#consider this a vent drabble

[breadandbloodybutter]

"But surely, all souls must be made of the same substance, right?"

"Not necessarily."

Humming, one leg folded over the other, Raphael gestured towards his company with a hand. "There are certain levels of power to be considered. The soul of a demon general would hold far more weight than a handful of mortals, for an example. But devils dealing amongst devils is tiring, messy business. Most prefer the avoid the headache altogether."

"Alright, so if it's not as simple as being a standard currency, there's some differences.. how do you go about selecting which souls you want? How would you even know?"

"You expect me to reveal all my secrets in one sitting? Ha!"

Laughing boldly, he leaned forward in his chair, wearing the smug grin of someone knowingly holding all of the cards, but only dealing out a select few as he felt necessary. "My curious little mouse, I will tell you this much. Regardless of the abilities granted to me from particular.. heritages, I learn most about what I seek from simply doing what we are doing right now! Talking. People are always eager to reveal quite a lot about themselves when in the company of an excellent host."

"Is modesty one of those innate abilities of yours too?"

Smirking lips curled back a little more at that, showing the slightest hint of sharp teeth.

"Nevertheless.. if you wish to know more about the science of souls, I'm afraid you're going to have to give up just a little more of yours. Sad as it is to say, I am not one of your libraries, and knowledge isn't always a few luxury, pet."

"But our deal, you said--!"

"--That I may answer your questions, but would ultimately decide when your allotted time had expired. Still, I am not an unreasonable being! I will part with just one more."

Steepling his fingers, Raphael rested his chin upon them with half lids and a lazy smile. The cat playing with his cream.

"Power and strength is not the only quality that makes for a fine meal, as I'm sure you're very aware with such a rampant thirst for knowledge that you have. Some will have a taste for purity, some for the most wretched sinners they can find. Different preferences, but all leading towards the same goal, really."

"Different strategies.. playing different games, but still acquiring souls to become the most influential."

"Exactly!" He clapped his hands together, pleased. "You see, this is why I enjoy our times together - always thinking, so very clever. Were a devil's taste for intellect, why-- they could feed upon you for centuries!"

"I'd be flattered, if it didn't feel like swallowing sweet wine before the bitter aftertastes, Raphael."

"So well with her words, yet so suspicious."

Tutting, Raphael stood up sharply as he'd leaned down to take one of their hands, pressing his lips against the back of it. Amused by how quickly they'd yanked it back as if it'd been burnt. "Parting is such sorrow. Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to besides our delightful back and forth. Though our time is up, do remember.."

He lingered back the door, looking back over his shoulder smugly.

"You can call at any time, whenever that hunger returns, and you're feeling.. just a little too alive."

[616ioi]

❛ #PUSH! MULTIFANDOM.

────────── oh man, my first crush, what devastation .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. yoji uruha, togo shiba, kuguri (kagurabachi), shishiba (sakadays), higuruma hiromi, nanami kento (jjk), könig (cod), kafka hibino (kaijuu no. 8), levi ackerman (aot), shota aizawa (mha), ego jinpachi, noel noa (bllk), woo jinchul (solo leveling), kim dokja (orv), shinichiro sano (tokrev) x gn reader

⤿ contents. sub character, older man, little experience, like close to zero, i'd like to say this started off as a drabble. this contains mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. and one day, you're nineteen, and you find older men attractive.

In love with the idea of an older man with very little experience. A man who has been too preoccupied with things that it isn't a priority. Never been touched, never been kissed. Hasn't experienced anything remotely romantic, apart from a kiss on the cheek when he was like six.

He's a 30+ year old virgin!

He's a pervert.

He's sick, pathetic, a degenerate, a thirsty blood hound who can't help but have a crush on you — his new neighbor.

Ugh, it's sickening. He likes someone so young, with so much potential ahead, and much less life experience.

He tells himself to turn away.

He is in denial of you. Not so much being 'in denial', more so — refusing to push his feelings any further.

He's accepted his feelings.

Sure, yes, he does think you're quite charming. But he refuses to give in to you. To the thought of you.

No, he will never even consider you.

His spare glances and mutters should be enough to put you off, yet you still try to befriend him.

But then he dreams of you. In his head, he lays so softly against your chest, listening to the sound of you breathing, and he tries to mimic it. It's something so intimate, something so rare to him. New.

Why do his pants feel tight?

The lines near his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tightly, and his lip curls into a snarl. He feels ashamed, disgusted with himself. He's never even once thought to touch himself to someone. What does he do? What should he do? What's the right thing?

Tell him what to do with the feelings he caught.

But it only drives you to push it deeper, it seems. The way he stumbles and averts his lingering gaze when you catch him staring. He gets tongue tied trying to respond back.

His reactions are just so... cute. At least that's what you told him that night you invited him over for some dinner. You said you felt lonely, that you could bring countless people over, but they don't exactly make you feel fulfilled.

He knows this is true. There's a vent connecting your rooms. Sometimes, just sometimes, he can overhear what goes on.

And he hears you sigh, disappointed. His heart throbs at the sound, and he can't help but think that he'd be a much better replacement.

So, the rough pads of his fingers trail down his boxers as he tries to remember what you told the last guy — "Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetheart." — he thinks the guy was trying to take over your roll. He heard the guys' pleas of mercy to give him what he wanted.

Most of them did that.

"I won't give it to you until you make me feel something."

He wouldn't be like that. He would take everything you give him, even when it comes to be too much and his hips are bucking underneath you, until he's trying to push you away by the shoulders and his eyes threaten to shut, touch him while he's begging for you to give him a minute, while he passes out and you're still buried to the hilt, he'll let himself go and not think of a single thing but you.

Even when he's drenched in his own fluids — be it white and sticky, be it clear and wet that squirts out of him after he came way too many times, be it a mixture of both his sweat and drool.

He'll push through his own orgasm to make you satisfied.

He wants to be devoured by you.

He wondered how your hand would feel around his cock. Warm, you probably know what you're doing too. Would you kiss him afterward? He would, even with his semen coating your tongue. He'd clean it off for you just to get a taste of your spit mixing with his.

He isn't embarrassed by the wanton moan that escapes him as he squirms into the soaked sheets. Your name is on the tip of his tongue, it's ready to burst, he's ready to burst but he keeps some clarity to bite his tongue and force it down when he hears your car pulling up.

And he pulls away, hips thrusting into the warm air of his bedroom as his sticky hand comes up to muffle a gasp.

He'll keep on denying himself.

He wants to forget you but he can't. He'll miss you when he doesn't have you near.

He'll cry from thinking that he was yours. He never was, never will be. He knows this. You'll quickly move on, find someone your age, much more capable in satisfying you.

He can't give in.

[ins4-tiable]

Little Drabble about awkward reader with also awkward CEO nanami

Fuckin' hell.."

Your umbrella was stuck. STUCK! Stuck as 10 pounds of rain practically flooded the streets. You'd been struggling with the darn thing for a better half of an hour and were truly debating just chucking it and running for it, but unfortunately, you would probably be refused at the bus stop. And you doubted you could run 10 miles and avoid getting sick.  

"Ugh!" you shrieked, smashing your umbrella out of pure frustration. It was truly inspiring that it hadn't broken at this point, you'd think banging it against hard concrete would've done the trick, but supposedly not…

“Are you alright..?”  

See, what happened next truly wasn’t your fault. Everyone knows it's not polite to stand behind someone, especially when they're clearly in distress. And especially especially when the normal, average person would have gone home hours ago. 

With a pop, Your possessed umbrella that had it out for you snapped open. Striking the blond gentleman right in the nuts.

"Oh my god!"  Blond hair dropped to the floor, clutching desperately at the wounded area as you followed. And to make it all a million times worse, the person you just assaulted was your boss! The boss you had to see every day for the foreseeable future! It seemed as if your future at this company had officially ended!

"I'm so, so, so, sorry!" You pleaded, fracticly hovering over the man unsure of whether or not you should touch him. He shook his head. 

"No.." he groaned ' I-I'm fine"  

“Are you sure..? I- I could go get you some ice! Or the medkit!” You reasoned

You were sure groaning and practically curling into yourself was the picture of health, but you didn't want it on your boss’s record that you didn’t even attempt to help. Even after injuring him in a notoriously sensitive spot. 

Bits of your hair were practically falling out from its roots from the pure stress of the situation. You considered running away or collapsing to the floor yourself, but instead you just frantically hovered over him. Unsure if you should be helping him up, patting his back, or touching him at all. The man groaned as he finally began to regain his footing, “If you’re really sorry you’ll let me.. Take you home” 

You stared down at the black leather in utter disbelief. Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined talking to your boss, much less sitting in his car alone, the offending umbrella wet and sitting at your feet as he drove you home. Yet there you sat, in the nice car you'd probably have to save for years to afford, the comfortable, nice car, as the air vents wafted his soft woody cologne all over you.

