#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 !!

[shybluebirdninja]

FADING BONDS: PART 3

Summary: Two broken souls—Logan, an aging hero, and a young woman overlooked by her own family—find solace in each other’s silent company, forming an unexpected connection that challenges their emotional walls.

Pairing            : UberDriver!Logan x Fem!Reader

Genre              : Angst, Fluff

You stand outside his door, your hands trembling from the fight you just had with your parents. Your chest is tight, each breath feels like a struggle, and all you want is to disappear. But instead, you find yourself here, at his place—Logan’s place.

The door creaks open, and there he is, standing there with that rough, weathered look. His eyes are sharp, like always, but there's something softer in them tonight. He sees you, really sees you. It's different. No questions. No judgments.

“What's up?” he says, voice gravelly and tired, like he hasn’t slept in days.

He scratches at the scruff on his chin, like this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like he doesn’t mind you showing up at his door, looking like you've been through hell.

“I... I just needed a place to go,” you manage to get out, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

You don’t know what you’re doing here. Hell, he probably doesn’t know either, but there’s nowhere else to be. Nowhere that feels safe.

He steps aside, his hand gripping the door just a little too tight, knuckles white like he’s holding something back. “Yeah. Come in.”

You walk past him, and the smell of cigarettes and old whiskey hits you—familiar, oddly comforting. The place is a mess, but it suits him. Scattered bottles, a couple of plates on the table. Nothing fancy, just... survival.

He doesn’t say anything as you sit on the couch, your legs barely supporting you anymore. You’re trying not to cry, but your throat’s burning. Everything’s been a mess. Your life, your family... they just don’t get it. They don’t get you.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence between you two. It's heavy, but it's the kind of silence you can breathe in, where you don’t have to pretend.

“I had a fight,” you say, the words falling out of your mouth before you can stop them. “With my family. Again. They just... they don’t see me. Like, at all.”

Logan doesn’t look at you right away. He stares at the floor, his hands resting on his knees.

“Families are... tricky,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, like he's been through this conversation a thousand times before.

“Yeah, tricky,” you laugh bitterly. “They see my sister. She’s everything they wanted. Me? I’m... I’m just in the way.” You pause, wiping away the tear that managed to escape. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”

Logan lets out a sigh, a deep one that sounds like it’s coming from years of holding shit in.

“Charles and Caliban used to say I belonged. I didn’t believe them. Never really felt like I fit anywhere. Even with the X-Men.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Guess it don’t matter now. They’re all gone.”

The room feels colder after he says that. Charles... Caliban... they were more than just names to him. You can see it in the way his eyes darken, how his fists tighten like he’s trying to hold onto something that slipped away a long time ago.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his hand. It’s an instinct, but it feels like the right one. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. Just stares down at your hand on his, his skin rough and calloused from years of fighting, from losing.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, because what else can you say?

He looks up at you, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he’s been hiding behind that gruff exterior.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, voice breaking just a little. “We’re all broken in some way.”

The room’s too quiet again. The kind of quiet that makes you feel everything at once.

And then, before you even realize what’s happening, you’re crying. Really crying. The kind of sobs that shake your whole body, the ones you’ve been holding back for too long. You don’t even know if it’s about your family or him or yourself—maybe all of it.

Logan shifts closer, hesitant, unsure, but then his hand is on your back, rubbing slow circles like he’s trying to comfort you, but he’s just as lost in this moment as you are. He’s not used to this—comforting anyone, being close to anyone.

“You’re not alone,” he says, voice almost a whisper now, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

His hand moves to your face, his thumb wiping away the tears. It’s the gentlest thing he’s ever done, and it hits you hard, how soft he can be when the world’s been nothing but cruel to him.

In that moment, something shifts. You look up at him, your faces inches apart. There's a rawness between you two, a vulnerability you both desperately need but are too scared to fully accept.

Before you can second-guess it, you lean forward, and your lips meet his.

It’s not passionate, not desperate. It’s fragile, almost broken, like two people who’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel something real.

His hand cups your cheek, and for a second, you feel safe. Like maybe, this world hasn’t chewed you up and spit you out completely yet.

