will be covered in round bruises in the morning. The kindling in Tamaki’s stomach feels more like a wildfire, shy demeanor melting away. The man in front of you isn’t going to waste any more time hesitating.  

“You’re such a little tease. You like fucking with me don’t you, princess?” Tamaki’s question is sneering, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

The tentacle wrapping around your neck squeezes tight enough to make you gasp, he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He doesn’t really want you to answer him.

As soon as your lips part, your mouth is invaded. The tendril reaches all the way to the back of your throat before it lets up, your jaw already hurting at the stretch. Your vision blurs, the taste of briny-sweet flesh mixes with the salty tears running down your face.

You’re given only a moment to sputter, catching your breath before it’s taken away again, the squeals and cries bubbling in your throat are wasted energy.

“Always leaving your door open, teasing me. I’m not playing your games anymore.” Tamaki’s voice is unwavering, he’s serious.

You wail around the rubbery texture as another tentacle wraps around your breasts, suctioning on the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Tamaki moves closer with each sound he can pull from you, finally breaching the last shreds of privacy and shuffling across the carpet. All five fingers on his right hand are busy probing parts of your pliant body and restraining others. Through the haze you can’t deny how dexterous he is while making a mess of you. 

It would be impressive if you could think straight.

Each arm and leg is caught in the reddish-purple web, writhing against his hold only makes Tamaki’s grip tighter.

“I could do anything to this sweet little body, what could you do to stop me?” His words should scare you, but only one thing runs through your foggy head. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

If you could, the scream pressed against your makeshift gag would definitely alert your neighbors to the depravity just a wall away. You feel attention turning to the toy still plugging your weeping hole, a tentacle wrapping around the base and pulling it free with a squelch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the shiny plastic as it’s thrown to the other side of the room, hitting your wall with a hollow thud.

The tip of one tentacle prods at your clit for good measure before poking inside. Fear runs through your blood, cooling when mixed with overwhelming pleasure. Tamaki can reach places you’ve never felt before.

“So tight, so fucking warm.” Tamaki can feel you with each clench of your pussy, sliding in until he can feel tight band of your cervix. He could ruin you if he wanted, he ventures to guess you would let him.

You’re crying in long, fat streaks around the apples of your cheeks. With the help of another set of weaponized fingers, your legs are spread further and pushed to your chest. Tamaki’s cock aches, now ignored in favor of manipulating your body into a new angle so your ass is propped up. Muscles tense as he swipes the tip of his tentacle to trace around your rigid ring of muscle.

“I’ll take every one of these slutty little holes. You’ll feel me on your skin for days.” He promises you, pushing past your resistant muscles, they’re no match.

Your head is swimming now, logic is replaced with the feeling of being so full.

Stimulation assaults your senses from every direction, Tamaki fucking into your body with fatal rhythm. Going farther, deeper, harder. All you’re left with is shaking limbs and muted whines.

It hurts, it feels so good. It’s so disgusting but so hot. You’re meek, bushy roommate has made you little more than a fucktoy with what seems like minimal effort. You’re hurdled to a sloppy wet orgasm faster than ever before. 

Tamaki can tell that you’re close, studying the way your eyes screw up and brows furrow before falling over the edge for weeks from the comfort of your door jam. The consuming bliss overtakes your body, every muscle tensing, shaking from exhaustion as the cord pulls tight and snaps with fury. If you could, you would scream out the name of your captor, all you can manage a garbled sound from deep in your chest.

The next few moments find you in pieces. The feeling of emptiness knocks at your hypersensitive body as you’re flipped to balance weakly on your hands in knees. You’re not left alone for long, Tamaki’s just getting started.

He’s never been one to play with his food, but you’re just too tasty.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️