You wondered if he smelled as good as his car.

"So, um." The awkward silence was absolutely horrible. You could’ve guessed it would be. I mean, what does a hot rich man have to say to some worker in his company? "...Nice, I mean , horrible weather, yeah?" 

He glanced at you with a chuckle, “Yes wonderful weather.” He was definitely making fun of you.

Your face bloomed hot, fidgeting awkwardly with your hands. You turned your head to thank him, yet, when you looked up he was already looking at you. That's when you noticed that car had slowed down to a stop. You glanced out the window, And you were at your apartment! 

“Oh..!” You chuckled nervously, he was probably staring at you waiting for you to get out. After all, you did smack him in the balls with an umbrella…

“I suppose I'll get out now! Sorry for what happened to your um.. Privates..” You pushed the door open quickly reaching for the umbrella sitting at your feet. Yet, before you could comprehend what he was doing he reached over you, placing another, assumingly his, umbrella in your hands, smoothly pulling it open. “ I’d rather not have a repeat, don't you agree?” 

You almost feel his breath on your ear, and his hands on yours. His smell overwhelms your senses more than it already does. With a quickness you never have, you shot out of the car, almost smacking your head on the roof. 

The rain almost soaked you before it clicked that you had an umbrella in your hand. And if today couldn't get more embarrassing you just stared at him in silence, not even closing his car door, just, staring. You could all but hope he couldn't see the steam rising off your cheeks. 

“Is this an invitation to walk you to your door?” 

“I-”

“I’m kidding.” He snorted, a genuine smile on his face. 

“Well.. um, haha! I’ll be on my way then!” You looked at him, and your eyes dated back to your door, before you looked back at him. “ Thank you... Oh, and, I'll return your umbrella to you tomorrow, no worries!”

“just keep it It’s no problem.” He nodded 

“Well, goodbye then!” 

“Goodbye.” 

You rushed back to your door, waving at him one more time before you shut it behind you. 

He hopped you didn't see how he finally let his face redden after you closed the door. 

[httpsserene]

if you’re still taking requests for your 3k celebration… #9 from the pre relationship prompts with lando pleaseeeee 💗 congrats on 3k and love ur writing sm !!

#3k vday cells

🛞  tread’s uneven: time for a tire rotation! — send me a driver and a prompt from this list of pre-relationship prompts, or these established relationship prompts, or these hurt/comfort prompts, and i’ll write a blurb or drabble for you xxx (prompt lists are made by me!)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. missing f1 so much i'm watching the practice session tonight! three minutes and counting !!! happy 3k🤍 babe < 3 thank u for celebrating with me !!!

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

#𝟗. leaving a date early because the person didn't do something that you usually do. fem!black!reader x lando norris.

lando’s only known this woman for three weeks and this is the first date they’ve had—he’s infatuated with her already.

he’s not naive enough to think that he’s in love, however he can puzzle out his feelings of infatuation. she makes him feel heard and seen, in a way very few people in his life do, like you or max. he likes her intelligence, her dedication to her interests and hobbies, her sharp humor, her love and loyalty for those she trusts, her ambition, and the way she’s clearly fond of him already. lando likes seeing the spread of her lips when she smiles, the bashful manner she ducks her head when he flirts; he likes the way she begs lando to stop adding to his jokes whenever he keeps making her laugh to the point where her ribs begin to hurt—all of these traits reminiscent of you, he recognizes.

their server places their appetizers on the table and lando thinks that he can’t wait to introduce you to her. he knows your personalities would mesh nicely.

it’s not like he’s interested in her because she’s exactly like you—that would be weird. she’s doesn’t have the same style as you, or the same tenderness that bleeds through your gaze when you look at him. she doesn’t have the same care to deal with his self-deprecation, or the same willingness to consider lando’s ideas for your next hairstyle.  she doesn’t have the same ability to understand what he’s feeling by observing his body language, or the same ability to communicate through a brief second of eye contact.

she’s not one of his closest friends like you are.

but, there’s time for that to develop—lando’s only just met the woman last month. and, it’s not weird that she kind of looks like you, it’s just a coincidence. like how the last two women he went out with looked like you in different fonts. 

maybe, lando has a type. is that a crime? 

max thinks so, like it’s the damning evidence that proves him guilty in the case of him liking you as more than a friend. lando does like you, enough to think that you’ve usurped max’s title as best friend because of how he’s been harassing lando about his inability to recognize that he’s in love with you; which he isn’t.

lando has a lot of love for you, of course—he told you as such a few nights ago, when he made himself comfortable on the piles of throw pillows you keep on your bed, while venting to you about how he snapped at max because he wouldn’t stop trying to pressure him into admitting that he has a crush on you, which once again, he doesn’t have. 

the only reason lando’s not pettily ignoring the other man is because you made him see that it was quite stupid to fall out with his oldest friend over something so unimportant. 

lando attributed the unsteadiness of your voice around the word ‘unimportant’ as a sign of exhaustion since it was well after midnight at this point. he felt worse after learning he kept you up late after you suffered through a lengthy, demanding work day. you brushed him off with a small smile, one lando knew was more polite rather than genuine from years of knowing you. even though he had been inconsiderate, you refused to let him drive home this late in the night, guilt-tripping him to stay in your guest room because you knew he wouldn’t want to upset you further. 

it’s not like he had a good reason to fight you on it either, with him already having multiple changes of clothes in your dresser from how often he stays over.

“lando?” his date calls, a worried tilt to her brows (slightly different from yours), “are you okay? your nachos are getting cold.”

he blinks, dismissing her concerns with a shake of his head and grabs a chip. he attentively listens to the dramaticized and amusing way she retells her experience about needing to spill red wine on her friend’s mother-in-law and sister-in-law after they wore white to the wedding, mindlessly prodding around his dish to carefully pick out the jalapeños to gather them in a little pile on the edge of his plate.

“…not white sundresses, or even white evening gowns! they blatantly wore wedding dresses! like who—,” she stops abruptly, causing lando to look up, and she asks, “you don’t eat jalapeños?”

“oh,” lando chuckles, “no, not really. i’m a bit of a picky eater.”

her expression lightens with understanding, “i know you’re a little finicky about fish, but i didn’t know it went beyond that. why didn’t you just ask to have the nachos without them?” 

“‘suppose I forgot to ask this time around,” lando offers, his smile shrinking at her use of ‘finicky’ to describe his dislike of fish.  

you’re the one who reminds him to ask for changes to his meal when he neglects to do so. oftentimes, lando keeps the jalapeños because he knows that you like to eat them.

“do you want to try the nachos? the cheese is so rich, there’s no chance you won’t like it—,”

“—i’m okay. i don’t like sharing meals, i’d rather eat what i ordered myself, you know?” she says, like it was a given that lando would know.

the thing is, he doesn’t know. when he’s with you, the two of you always share a bite or two. there’s been times where the two of you swapped plates when you enjoyed the other’s more. 

she continues divulging the drama that occurred after she had stained both wedding gowns red, and lando can’t focus on the storyline anymore. 

it’s weird of him to fixate on something as trivial as her not wanting to taste his food—it’s insane for him to feel the attraction he had for her start to dwindle because of it. she’s the perfect for him; he likes her personality, he thinks she’s attractive—lando feels like there’s something missing. 

you’d remind him to forgo the jalapeños, you’d savor the richness of the cheese, and lando knows that because the nachos are your favorite starter at this restaurant. the two of you share the dish whenever you dine here. the only reason lando chose this place for tonight is because you told him that it was the ideal choice for a dinner date—

on the table, his phone rings through his do not disturb. their conversation pauses again, eyes dropping to look at the top of the screen where your name flashes across it. the contact photo he assigned to you illuminating the display: it’s you and him standing side by side in his garage after he won in singapore. he’s holding his trophy in one arm and the other is wrapped around your wait, tightly cradling you in a side hug. he’s staring at the camera with the biggest grin, his eyes crinkled from the strength of it. and instead of directing your pretty smile to the lens, you were looking at him with a wide grin, the picture capturing the immense happiness and pride you had for him.

his eyes flick up to meet his date’s, and he smiles awkwardly at her raised eyebrow, “sorry, i have to take this, it could be important.”

she gestures that it’s okay, and he answers the call, lifting the phone to his ear.

“hiiiii, lan,” the sing-song tone of your greeting is something lando’s heard countless times, but it’s the first it’s made his chest ache with adoration, “max has ordered me takeout tonight as payment for covering his turn of doing the check-in call, so is she a nice girl or do i need to phone the authorities?”

“well, did you order enough for two?” lando asks, his date frowning at him from across the table.