When you pull back, you see it in his eyes—he’s as scared as you are. Scared to feel, scared to need. But here you are, in this broken moment, both of you barely holding on.

Neither of you says anything. There’s nothing left to say. But in that silence, you find something you hadn’t in a long time—a reason to stay.

[midnight-bay-if]

I read the ask about MC coming back to life and thought "How would they react if it was the opposite?". So the scenario is as follows, ROs died in MC's arms, MC begs them in their last moments not to abandon them and if they close their eyes they won't rest a day until they can see them back. ROs can't respond and die, BUT soon after they open their eyes as if they had actually just blinked. In fact they are in a completely different place, with a kind of drawing like a magic circle around them and naked without any wounds, then they look around confused and see MC, who even though hasn't changed in appearance, or is very similar to the last moment RO saw them, there is something arcane in their presence, not evil, but magical. Then MC takes a deep breath and says

"I had to fight five demons, two angels and read a cheap copy of necronomicon to be able to accomplish this without sacrificing anyone." then MC starts crying and jumps into RO's arms and hugs them with all their strength, as if they were afraid that RO would suddenly disappear "And all of this was worth it for this single moment! Don't ever leave me again you bastard!". How would the ROs react?

Sorry for the long ask, I got carried away.

(I will answer this prompt as it has come, but I thought I would throw in some lore here since it might provide a clue for a certain character. So, necromancy is actually outlawed in my little universe. The reason is that it actually always takes a sacrifice of some kind. There’s no getting around it. Death for life is always the exchange. Also, it’s very powerful magic that only a select few left know how to perform. Just a fun tidbit that some might find interesting. Now, for fun, I will answer the prompt as it is.)

S: They feel your weight press against them, inhaling the scent of you they have grown so familiar with. It takes a moment for their mind to catch up. S always knew you were special. It was obvious from the first moment you met. That tenacity, that strength, it was what drew them to you. But this? It scares them. Death should feel weightier than this. It shouldn’t feel like merely waking up from a long sleep. Their limbs are stiff, their throat dry, their skin tight… but otherwise, fine.

The moment of death comes back in flashes. A miscalculation, a moment of weakness, and that’s all it took. Life is a fickle bitch.

Regaining their bearings, S finally hugs you back, gripping your shirt so tightly it stretches. “I… fear what you must have gone through, darling. Words cannot express the depth of my sorrow. So, for now, I will remain quiet. I am here, love. I will not leave you again.”

Rain: They blink as if waking from a long sleep, but you are pressed against them tearfully, and everything hits them in a rush. Death. They died. So, how are they here now? They take a cursory glance around and see the ingredients, the circle, the book… Then, MC’s words as they regained consciousness… Oh, no.

Rain grips you tightly, one hand at your waist, the other buried in your hair. “I’m so sorry,” they whisper, tears in their eyes, “you are so strong. So strong. But you can stop now, okay? I’m here.” Rain pulls away enough to see your face, pressing a now warm hand to your cheek. "I love you so much."

Taj: They breathe sharply. Their chest feels strangely tight. They glance down at their hands, taking in the details as you hang off them, afraid to let go. Everything seems as it should, but after what you said… Shit like this shouldn’t be possible. It’s fucking nuts. You’ve always been so nondescript, so human… How could they have been so wrong?

Taj pulls away, both hands gripping your shoulders hard enough to mark. They stare into your eyes, soaking in the details, the evidence of how you have over-exerted yourself. “You fuckin’ idiot,” they whisper with evident affection. “Don’t you ever do anything like that for me again, you hear?” Then, they yank you back to their chest, holding you fiercely.

N: There isn't much that scares them, but this... They breathe heavily, still waiting for their hammering heart to reacclimatize to beating. They feel your nails digging into the skin of their back as you clutch at them with surprising strength. It all works to ground them.

Death for demons is a shameful journey. Demons are supposed to be powerful, controllers, and unparalleled manipulators. Demons are not supposed to be saved by their human lovers. Yet, feeling your weight in their arms and the tears you weep for them... all they feel is pride.

"There, there, my dear," they whisper, running a gentle hand through your hair. "It's over now. I am here. And it would take the destruction of cities to tear me from you again."