“i think i’ll be having enough leftovers for a week—wait, no, lando. unless you have a valid reason to ditch don’t do it, it’s rude. you can’t keep cutting your dates short to show up at my flat and steal my food, you bastard—,” 

“that’s all i needed to hear. i’m on the way,” lando doesn’t leave you a chance to respond, he hangs up and stands, mustering himself for the way your wrath will be multiplied as a result of him abruptly ending the call on you. 

“so that’s our nice evening over, i figure?” his date questions, her voice lighthearted through her soft frown.

he rambles apologetically, “you’ve just made me realize that i’ve been best friends with the love of my life for years because you don’t like to share food. she’s the one who puts up with my picky habits and i always feed her the first bite of my food to compensate for it. for the past year i’ve been going on dates with women who remind me of her—like you—instead of dating her. i’m so sorry, and i hope you can forgive me for wasting your time tonight.”

tension builds between them as she remains silent at his explanation, her face remaining blank for a minute before she breaks with a startled chuckle.

“if her and i are as similar as you say we are, you need to worry about whether she's going to forgive you for taking this long to notice that she’s been in love with you the entire time too.”

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[7ndipity]

“Are You Confident?”

fwb!Jungkook x Plus Size Reader

Summary: The one where you get fed up with Jungkook’s teasing and decide to take him up on his offer.

Word Count: just under 1.7k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut. oral(m. receiving), swearing, Jk starts out fuckboy-ish but turns subby, slight dom reader, reader’s referred to as Noona, not proofread

A/N: This idea has been sitting in my drafts since early December, but I finally managed to finish part one! This is sort of a prequel to this drabble, so if you can read it too if you liked this one. I’ll also be posting part two and a masterlist(hopefully)later this week, so lmk what you think!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

If you had to choose a favorite place in the whole world, you would choose Jungkook’s apartment without a thought. Not your own apartment, not you favorite shop, not even the dream vacation you’d been planning and saving up for forever, just being tucked into the corner of Jungkook’s couch, Bam curled up next to you, his massive head resting in your lap, subtly begging for pets as you vented to his owner about your most recent dating fiasco.

The guy one of your friends had set you up with had seemed nice enough at first, but as dinner progressed, things had progressively gone downhill.

“Did he least pay for dinner?” Jungkook asked, sprawled on the opposite end of the couch.

“I’d assume so, I walked out before the bill even came.” You replied, taking a long drink from your glass.

“Why do you even bother with dating anyway? You said before you hated it.” He asked.

“I’ve told you, I’m… lonely.” You said pointedly, avoiding his eyes.

He squinted at you, understanding suddenly flashing across his face.

“Ah, so you just need to get laid?” He asked, sitting back with a smirk as your face flushed with color. “Why didn’t you just say so? I could help you with that.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groaned, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

“I’m serious.” He said, following you. “It’s better than fucking some random asshole.”

This type of conversation was a recurring thing in your friendship. Jungkook loved to tease you, and with a relationship that had grown as close as yours had, he had plenty of opportunities.

Your friends often joked that the two of you should just date already with the way you acted with each other, often toeing the line between what was typically considered okay for ‘just friends’. You’d slept in the same bed more times than you could count(a fact that had made Taehyung nearly choke on his drink when he’d found out), you’d even kissed at his friend's New Years Eve party after a few too many drinks and a similar conversation to the one you were currently having, lamenting about not having someone to kiss at midnight.

You didn’t know what had possessed you to do it, all you could remember was hearing the countdown and leaning in, connecting your lips with his for the briefest moment, only for him to quickly chase after yours when you had started to pull away.

Neither of you had brought it up afterwards, but the memory of it was permanently seared into your mind; the feel of his lips moving against yours, the way his hands had gently gripped your waist-

You shook your head, redirecting your attention back to the current moment, trying to ignore Jungkook as he leaned against the counter next to you.

“Look, if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, I’m just offering a possible solution to your problem,” He said, shrugging as he grinned at you. “You know, if you’re really desperate.”

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk. When's the last time you even went on a date again?”

Your words had the desired effect on him, turning his expression sour.

“That’s different, I’ve been… busy.” He said grudgingly.

“Uh-huh, sure.” You grinned triumphantly.

“I mean it though,” He said. “If that’s really all you’re after, I’d be glad to help.”

You blinked at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” He shrugged. “I mean, like you said, it’s not like I've got anything going either. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just two friends helping each other out.”

“That is, if you think you can handle me.” He added with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, letting out an irritated laugh. “Please, I could handle you.”

“Are you confident?” He asked, quirking a brow at you.

“Yes.” You answered immediately, catching both him and yourself off guard as you stared him down.

Your words weren’t entirely true, you weren’t all that confident when it came to things like this, but Jungkook had a way of triggering your stubborn streak, whether it was with that cocky smile he always threw your way or the domineering tone he like to tease you with, something about him made you suddenly brave and willing to challenge anything he said.

Normally, that was part of what made your friendship fun, the two of you constantly bickering and at odds with each other, but this was much different than arguing over where to get dinner or what to watch on tv.

You were chest to chest now, able to feel his heart pounding surprisingly fast as he stared down at you.

“Prove it.” He said, his tone having lost its teasing edge as his gaze flickered between your eyes and your mouth.

That was all it took to make you break.

You closed the gap between the two of you, pushing him back against the wall as your lips clashed.

This wasn’t at all like the first time you’d kissed, there was no hesitancy or tender playfulness, it was hot and rushed and needy, full of tongue and teeth.

You were aware of a voice in the back of your head frantically screaming at you, something about how this was terrible idea and could ruin things between you and Jungkook completely, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care as his warm hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his tongue fought with yours for dominance. He tasted sharp and sweet like the wine you had brought, his skin hot under your fingertips as your hands slipped from his shoulders to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly at the strands and earning a low grunt from him.

His grip on your hips tightened before sliding down to grope your ass, grinding you against the growing bulge in his pants.

A surprised squeak left you, making him chuckle against your lips as you mentally cursed yourself. You were not about to let him have the upper hand, not this quickly.

You slipped a hand down between you to palm him over his pants, squeezing just enough to cause what sounded very much like a moan to you to release from his throat, though you knew he’d tried to deny it.

Just as suddenly as you’d begun, you pulled away, making his eyes snap open in confusion.

“What are you-?” He panted, stopping in shock as you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“I’m helping you out.” You said simply, undoing his belt as you looked up at him with doe eyes. “Is that okay?”

He nodded, breathing unsteadily.

“I need words, Sweetie.” You said, making him flush at the petname as you fiddled with his zipper. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

“I want it,” He quickly blurted, giving up control with surprising ease as he stared down at you, eyes black with need. “I-I want your mouth, please.”

“Good boy.” You tugged his jeans down, revealing the prominent tent in his boxers, a small wet patch on the material showing just how eager he was.

“These are cute.” You commented, toying with the waistband before letting it snap back against his skin, making him jump slightly. “Purple looks good on you.”

“Noona, please.” He whined in frustration, his head falling back against the wall as his hips twitched forward involuntarily.

“Fine, since you’re asking so politely.” You pulled his boxers down, letting his cock spring free, hanging heavy in front of your face.

He was slightly bigger than you expected, the tip flushed deep red and leaking precum as you took him in your hand, making him shudder.

“Mm, should’ve known, even your cock’s pretty.” You mused, leaning in to give it a cursory lick, sucking the tip into your mouth for a moment before pulling back, leaving a few kisses along the underside of his length as you glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.

He was staring down at you slack-jawed, his breaths coming out in uneven pants as you pumped him with your hand.

He already looked slightly fucked out and you’d barely done anything to him yet, giving you a massive surge of confidence as you held eye contact with him, gathering as much spit as you could in your mouth before letting it dribble down over his twitching length.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, squiming slightly.

Still holding his gaze, you took him fully into your mouth, sinking down as far as you could go.

“Fuck!” He gasped, his head falling back against the wall with a thump as you pulled back, swirling your tongue around him teasingly before sinking down again, letting him hit the back of your throat and holding him there for a moment before pulling off.

You quickly found your rhythm, bobbing your head up and down on him and using your hands on what wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

He let out a low whine, fists clenched so tight against his thighs his knuckles had gone white.

Noticing this, you used your free hand to guide his to your head, letting him tangle his fingers in your hair and giving him something to ground himself with.

All too soon, you felt him beginning to tense, his grip on your head tightening as his thighs started to shake.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” He whimpered. “Where do you want me to-?”

You only answer to him taking him and deeper and swallowing around him, making him cry out as his hip bucked forward, fucking your face as he chased his release.

“Shit, Y/n, I-” His words were choked off with a groan as he came, cumming down your throat in hot spurts.

He slumped back against the wall, breathing hard as you slowly pulled off of him, making a point to meet his eyes again as you swallowed.

“Shit, Y/n,” He said weakly as you stood back up. “That was-”

You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him twitch against your leg as he tasted himself on your tongue.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @ldysmfrst

[yunieful]

missing & wishing

synopsis: you're a hunter who doesn't really have any friends. you (kinda?) hate everything, mostly yourself. you know MC but not that well. MC starts taking an interest in you, Xavier follows along, and you absolutely do not know what to do with that.

tags: LOTS of self-loathing, suicidal thoughts (no attempt tho), autistic reader, adhd reader, you have brain damage ur welcome, not the main character, but we do have, named main character, you two exist as diff people in the same universe wrow, god for all we know mc has a crush on YOU, some implication u might not be human if u squint, maybe you'll find out what u are...if i ever fuck with this again (not a vampire) mentioned: main character, reader, xavier + rafayel & zayne mention sylus isn't there yet and neither is caleb hold ur horses word count: 3.4k

a/n: not beta read much. please make note of the tags. completely diff universe from my lads au. sorta was a vent drabble at first, then slowly turned into a reader...fic? thing? where this reader has fuckin' lore in my head or some shit now. i am emotionally involved. (now you will be too!)

and this is my first reader fic be nice-

You are ordinary.

So why do you feel like a freak?

You’ve been a mirror all your life, trying to reflect what looks right. Press all the right buttons, keeping note of what gives positive responses and negative ones. You’re confused when people laugh and you laugh with them—then they stop, frowning at you. Sometimes the reflection shatters, and you don’t know how to fix it. When you try to pick up the pieces, you get more hurt. The blood trails form the reflections of people glaring at you, laughing at you, disgusted by you.

You try and you try and you try but they just know something is wrong.

And so, you stop trying to become a mirror, a mockingbird.

Hell, you stop trying to fly, to soar. Staying bright.

You just focus on what you know. What’s as easy as breathing. 

And that seems to be Wanderers and fulfilling reports and orders.

You make sure the shadows become your friend, because then no one can see you. You stare at this vessel that is somehow yours, and remind yourself to be something else. Keep people far away or else they’ll find the flaws. Hold your guard because no one can see past these walls. They’ll become more people that just shatter you to pieces, once they see.

They never like you.

And that’s fine.

You hate yourself more.

So why do you live on?

Spite, you think. Because you refuse to be called a coward.

On one hand, someone like you shouldn’t exist. There are so many pieces that fit weirdly and are wrong. But on the other? You want to disappoint the people who want you gone. People who wanted you dead. They don’t get to decide when you end, only you do.

Besides, you’re used to disappointment after so many years. You’re long past questioning why. You just seethe that people are awful as always, and continue building your walls. Because you never need anyone else to point fingers at you to figure out all your flaws. You’re tired of trying to be soft when all they are is sharp. It’s best to put a mask over it all, and no one will even try to get in either.

“Hey, great work today.”

The keyboard clicking stops. You’re in the middle of writing a report. You don’t enjoy them, but they have to be done.

Your fingers curl in annoyance at being interrupted, ready to snap at whoever dares to approach you and ruin your workflow, because who the hell—

“Melody,” you say.

Someone else assigned to Unicorn along with you, and for whatever reason, she’s spoken to you once or twice before. Very small moments never lasting long around each other. Some boy is with her or Tara or Simone or someone, unlike you, never having a single person approach you or be around you.

She’s one of the top hunters, and you were paired together with her for a mission earlier today. A shock to you, since you don’t consider yourself one of the best hunters out there. You just make sure you’re efficient and that there’s no civilian casualties, if it can be helped.

You never worked with Melody before this. The partners you had were quiet and efficient, knowing to not bother making any small talk with you and only focus on the mission. Yet Melody tried to strike up conversation. It made you wonder if she even took her job seriously, but she quickly proved you wrong in combat. Her guns worked well around your scythe, one of a few weapons you specialized in. You both easily made quick work of the enemies and saved a few civilians caught in the crossfire.

But that was the end of it. Mission accomplished.

You had no clue why she’d be here bothering you.

Melody blinks, maybe thinking you were going to say something else, but you just stared boredly at the center of her forehead so direct eye-contact wouldn’t kill you on the spot. “Right. Um. I was thinking, maybe we could work together more often? When my partner Xavier isn’t around anyway.” You don’t say anything, just glance back at your monitor and continue typing again. “We work well together.”

“Was just doing my job,” you mutter.

It truly is baffling that this girl is even trying to strike up a conversation with you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can spot at least one or two co-workers around whispering and glancing your way. Since some people act like it’s still high school, you’re the outcast being talked to by the popular girl, and that shouldn’t happen.

“Well, you do a hell of a job.” Oh, shit, you’re writing some of the words Melody is saying. You immediately backspace. “You work as quick as Xavier, I swear.”

Your eyes narrow. This “Xavier” has been mentioned twice now. You have no idea who the fuck that is. “Xavier…?”

Melody tilts her head. “Xavier! You know, silver hair, blue eyes, hangs around with me sometimes?”

People watching sometimes happens, if you don’t especially hate them that day. You go through your repertoire of memories that barely hold together like your attention span.

Your brows slightly rise when you land on it and nod solemnly. “Twinkle Boy.”

A strange noise leaves Miss Hunter. “I’m sorry?”

You bother to spare a glance at her. “Twinkle Boy. That’s his name.”

“His name is Xavier.”

“Not to me.”

“Well, you remembered my name.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly, “you’re Melody.” You’re not sure how to explain without starting to develop the cracks on your facade you don’t want anyone to look too closely at. That’s how it sometimes starts. You’re just Melody shaped, you try to reason in your little pea brain. I don’t fucking know.

She giggles a bit, tilting her head at you, and for some reason, you don’t feel like she’s laughing at you, like so many others do. Something in her eyes says something you’re not quite familiar with and you’re not sure what to do with either.

You decide you don’t like it.

“Anyway,” you lean back in your seat, and also lean back metaphorically from this entire conversation, “I gotta get this report done, so—”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Melody waves it off. “For real, though, I hope we work together again.”

You dare glance up one more time, and she’s smiling. At you. You’re almost tempted to look back to see if she’s looking at anyone else, but no. And it almost seems…genuine.

She can’t truly mean it, can she?

“Yeah, sure,” is all you can muster. “See ya.”

She waves before turning and leaving you to finally get this damn report done.

And yet, your mind dares to wander, to try and assess what it is she possibly wants from you. Because it certainly has nothing to do with your overall presence. Does she truly just mean working together on another mission? You don’t have any special skills. Your Evol doesn’t count, in your opinion, since it’s—

You clear your throat, as if it’ll chase those thoughts away, and type.

But they’re never gone. They cling to you tightly, shaped like thorns.

You can’t decide if some higher being hates you or loves you.

You and Melody do end up working together again. The missions continue to go smoothly. You adjust to whatever arsenal Melody decides to give you to work with that day. (“A staff? Seriously?”) For some reason, you start actually talking with Melody. She’s the one that mainly carries the conversations, though, with you saying little of anything.

You just can’t understand why.

You could have told her to stop, to back off. You could’ve told Captain Jenna you didn’t want to work with her again. Yet you don’t do any of that. You let Melody figure out ways to get you to talk and respond to her, and you oblige her for some reason you’re not even sure of yourself.

Oh, come on, you know, your mind argues.

If you’re going to say anything about companionship or even liking this girl, I’m tuning out again, you threaten.

Your mind shuts up, but you can imagine it’d be laughing, if you let it.

Melody is…soft, bright, and—

Well, loved.

Twinkle Boy Xavier makes sure she’s doing okay if they’re not together. You hear about how he checks up on her at times when she’s hurt or has a rough day. Her doctor is literally a cardiac surgeon for her heart problem. They grew up together before he disappeared, and they found each other again like it’s the beginning of a Hallmark movie. Except maybe it could be better than a Hallmark movie. (You are a fan of vintage stuff. Sometimes eras like the 2000’s are fascinating.)

There’s some painter dude Melody has talked to you about now and then that designates her as his bodyguard. You wondered how she got that extra pay, and she says it was from a mission said painter was involved in. Then you recall about the painting that killed some guy named Raymond (“allegedly” but you doubt it).

They text her, they check in on her when they’re available. Sometimes it’s why Melody can’t “hang out” with you, and you always just brush it off. Someone like Melody would be the type to have so many people care. There are just people others are drawn to, like a beacon.

Not you.

And you usually don’t care.

So why does some part of you feel…what? Disappointment? During the few times Melody has had to cancel on you.

When the hell did the disappointment go past yourself and people you hated?

Maybe you miss her.

Whatever little bit of logic your brain is trying to do needs to be flung across the room and stuffed into a drawer far away to never be thought of again. Because your brain is so damaged that, at times, object permanence is truly your nemesis. Now it could potentially be your salvation.

“I am just tolerating them,” you remind yourself, alone in your apartment. “That’s it!”

For whatever reason, Xavier starts checking up on you at work.

And why is it strange he’s doing it at work? Well, the reason you know Xavier happens to be because his apartment is right next to yours. With Melody being below you two.