Umbra: The sensation is oddly familiar. But being uncomfortable in one's skin isn't a new experience for Umbra. At first, Umbra isn't even sure what happened. Their heavy eyelids open, and it takes your voice and desperate embrace to keep them from shutting again.

As you cling to them, Umbra glances around the space, and everything becomes clear. "No..." they whisper, gripping you back tightly. They dare not ask about it. They couldn't bear to hear you suffering in their name. For once, they don't move. They enjoy the closeness of your heat and breathe in the scent so distinctly yours. Just for a while. "I wish you hadn't... but thank you."

[qksxzo]

Levi with a female reader :)

Reader is feeling depressed and Levi tries to cheer her up in his own Levi way. You may choose what that is.

sorry for the delay in this ! trying to schedule out my posts while i’m on vacay 😋 i had to think hard about how i wanted to write this so i hope it does not disappoint 🙏💕 i would find a place to end it and think no… this won’t do… anyways, thank you for requesting!!

as the seasons come and go

wc: 0.9k

wrapped up in your comforter, you sigh as you look out your window, rain falling heavily against your window with a vengeance. gloomy winter days like this always got you down, your seasonal depression grabbing you and shaking you vigorously to remind you the sun wouldn’t be present as often as you needed. you sigh, continuing to stare out the window glumly as you squeeze your comforter tighter around yourself.

suddenly, a teacup is placed onto your nightstand with a soft thunk, and you shift your gaze to the male blocking your view before focusing on the steaming ivory cup.

“staying in bed all day won’t help you feel better.” levi says, his tone soft to offset the harsh reality.

the bed dips underneath his weight, and he rests a hand on your hip gently, rubbing his thumb against the thick fabric of your comforter.

“i just feel so down.” you say, the tightness in your throat trying to catch your words. of course, at the admission of your feelings, you feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes before you quickly unravel from your coziness to wipe them away.

“sit up.” he orders, though his voice is so gentle not even a mouse would be frightened.

you do as he says, shifting yourself so you have one leg bent while the other sprawls beneath your blanket. resting your arm on your knee and futilely attempting to bat your tears away with your other hand, you let out a shaky breath to try to contain the cries you want to let out.

lacking the words to comfort you, levi opts to reach out to grasp your occipital, gently pulling your head to rest on his chest, “you don’t have to hold back around me.”

with a short sob, what feels like a tsunami’s worth of tears floods from your eyes and you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing him impossibly closer to you. he smells of woody bergamot and musk, and you take a labored inhale before returning to ugly crying all over his light gray shirt.

“i’m so sorry,” you cry, and his brows contort in confusion before you continue, “i’m going to ruin your shirt with my snot.”

he scoffs, “as if i give a shit about my shirt right now.”

you let out what sounds like a mix of a sob and a laugh before you return to both crying and snotting uncontrollably into his chest. he rubs your back soothingly as you catch your breath a few minutes later, your body heaving with exhaustion. truthfully, levi has never been good with dealing with emotions, but for you he gives it his best effort. he’s seen you depressed before, especially when the sun doesn’t shine for longer than ten hours, and though lack of cleanliness bothers him immensely, he doesn’t mind when it’s you.

even when your dirty clothes pile up in the corner of your shared closet with him, he picks them up without a word of malice. even when you leave your dirty dishes by your bedside, he cares so deeply that he repeats the process.

if it meant he got to be with you forever he would gladly clean up after you when you could barely get out of bed- a small price to pay for an eternity with you.

“do you want to talk about it?”

god, you thought, “i’m so embarrassing.”

“when you say stupid shit like that, yeah.”

“i just feel like such a loser, levi. i can’t even shower without feeling exhausted and drained after, then i just rot in bed again.”

he hits a wall here, how does he tell you you’re way too self-critical of yourself without coming off as harsh or uncompassionate, “you’re not a loser. far from it.”

“you’re not very convincing.” you say hoarsely.

“well, you’ll just have to trust me then.” he says matter-of-factly, dropping his hand to rub your thigh with his thumb. “listen, i’m not the best with words, but i won’t lie to you. i would never lie to you, especially about how i see you.”

“i don’t even know what you see in me.” you choke on your words, letting out a small and swift shit escape your lips before you turn to reach for the tea that you had neglected in the midst of your breakdown.