You never really talked too much. You’d sometimes spot each other and greet each other or acknowledge each other in some way. Though you didn’t bother to continue talking with him when realizing you were both hunters, and he didn’t either. You just kept it to those short moments at your apartment complex.

Simple, distant, controlled interactions.

And now he’s ruining it.

“You should get that checked out.”

He points at the bandage on your head, and you just scoff and roll your eyes while writing some stuff down at your desk. Best to do it now before you forget.

“I have a hard head,” you say, tone flat and dry as it usually is around others. “I’ll go when I know my head is truly in jeopardy.” Which, it usually isn’t; you already have plenty of brain damage anyway. What’s a little more?

“I hope you’re not as dumb as Mel about injuries.” His tone can easily match yours. But him? He’s softer when he speaks.

You? You’re all sharp, keeping as prickly as possible.

You’ve been called worse. “Yeah, let’s hope,” you mutter, clearly not interested in what he has to say.

“What are you writing?”

Your eyes widen, hearing how close he is, but you try to keep your voice as neutral as possible. “Please don’t look over my shoulder like that. You’re too close.” You poke at him with your pen, not daring to turn around and very careful in making sure it’s just the pen touching him and not any actual part of your body.

Thankfully, he listens. You can feel the pen start to fall to prove he’s leaning back.

“Sorry.”

You breathe deeply, shutting your eyes briefly. The pen becomes your anchor for a moment, gripping on it hard enough the leather of your gloves squeaks a little.

You don’t even reassure him it’s fine, because, well, it’s not. There is a very definitive reason why you can’t handle anyone being close to you to the point of touching you. But you’re not going to snap at him about it; he doesn’t know.

“If you’re so curious, it’s just my grocery list.” You shut your notebook and rise from your seat, now finding the area stifling. The world shifts slightly, but you know it’s not enough to send you to a hospital. You just keep still for a second before moving. “Don’t you have Melody to bother?”

He follows you, and you hold your notebook tightly, which now has your pen resting on the spiraled edge keeping said notebook together.

Why is he following me?

“Oh, right. She wanted me to ask you if you wanted to join us for some hotpot.”

WHY?

You pause your steps and turn around, thankful Xavier stopped when you did, leaving a respectful distance between the two of you.

“Hotpot?” Before he can open his mouth, you hold up your free hand to stop him. “I know what it is, Twinkle Boy.” His brows rise, but he doesn’t say anything about the nickname. (This isn’t the first time you called him this anyway.) “Anyway,” your response is quick, “no thanks. I’m just gonna warm something up at home.”

You don’t even give him a chance to argue. You just walk away, planning to get back to your desk in a second to grab everything and leave.

When you stare down the aisle of some snacks on your way home, your mind wanders on what would’ve happened if you did go. Or even what type of snacks Xavier likes to eat, because you’ve seen him with a few at the Association.

You quickly shut those thoughts away, keeping them locked along with so many other thoughts and feelings.

You are ordinary.

So why do you feel wrong?

If you don’t feel like some freak, you just continue to feel wrong. You feel wrong missing Melody and Xavier. You feel wrong wanting to shop with Xavier and dare ponder his favorite snacks.

You feel wrong wishing for company.

This life has always been alone.

Anytime you even tried to make a friend (just that word is so foreign to you), kids usually ran away from you. They giggled and laughed with their other friends, all of them clearly talking about you, especially once they pointed fingers.

The times they even did bother with you, it’d be with tight smiles and irritation in their eyes. The relationship was purely transactional, and you were usually left bankrupt. You had something they needed, and they took and took and took.

Back then, you really had no backbone to say no. You wanted to please everyone as much as possible. Back then, you would have danced on hot rocks if you could’ve, if those people became your friends after.

Then you became an empty husk, and what you filled it with was thorns and disgust. Disgust mainly at people.

Ugh, people.

They have done nothing but hurt you.

So what makes these people different?

Is it Xavier never laughing right at your face? Insulting you in any way? Just being nice? You can’t have fallen so far from your original path of keeping your walls up and keeping everyone out to be reduced to letting someone in (just a smidge, a smidge) for being nice. Who the fuck are you?

Is it Melody being completely fine with you barely talking and having her make up most of the conversation? Is her actually laughing at some of your dark humor or things you mutter under your breath actually what got you? Or is it that somehow everytime you’re around her, you don’t sense the slightest bit of irritation? Every smile she gives you is genuine and never tight or forced? Almost making you want to smile?

“What do you know about the N109 Zone?”

You stiffen in your seat, stopping yourself from drinking your matcha latte. (One of the few drinks that won’t make your stomach scream.) “Why are you asking me?”

Melody gives a noncommittal shrug. “I’m just curious. No one really talks about it much or seems to know much about it.”

You’d wonder if she can read minds, if you didn’t know about her Evol before. Now, you had to dare wonder if this was a coincidence or if she knew.

“Yeah, but why are you asking me?”

Melody is about to speak, but you cut her off with your flat, dry tone further.

“I have brain damage, Melody.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes at you. “You always say that, and it won’t work everytime! Just because you have brain damage doesn’t mean you don’t know things.”

“Yeah, but who says I know anything about the N109 Zone specifically?” You narrow your eyes at her. “This is more than just curiosity here.” It’s not a question, you just know.

“I—! No, I just wanna know what it’s like there.”

“Dark and lawless and sad. There.” You lean forward, eyes still narrowed. “You’re such a bad liar.” Considering she heats up and fumbles her words a lot when you’ve noticed her to be rather charismatic and charming around others?

Yup, she’s lying.

“Dark?” She totally ignores your accusation, and you huff. “Lawless? And…sad?”

It makes me sad sometimes whenever I gotta pop up there.

Not that you voice this outloud, of course.

You lean back, relaxed now and not suspicious (as much). “You don’t want to go there, Melody.” You don’t know what compels you to continue speaking, but you do. “I’m sure it’s very important, but it’s not worth it. And it’s also a bitch to even get in.”

She tilts her head at you, almost mirroring your suspicious glare from before. “You talk like you’ve had experience.” Your name is said after that, smoothly and calmly.

You don’t like how that makes you feel.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” You shrug, glancing away. “I know what I know, that’s that.”

A moment of silence passes between you two, and you sigh heavily from how easily you can just smell Melody’s disappointment. It’s so familiar of a stench from years of experiencing it towards you.

And, jeez, is she pouting?

You roll your eyes so hard they’re in the back of your head, until you sigh heavily.

“Knowing you, you’re going to try to get in there anyway for whatever shit you’re doing.” You sip some more of your matcha before continuing. “Fine. I’ll help you get in.” W H Y?

Shh, you silence your own brain.

Oh my god are you doing this willingly?

Shut up.

I am literally your brain.

You try not to roll your eyes as Melody stares at you in disbelief, after almost choking on her own drink.

“What? Really?” Augh, gods, she sounds so hopeful.

There’s no going back now.

Actually, yes, there is.

Nope, can’t.

Why? Because it’d break your heart if she was sad?

Nope, nope, you’re not falling for that shit. Shut up, brain.

“Might as well,” you say, trying your best to sound like you’ve been forced to do this because you don’t want to help her, at all, you just can’t stand stupid people except maybe yourself (barely).

“Thank you so much,” she says your name happily, genuinely. You hate that it’s making your heart crumple up like tinfoil and it doesn’t hurt. “How about we head back to my place and I can show you what I’ve found and know?”

Her place?

You haven’t been hanging out with Melody for that long, so you’ve never really been to her place. Just because you both live in the same apartment complex doesn’t mean you go take any trips down there. Certainly no sleepovers. (Imagine having sleepovers…not you.)

“Okay,” you say regardless, because if you think too much you might just terminate your entire mind. “Lead the way then.”

Melody gives you a smile that dares to shine light somewhere in that cold, dark flesh vessel of yours. Feeling like somewhere—among your many, many thorns—that maybe a flower will bloom, despite the struggle.

Then she gets up and gestures for you to follow and walk beside her, keeping a respectable distance as always for…reasons.

You are ordinary.

Fuck. Are you?

[hambiichu]

Mcdonald Au

Sumarry: You worked at Mcdonald and Levi is your loyal customer

This is just a fun little to write to lighten up the mood, and this will be my last post before I go focus on my exams gonna lock in fr fr

Divider by @/decor-dump

ao3

Tags: Modern au, Worker! Reader, Female! Reader, Service Crew! Reader, Levi karen mode, short stories, drabble , protective Levi

"Hi, sir! Welcome to McDonald’s! How may I help you?” you greeted enthusiastically, your bright smile lighting up the bustling atmosphere as Levi approached the counter. He was a familiar face and a cherished customer, someone who had made it a ritual to stop by every morning to enjoy his cup of coffee.