“i see alot of things, most- if not all- of them good.”

you sigh into the cup with a sense of relief, he’d made you a london fog- your favorite. your eyes widen, you had run out of earl grey a few days ago, and you had coffee this morning due to that fact. this meant that levi must have gone to your favorite tea trader almost an hour away just to make this for you.

just to make you feel better.

suddenly you feel like crying all over again, but this time out of adoration for the stoic man in front of you, “did you go out of your way just to make me some tea?”

he turns his head to look to the floor, “it wasn’t out of my way.”

was he… shy?

your heart swells so much you think it might burst behind your rib cage as you take another sip of the tea, “i don’t deserve you.”

“you’re right, you deserve more.”

“stop it!” you swat his chest, “you’re perfect for me. i love you.”

he looks back to you, a trace of a smile on his face as he places a hand on top of your head to ruffle your hair gently, “i love you, yn. now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

you take a deep breath taking a savory sip of your tea fusion before placing it on the coaster sitting on your nightstand. “promise you won’t judge me?”

“i would never judge the person i intend on marrying.”

with a blush and your trillionth sigh of the day, you open your mouth to relay your shortcomings to him, suddenly feeling as if you could breathe freely so long as he was around.

[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. 

[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."

[jiminrings]

sneak peek 02

The tension (and not the good, longing kind that you feel when he feels casual enough to not cover up his torso after his workout) only builds further and further to the point that it’s Jungkook who notices and not you. You’re in the eye of the typhoon and Jungkook feels nervous– sick, even— to have you look at him with so much disdain.

You don’t do that. You never do.

You either look at him with love or longing but never this — whatever it’s called that Jungkook feels so small underneath your gaze. You’re not even speaking to him at the moment but the silence alone grates his ears, unforgiving throughout.

“Go ahead then. Go make fun of me like you always do,” you spit, hands clenched into tight fists. You clench your jaw so hard that it aches but it’s no match to the knot in Jungkook’s throat, because unlike your discomfort, his just keeps on building to the point that it’s suffocating.

He feels vulnerable in the sense that if your hate for him came in waves, he wouldn’t even fight you if you engulfed him wholly. He knows he’s given you every reason in the world to doubt him yet now that you do, now that you hate him like he had expected you to, he loses himself.

Jungkook loses himself into you the more that you let go of him.

“I-I don’t-…” he stutters, shaking his head furiously. He badly wants to prove you wrong because the thought of even making you upset hadn’t even crossed his mind, but with your patience thin for the first time ever, there’s no getting through you.

“Y-y-you don’t what, Jungkook?” you mock, head throbbing at the migraine you’ve been keeping to yourself the whole week. It’s persistent and painful; even more mind-splitting than it used to be. “You keep taking what I give you and for what?” you grit, anger fading into defeat the more you look at him.

He looks remorseful. He looks like he’s sorry and it kicks you in the gut because this is the first time Jungkook had ever felt this way for you — what makes it worse is that it’s only now.

“I-I wasn’t… I’m n-never gonna make f-fun of you being-…” he sniffles, being taken aback himself because he didn’t expect to cry.

“Stop fucking lying to me!” you cry out, digging your palms to get rid of the frustrated tears that spring out of your eyes. Your chest hurts and your head hurts and so does everything that has to do with him. “You made fun of me for holding your hand in public and you expect me to believe that you’re not gonna make fun of me because I’m a virgin?!”

“Y/N, baby, please-…” Jungkook pleads desperately, taking a shaky step towards you. You immediately recoil even if his hand barely touches yours, your gaze enough to bring chills down his spine.

“Why are you calling me that? You never do!” you seethe. Jungkook has never looked this strange to you (it may be the raging and concerning migraine in effect) but the realization finally hits you square in the skull. You laugh so hysterically, you throw your head back in realization. “Oh my god. You need money again.”

Jungkook flinches at your assumption, the confusion that he feels later morphing into hurt. He knows he’s made for this; he knows he’s being paid for companionship and he knows he’s done a shit job for it. But the way you say it now, like it’s all you’re ever made for him — the hurt wracks through his whole body that it makes him want to throw up.