Seeing you always seemed to banish the weight of the world from his shoulders, if only for a moment, and you could tell your presence lifted his spirits. As he placed his usual order, you noticed the weariness etched in the lines around his eyes and the way his lips curled ever so slightly into a smile upon catching a glimpse of you.

Over weeks and months, fleeting exchanges had transformed into meaningful conversations, fostering a connection between the two of you that neither had anticipated. Levi began to share snippets of his life at work—a place riddled with stress and toxicity—and you listened intently, making a space for him to vent about the pressures he faced.

What started as light banter over coffee had bloomed into a genuine bond, a lifeline for both of you amid life’s chaos. The day he asked for your phone number felt significant; it was a gesture that gave him a sense of relief and allowed him to reach out to you, even during the most hectic moments of his day.

To you, those daily interactions had grown to mean everything. Just the thought of seeing him sent your heart fluttering, often leaving you daydreaming about the possibility of something deeper between you two.

You couldn’t shake off the hope that perhaps he felt the same way, even if he hadn’t made any overt gestures to indicate his feelings. Levi carried a burden of responsibility that might have held him back from risking more, likely not wanting to add to the pressures of his already chaotic life.

“No need to be formal,” Levi sighed, exasperation tinging his voice as he casually addressed you by your name, his trademark playfulness shining through. “You know I hate it when you’re all formal.”

“I know,” you chuckled softly, appreciating the easygoing vibe he brought. “It’s just a habit I can’t shake. After all, I can’t really keep a job without a sprinkle of formality, right?”

His low hum of agreement was warm, filling the space around you as he gathered his order. With a swift motion, he beckoned you to join him in a quieter corner of the restaurant, where the chaos felt a world away. Once settled, the conversation flowed naturally, washing over you like a comforting wave. You shared snippets of your lives and swapped laughter over the silliest anecdotes, each moment amplifying the connection that was slowly but surely deepening.

But as Levi prepared to depart, a shadow of concern overtook him. He found himself wrestling with the thought that you seemed perpetually overworked—rushing about, hardly taking a moment to breathe. It troubled him deeply to think that you weren’t taking care of yourself, especially considering how hard you worked.

However, that day brought an unexpected twist. When he approached the counter, he was met not with your familiar smile but with the sight of your best friend, Sasha, casually munching on a pile of fries. She hadn’t offered her usual cheerful greeting, and a knot of worry tightened in Levi’s stomach.

“Where is she?” he asked, concern seeping into his voice as his brow furrowed.

“Who?” Sasha tilted her head, looking momentarily confused.

Your name tumbled from his lips with urgency, “Where is she?”

“Oh, she almost fainted,” Sasha replied, her tone shifting as the gravity of the situation dawned on her. “Our boss has been overworking her, and she needed to go home ASAP.”

The immediate surge of shock and anger that erupted within Levi was nearly overwhelming. The thought of your manager pushing you to the brink filled him with fury. It felt utterly unjust, and he couldn’t just stand by idly. Summoning his inner “Karen mode,” he resolved to take a stand for you and address the matter head-on.

“Call your manager,” Levi requested firmly, determination threading through his voice as he prepared to articulate his grievances.

The confrontation was brutal; his words dripped with raw honesty, and the frustration he expressed was unwavering. He articulated the issues plaguing the fast-food branch, his clean-freak tendencies surfacing as he pointed out the rampant messiness that permeated the establishment. Levi’s insistence and fervor left your manager apologizing profusely, nearly trembling in fear at the prospect of his wrath.

After a few days of recovery, you returned to work, puzzled but relieved to find your circumstances had changed for the better. As you processed your paycheck, you noticed a raise reflected in your earnings. A combination of confusion and gratitude washed over you, but you brushed it off, assuming it was just the standard salary adjustment your coworkers were also receiving.

As you exited the familiar McDonald’s façade after your shift, you spotted Levi waiting for you just outside the door, his warm demeanor instantly calming you. He leaned against the entrance, a bouquet of flowers slung over his shoulder, looking like the epitome of thoughtful charm. As he handed you the flowers, you instinctively felt your cheeks flush with warmth.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, inhaling the sweet fragrance and grinning as you recognized your favorite blooms among the assortment. “This is so thoughtful. Thank you, Levi.”

He returned your smile, his eyes twinkling with happiness as he basked in the moment you shared. Your heart swelled as you told him about the raise you’d received. “Hey, I got my salary raised! My manager said I could take breaks anytime I needed when it felt too much. Isn’t that great? I don’t quite understand why he suddenly changed; he’s usually so rude and mean.”

Levi shrugged casually, though the corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Don’t know, but hey, you definitely deserve it, right? Maybe he just decided to change his mindset after you almost fainted.”

You nodded slowly, believing his words, completely unaware that Levi was the invisible force behind this sudden shift, the driving power of his “Karen mode,” all aimed at ensuring your well-being.

[ya-zz]

This was supposed to be a drabble... Take it, considering I haven't uploaded a fic in awhile, plus I really enjoyed writing this. Kudos to @yore-donatsu for the prompt! || Small headcanon on Rama: When in Nemesis, he can only use one pair of arms at a time. Imagine him in a situation where his Nemessis arms are stuck (and he can't free himself because otherwise he's in trouble) and he's swinging a stupid “I'm stuck” ||

Ramattra x Reader

Word Count: 1705

The sound of Ramattra turning to his nemesis form no longer startles you, being around him for several months now, it became a somewhat normal sound to hear alongside the usual day to day chaos. Of course, the only time you would hear him turn was when he was furious, using his larger form to threaten those around him. 

Then of course, there were the times he would use it to protect you from unwanted intruders or threats; his arms would encase you in a slightly uncomfortable but protective grasp. 

Though, this time, there was no fuzzy static that usually fades into the air when he finally comes back to his normal form. Instead, his voice rings out from across the room, pulling you out of the meditation you were under. 

“I require assistance, urgently.”

With a semi-irritated sigh, you stand and turn only to face Ramattra who was stuck near his workbench. He stares at you, circuits burning in an embarrassed flush as he watches you approach cautiously. I am not hearing the end of this, he thought.

“I may have miscalculated the space around me.” He says, nemesis arms tangled in a mass of wires. 

“How on earth did you manage that?” 

“Do not question me. Help me.” You could hear the authority in his tone. 

With a scoff, you respond, “You have other arms.” You point to the ones crossed at his chest. 

“I-“ His vocaliser cuts off, a click to reset before he speaks again. “I cannot use them in this form.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “You’re joking.” 

“I am not.” 

“Ramattra-“ 

“Please. I cannot free myself.” Desperation follows. 

Another thought crosses your mind, causing you to smirk which the omnic picks up on immediately. 

“Do not get any ideas.” His tone lowers, threatening you. The embarrassment was already too much to handle and he sure as hello asn’t in the mood to play.

“Oh, but why not? You look so… vulnerable all tangled up.” 

Ramattra watches your face, searching for any mischievous glint as your hands glide up his arms, resting them on his shoulders before your fingers trail up his neck. You feel the hum of his body at your fingertips as you lean up and plant a playful kiss where white meets purple. 

“Remove these wires immediately.” The omnic before you lowers his head slightly as he makes his demands. His larger arms tense, fists clenching among the wires as his irritation grows.

“What if I don’t?” You tease. 

“Quit playing.” Ramattra’s tone darkens, his nemesis fingers twitching. “Untangle me this instant.” 

You could hear the rising frustration in his voice. Rolling your eyes, you back down. “Okay, okay. Just stay still.”

The embarrassment that Ramattra was feeling didn’t subside, no matter how careful and soft your hands were. His fans whir loudly, puffs of steam leaving the vents in his back as you work on freeing him. He focuses on the way you touch him, though he cannot feel much, a project for a later date, it calms him somewhat. You were always so gentle with his body, not wanting to damage him as spare parts were scarce. 

Fingers would tease their way under the wires that had wrapped tightly around the metal before being tugged away, looping under and over another wire. Some of them were easy to remove, only needing a small pull to free it before letting it drop to the floor. The ones that were not budging needed that little extra strength to loosen them. There was a near silence that filled the room, neither one talking. The only noises were the clattering of wires as they fell to the floor and the omnics chassis humming. Soon enough, the pile of wires on the floor grew and one of his arms was slowly freed.  

“Why can’t you move your other arms?” You question to break the silence. 

“It will overload my systems. It is already a difficult task keeping this form up. You have seen that I can only stay like this for so long before I revert back to my usual state.” Ramattra states, matter-of-factly. 

“Ah, so you can’t multitask.” 

“That-“ He lets out an irritated sigh. “You are insufferable, you know that?” 

“I will leave you here.” You yank a wire that pulls him down with a grunt. 

He shoots you a glare in return, optical aperture shifting. “Do not.”

“Then be nice, otherwise, you can stay here longer.” Another wire joins the pile on the floor. “You need better cable management.” 

Ramattra scoffs, head tilting away from you. “My cables are fine.” 

You flick him on the neck, where he can feel it. “You know what I mean.”

He grumbles, muttering something in omnicode as one of his nemesis arms falls limp. Ramattra watches as you move to his other arm, starting to detangle the wires that had wrapped around it. It was the same process, the tighter wires needed more thought and the loose ones only a simple pull. You were careful, not wanting to scratch the metal that made up his arms. This arm was held a little higher due to the weight of his other one pulling him down at an angle. Standing on your toes, you wobble, though Ramattra wouldn’t be able to catch you if you did fall. 

You mumble to yourself, shaking from the stress of freeing him. “Next time, I am exploiting this scenario.” 

“There will not be a next time.” Ramattra’s tone darkens slightly as he responds, your mumble not going unheard. He huffs, vocaliser clicking to reset. “I am not embarrassing myself by letting this happen again.” 

“Oh? You’re embarrassed? Because you’ve had to ask for help from a human?” You smirk, knowing exactly the reaction you’ll get out of him. 

The omnic grunts, nemesis fist clenching tightly that you hear the metal scratching against each other. There goes that plan of not damaging his exterior… 

“Watch it, pet. You will not like the outcome.” 

The moment his arm is free from its restraints, the larger of his hands grab at your waist, pushing you against the wall. 

The sudden motion catches you off guard, a startled gasp escaping your throat as your back hits the concrete. You watch as the fingers of his normal form twitch against his arms. He’s losing restraint. 

Ramattra stares down at you, optics scanning your features. His head cocks to the side as he speaks; “perhaps another time I will give you want you want.” There was a playful tint to his tone, He knows how to rile you up in all the right ways.

His shadow looms over you, but you weren’t scared. Despite his intimidating stature, you knew who he was. He was your partner, his threats never meant any harm to you, half the time you never took him seriously anyway. You knew that behind his ‘threatening’ demeanour, he was nothing but a sweetheart. He had a soft sport for you and only you. You were special to him and he always made sure that you knew that.

“Perhaps next time you’ll have control over both sets of arms- ow!” Ramattra squeezes you slightly, not enough to cause serious harm, but as a warning. 

Before he has a chance to speak, the air around the both of you grows fuzzy, a slight static tickling your arms before he transforms back to his normal state. 

The larger hands had left your sides, small indentations litter your back and stomach from the sharp edges of his fingers, the cloth of your shirt not being enough protection from his grasp. 

“You are lucky I cannot hold that form for long.” He states, leaning down towards you. A chuckle escapes his vocaliser as he places his hands on your sides. They were softer, smaller, than his other hands. 

Ramattra pulls you flush against him, pressing his body into yours. “Thank you.” He is gentle in his normal form.

Bringing your own hands up, you hold him back, fingers trailing the metal braces that travel from his chest to his back before finally resting them just above the top most brace. 

You smile, leaning your head against his. “Anything for you.”

Ramattra hums softly, his hands travelling up your back. His sensors pick up the change in heart rate and the way your body relaxes against his. You’re warm against him and he finds himself feeling at home in your arms. 

“I will clean up.” He states, pulling away from you. 

“Let me help-” “You have done enough. Let me.” He chuckles, moving away to pick up the cables on the floor. He’s quick to coil them up, tying them together before putting them into a box. “I owe you for freeing me.” 

“You owe me nothing. It was a simple mistake.” You reassure him, not wanting anything in return. Watching him, you note he’s cautious of how they are placed. “You are being careful, why?”

He hesitates, holding the box in hand before sliding it under the workbench. “An old habit from the monastery.” 

You nod in understanding, approaching him quietly. You slide your hands around his waist, pressing your head against his back. His inner workings hum louder, your motion catching him off guard. 

“Do you miss it? The monastery, I mean?”

“Yes.” He replies solemnly. “But I cannot change what happened.” 

“If it any consolation, I’m glad that you’re here, Ramattra.” 

He places his hands on top of yours, thumb rubbing across your knuckles. “As am I.”

The room falls silent as you hold him. It was a touchy subject, one you never pressed. He would tell you in his own time. 

“Come on. It is getting late.” He finally speaks out. The omnic turns to face you, grabbing your hands and holding them. 

You smile up at him, enjoying the intimate moment you’re sharing. “I do not want to leave just yet.” Your voice was quiet as you stare at his hands.

He hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.  “Then we can stay here until you are ready to go.” 

“I would like that.” You almost whisper in response.

Ramattra tilts his head, cupping your cheek in his hand. 

“Then together we shall stay.” 

—

KOFI

[mystrangeadd1ct1on]

A little better

Pairing: gn!reader x Stephen Strange

Summary: (really really short) One-shot. Y/N feels exhausted by life, but Stephen is always there to comfort them<3

Warnings: none, just fluffy fluff🖤

A/n: right away, im so sorry Its so short and im still approving my writing so bear with me please. Its a random drabble and partially a vent, I didn't even mean to post it at first, but its so cute I had to soo.. enjoy, I guess😭🖤

Exhaustion reached every corner of your body, you didn't want anything else in that moment than your bed. You walked into your shared bedroom that was dimly lit, only a small lamp shining on a bedside table that was enough to sting in your eyes. Every step you made felt heavier than the last one. You noticed Stephen already sat on the bed in sweats and a tee. He was holding some spell book you didn't quite understand.

With a long sigh you threw yourself on the bed. He lifted his head to look at you through the corner of his eyes with curiosity. He didn't question it at first, but soon his concern grew, considering that you havent moved an inch for the whole two minutes.

“Y/N?” He said softly, but didn't get any reply. Almost as if he's talking to void.

“Are you okay?” He tries again, his voice still soft and almost unsure. You mumbled something in the pillow. He didn't understand your muffled words, though he was almost completely sure it was "im fine".

With a sigh he shut the book closed with a soft thud and set it aside, turning his attention fully to you.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“There’s not even anything to talk about.” You finally lifted your head.

“Well, there’s visibly something bothering you,” he searched for your eyes with his piercing gaze that was filled with concern.

You exhale deeply rolling yourself to lay on your back. There was nothing to talk about, because nothing even happened.

“I don't even know why I feel this way. Nothing happened. Im probably just being dramatic. Besides, people have it worse.”

Your words made his chest ache. He hated to see you like this, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel miserable.

“Please don't say that,” he says in low voice. Finally you turned your head to meet his still-concerned expression. A moment of silence stretched between you two that lasted.

“Is there something I could do for you?” He whispered as he reached to stroke your hair.

His words made you slightly smile, just a little. He always cared for you and tried to make you feel better with everything he had. Thats what you loved about him the most.

“I just want to rest,” you whispered back.

Without a word, he simply reached for the blankets and pulled it over you both. His warm body pressed against yours and his arms wrapped around you. In that silent moment you could only hear his steady breathing. Your heartbeat was beating in a calm rhythm. The weight on your shoulders began to ease with his comfort and presence. He then gave you one last kiss on the top of your head for reassurement and murmured a sweet "I love you" in your ear before you drifted off to sleep.

[anony-man]

(Gah, you always know just the drabble to request… in case anyone else is wondering, Texaid is my biggest weakness. This’ll be posted on ao3 soon!)

Chubformers drabble #193!

Characters: First Aid & Vortex (IDW)

Word count: 3k

This was going to be the last time Vortex ever put any faith in Swindle and his vacation booking skills. Hell, it had been his first time making that mistake, but it was going to be his last, too.

The cabin was an old one. It was old and rickety, too, which meant the heavy layers of snow blowing through the air and piling up against the windows sucked every last bit of heat out from within its walls. He was no whiner, but hey, he wasn’t a big bot, either. He was a copter, for Primus’ sake, and the amount of heat he struggled to generate in one sitting was nothing compared to a big brute of a mech just sitting in place.

That was another thing Vortex had to add to the list, because at the start of his little adventure planning spree, he had insisted—demanded even—that wherever he was going to be taking his lovely little plaything, it would be somewhere hot. Comfortable, too. Oh, and it had to have electricity… which it didn’t. Believe him, he had checked. He had checked twice.

Damn that smooth talking slagger and his excuses for good destination vacation homes. Vortex wasn’t asking for much. He wasn’t even asking for everything he should be asking for, considering First Aid was his company. He had laid out the uttermost minimum of all bare minimum requirements, and Swindle had gone and fragged it up for them both. First Aid didn’t know that, though. For all he knew, this was Vortex’s fault… and honestly, Vortex wasn’t about to go shifting the blame. It was his fault for trusting Swindle with something so important in the end, and hated himself for it all the same.

This sucked. Every last bit of it sucked starting from the harrowing trip out to their dreaded cabin’s location and ending with the biting cold, the abysmal lack of any working electricity, and the shameful fact that while Vortex cursed and griped and kicked up layers of dust in his back-and-forth pacing, his beloved medic sat huddled by the fireplace attempting to start a fire from the meager supplies left to them.