“What? N-no, no. I-…”

“Will this do it?” you quip, shaky hands fishing out the wallet that he gifted you (the one he swore was just a gag gift but put in much effort to in customizing) to skim through bills before shoving them forcibly into his pocket.

Jungkook doesn’t move, frozen in tears as he whispers to try and get you to stop. To just listen to him and forgive him like he’s used to you doing.

“Not enough? Here,” you relent, the dry chuckle that leaves you making your throat hurt further. You shove your entire wallet into his pocket, uncaring of the countless non-monetary mementos you’ve left in it. “Nothing’s ever enough for you, Jungkook.”

.

.

.

as of now, there are seven chapters up on my patreon :D again, i'm still not sure if i'll also post in vain here on tumblr :O but IF i do though, it'll be around mid-2024!! :D

in vain aka sugar baby (but not really) jungkook drabble series sneak peek

pairing: jungkook x reader

glimpse: jungkook likes the finer things in life, and you don’t like being lonely.

alternatively, jungkook’s your sugar baby — except the only thing he needs to do to get paid is to be your friend.

“Nope. No sex at all. No kisses or hugs or anything like that.”

A sense of pride almost fills Jungkook, almost, when he sees Namjoon’s face fall and twist both in amazement and confusion. It’s not that Jungkook thinks he’s better — he already knows it himself. He feels proud to have proved Namjoon wrong when he said it to his face that absolutely no one would pay for his snotty personality.

“Then how come you’re her sugar baby?” Namjoon asks, his hunger for the pasta he ordered (and waited for twenty minutes to arrive) subsiding. He doesn’t get it at all, not one single bit of him believing that Jungkook landed a sugar mommy that simply just wants him to be there.

Jungkook shrugs as if it’s the easiest thing to answer, the arrogance flowing through him like the breeze that goes through the door when you open it. Namjoon’s eyes turn out of instinct and while he had paid no attention to you initially, he does now when you’re walking towards them and his friend can’t see to shut up.

“I’m just there for company. She’s just alone and weird, I guess.”

Namjoon nudges him to stay still and stop talking with everything he could muster in one simple shove to his side, his mumbling too quiet for someone as dense as Jungkook to understand.

“What did you say?” Jungkook asks out-loud as if it pains him to not turn every single thought in his head into a literal speech bubble, turning his head abruptly. He finds himself face-to-face with you, only hovering awkwardly after catching wind of what he just said.

Namjoon, however, doesn’t even seem to meet his eyes — neither does Jungkook with yours. He turns back to his friend without a single acknowledgement to you, continuing to run his mouth as if you weren’t there in the first place.

“What are you so worried for?” he furrows his brows, going back to his laptop as he types gibberish to make it seem like he’s doing something important. He’s not bothered — not at all. “Y/N already knows I don’t need her like that. I’m only after her money, not her.”

The lump that appears in your throat is automatic because Jungkook is like this and you know it. He’s bumped into your “friends” (the better term would be acquaintances-I’ve-made-emptily-out-of-social-obligation) a few times already and he’s never been this rash with you, yet the first time that you see him with his friend, he makes you feel the smallest that you’ve ever been.

“Oh my god, Jungkook. Watch your fucking manners,” Namjoon grits immediately, the lack of Jungkook’s respect for you and perhaps for everyone else grating his ears. He clears his throat and straightens himself, much to his friend’s annoyance, before putting his hand out. “H-hi. I’m Namjoon, Jungkook’s friend.”

“Hi, Namjoon,” you greet courteously, your embarrassment burning away the longer that you’re distracted from how Jungkook’s regard for you to your face and to everyone else is the same. He’s always been transparent with you, unable to sugarcoat his words.

Simply put, Jungkook doesn’t like you. He means it when he says it to you casually right after you crack a joke in the middle of watching a movie, and he means it when he’s talking behind your back to Namjoon.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asks, the bored look on his face striking right through you. You feel alone again despite being in a café full of people; even when you’re faced with him.

“I was thinking we could maybe get dinner together?” you ask even if it takes up all the remaining courage in you, the majority of it consumed when you put an effort into dressing yourself up today — for him.

“Busy,” Jungkook huffs, resting his chin on his palm. He stays seated throughout while you’re just standing there, waiting to have a shred of significant acknowledgement. “Can I have some money to get dinner with Namjoon instead?”

You shouldn’t be surprised anymore, not at all. Because while Jungkook isn’t consistent on keeping his end of the bargain, you keep yours loyally. You don’t want to be at fault and the raving urge in you to always keep people appeased overtakes you.

“Oh,” you mumble in realization, fumbling to open your bag and fish for your wallet. “Y-yeah, yeah. Sure.”

On the other hand, Namjoon can’t resist any longer. He physically can’t contain himself anymore, the breath that he’s been holding finally giving out because he can’t bear to see you like this because of Jungkook.

“Actually, count me out,” he interjects, ignoring the offended gasp he gets. He turns to you much more gently compared to the vitriol he has for Jungkook. “Are you, uhm — do you still need someone to eat dinner with… Miss Y/N?” he asks politely, wringing his hands together underneath the table.

Your mouth dries at his address for you and even more at his politeness, the realization that Namjoon’s actually kind to you despite only meeting you minutes ago hitting you belatedly. “I-… I do, yeah. But you don’t have to-…”

“No, no! I insist,” he scrambles to get out of his seat, intentionally hitting Jungkook on the bicep as he slings his backpack on his shoulder. “Some people don’t do their jobs correctly and could be a total asshole at that.”

Jungkook scowls at what’s clearly the dig for him, his annoyance running deep when you stay frozen.

Deeper when you snap out of it and nod your head shyly, and the deepest when you actually leave him.

It seems like fate’s fucking with him because as much as he should feel elated that your weekly transfer to him comes in now of all times, he doesn’t at all. He feels bad and he doesn’t ever feel that way. He’s never been left before; not like this at the very least.

You whisper to Namjoon on the way out, the reminder that you were embarrassed in front of him and probably to the curious patrons in the café staying vivid in your mind. “I’ll pay you. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“You don’t have to at all, miss. I promise,” Namjoon assures you as he opens the door for you, the two of you waiting side by side as you wait for your driver to go around back. He respects you but he’s comfortable already; enough to open up out of the blue. “You know, I’ve had… a sugar mommy in the past. You’re Jungkook’s first and really, I apologize for how rude he is,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. “You’re not making him jump through hoops or force him into doing things or anything like that. All you’re asking for is companionship — I’m sorry that he’s bad at it.”

It stays quiet between the two of you until you find the right words that won’t make you want to crumple to the pavement out of shame.

“You don’t have to apologize in behalf of him.”

“I feel like I need to,” he trails, an uneasy chuckle leaving him. “Jungkook doesn’t ever apologize for anything.”

“Oh.”

The knot in your throat untangled minutes ago but it comes back again, this time for less pitiful reasons. “You’re really nice, Namjoon. Please tell me if you ever need anything,” your breath hitches in fear of overstepping, yet you push through anyway. “I know you’re already familiar with this uhm, this situation — and I’m still sorry for asking-! But do you… need money?”

Namjoon laughs heartily, genuinely — not mockingly like how Jungkook does.

“Yes, I need money,” he confirms breathlessly in between chuckles, sneaking a smile from your lips. “But I’d much rather give you companionship for free. I bet you’re already blowing through money with Jungkook who doesn’t even say thank you for anything.”

“Jungkook’s my first sugar baby too,” you meekly counter, shrugging your shoulders. You feel oddly brave in a burst of energy, partially influenced by how Namjoon didn’t even skip a beat from preventing Jungkook to make an even bigger fool out of you. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with having two sugar babies right?”

Out of the entire time that Namjoon’s been with you, he’s actually speechless for once and not the other way around.

While Namjoon seriously considers your offer though, Jungkook stews in his own anger. It’s too potent and too irrational, he thinks it might be jealousy.

.

.

.

dun dun DUNNNNN!!! so far, there are five chapters of IV up :D if u wanna read them now + gain early access to general fics + read exclusive content — subscribe to my patreon :D

also, to get ahead of questions, i'm not yet sure if i'll also post in vain here on tumblr :O but IF i do though, it'll be around mid-2024!! :D

[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.

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