Slag it. Slag it all. He should’ve shelled out the extra few shanix and gotten them a booking somewhere nice, under his name and everything. No matter that he was banned from most fine dining and fine living establishments across the planet. He could’ve forged his signature, put down a few hundred or even held a bot or three at knife point until he got his way, but he hadn’t. He’d taken the easy way out on what was supposed to have been a special trip and now he was reaping the consequences.

Damn Swindle to the pit, and damn himself right there beside him. Vortex huffed loudly, his vents flaring as hot air was blown into the room. The fog of his breath lasted several seconds longer than it should have in the cold, cold cabin, and he gave himself an extra few pity points by shivering against the frigid atmosphere. They had gotten out of the snow and inside the cabin over an hour ago, and here he stood, still freezing his aft off.

“Hmph,” Vortex grunted, his second huff of displeasure coming out strong enough to create an audible sound. Behind him, he heard the crackle of wood in the fireplace.

“Hey,” First Aid called out, “come on and join me, ‘Tex. I finally got the fire going.”

Oh, what a relief. He was starting to grow bored of glaring at the snow piling higher and higher outside the windows. Vortex lingered just a moment longer in place before giving in and taking his sulking to a place where he was welcome—snuggled up next to First Aid’s side in front of the fire.

The lack of proper lighting was a pain, and without the proper supplies to make up for it, Vortex and First Aid were no better than sitting ducks. He’d brought food for them, of course, and First Aid had brought a blanket. The exaggerated details Swindle had given when he was dragging the poor copter into such a horrible deal had implied the addition of proper housing, cabin or not. Despite its remote location, Vortex had also been expecting… well, anything better than this, because really, anything would have been better than this.

First Aid was soft against his side as he hunkered down and snuggled close. He was warm, too, and so was the fire. Vortex hardly had time to scoot himself closer to the medic from behind and reach his servos around to paw at the doughy belly in First Aid’s lap before he was getting an armful of softer, warmer fabric. The blanket was readily accepted, and with a third and final huff and a satisfied purr of his engines as a follow-up, the two ended their rearrangements in the old fashioned spooning sitting upright position, and with Vortex as the big spoon, of course.

“Better?” First Aid asked, turning his helm just enough to meet the face nuzzled against his shoulder and plant a kiss against its surface. “I was starting to think you’d stand there and sulk all night.”

Had it been anyone but First Aid with him, Vortex probably would have. The pretty little medic was a problem solver, though. He wouldn’t have let it last much longer, even if Vortex had tried to make it happen.

“Nah,” he said instead, meeting First Aid’s tender kiss with a greedy one of his own. “Mmm… just had to meet my daily grudge-holding quota.”

Outwardly, that is. The grudge was still burning hot under the surface, and he made note to store the anger away until later on for when he got the chance to corner Swindle properly.

First Aid sighed, his frame going soft against Vortex’s front. It was the kind of sigh that made it obvious that there was more he wanted to say, maybe more he wanted to scold the copter for bitching about, but he held his tongue. There were much more important things to do that fixate on petty arguments, and with the ticklish sensation of clawed, handsy servos getting bolder and bolder in their groping, he, too, knew it was better to pocket it away for another time.

This was their vacation. It was their time to relax and unwind, even if things hadn’t gone the way either of them had planned. First Aid certainly didn’t mind, but he knew Vortex, and he knew the copter could be picky… which was why he decided to take the lead for a little while.

The fireplace burned bright in front of them, and as the flames licked their way up the old logs of wood inside, First Aid traced his fingers up and down Vortex’s arms. The flames were far too hot for them to cook anything just yet, and he was feeling far too needy to even begin thinking about tearing free of the copter’s grasp. He wanted to linger a little while longer, and from the hum of engines rumbling against his back, he could tell Vortex had the same thing in mind.

“You still feel cold,” First Aid said as he gave one of Vortex’s pinching servos a squeeze. “The flight didn’t do any damage, did it?”

The cool touch of sharp claws digging into the soft pudge of his belly wasn’t unwelcome by any means, but it certainly worried him. Vortex only grew bolder as First Aid stroked his arms and rubbed his thighs, and he sacrificed a servo from the mass of soft belly spilling out over the medic’s lap to grab First Aid’s face and guide him in for a kiss. It was a long time before either mech spoke again, and even longer before he responded, but once they had both pulled away from the slow, sweet embrace, Vortex was back to his old, grinning self.

“I’ve had worse,” he said, his claws tracing gentle, teasing circles around First Aid’s exposed belly button. “‘Sides, it helped that I had an extra few hundred pounds of cargo in my cockpit to keep me company. Y’know, keeping me warm and all that.”

First Aid gave a playful gasp and shoved the copter away, all while hiding his snickers behind his servo. “You aft, I am not that heavy!”

Much to his delight, Vortex was there to pull him back in.

“Is that so?” he said, his fingers digging deeper into the rolls of First Aid’s belly. “Mind tellin’ me what all this is from, then?”

He was pinching, grabbing, groping, and First Aid couldn’t help but melt into his arms. The two just about ended up in revved engines and popped panels territory by the end of it, and they sure would have had it not been for the rumbles of Vortex’s poor, hungry medic’s belly growing louder and louder by the second.

“Snack time, baby,” he said with a final pat against First Aid’s grumbling belly. “Got your favorite~.”

S’mores, of course, because First Aid had a sweet tooth, and because Vortex loved seeing his bot getting sticky from the sweets. He tore the treats out of his cockpit before First Aid could make any more protests about the fire growing too hot, and after sliding the crackers and chocolates to the side, pulled himself free from the tangle of blankets and fat, warm frames.

The trip wasn’t exactly going as he had planned, but things were looking up. Vortex stabbed a few marshmallows onto each of his claws and held his servo up over the flames, purring all the while. The fire was hot, and First Aid was hotter—he hadn’t even waited to dig into the rest of the s’mores supplies, and as Vortex struggled not to smoke the marshmallows into flaming balls of ash and char, he prepared the rest.

First Aid liked his s’mores golden brown and perfectly mushy; he had told Vortex so on countless occasions, especially after the failed attempts at a proper s’more were passed up on in favor of something more acceptable. It made cooking them just right hard, but he was up to the challenge. Patience was a virtue and all that slag, and he liked to see his medic looking fat and happy.

Outside the cabin, the winds were picking up and the snow fell heavier as night crawled in. Vortex was oblivious now, his attention finally focused on more important things. Swindle would still be getting a good aft-kicking for the extra fine print he had failed to read off, but in the meantime, there were more important things to attend to—like feeding First Aid, who was slowly inching his way closer and closer to the open fire the longer he had to wait.

“All right, sweets,” he said as he inspected the marshmallows carefully. “Hope you’re hungry… I think these bad boys are ready for ya.”

Vortex’s grin was as big as it was victorious as he pulled his servo away from the fire just as the marshmallows had reached the point of melting from his fingers. First Aid was there to meet him halfway, and three successful s’more assemblies later, the snack was prepared. The thick slabs of chocolate were already melting over the sides as Vortex picked up the first one and squeezed it altogether, and First Aid’s own beaming smile nearly overshadowed his own as the medic scooted ever so close to his side.

“Oh, ‘Tex,” First Aid cooed, “they’re perfect!”

Vortex’s smile grew. Good—perfect was what he wanted.

The bag of marshmallows was about enough to satisfy a bot with as big an appetite as Brawl’s, but when it came to First Aid, the medic’s sweet tooth knew no limits. Vortex busied himself with prepping more s’mores and stuffing his medic full of the fresh ones, and while he worked at filling up First Aid’s belly, First Aid was hard at work licking his lips clean in preparation for every next bite.

They could have gone on all night if they wanted to, and slag, Vortex really wanted to… but there was something in the air that demanded more than just a casual feeding session. First Aid was staring him down through a dimmed visor and chubby cheeks darkened by the heat of the fire, and as he munched, his servos were working to knead his belly and make room for more. It was the hottest thing Vortex had seen in a while, and to his surprise, he was almost starting to feel glad things had turned out the way he did.

Emphasis on almost, of course. The power was still nonexistent, and the cabin was still cold… but hey, he had his favorite medic sitting cross legged in front of him, and he had a front row seat to watching First Aid down more s’mores in one sitting than any bot had ever eaten in their entire existence, and that was pretty hot.

He was down to his last s’more before he knew it, which would have been disappointing in any other situation… but this was First Aid he was dealing with, and he was Vortex.

“Last one,” Vortex warned, holding up the s’more just out of reach. “Do me a favor and savor it this time, ‘kay?”

“Very funny,” First Aid scoffed, feigning offense. It would have been convincing, too, had it not been for the chocolate smeared across his lips and the crumbs of cracker stuck to his face. “Don’t keep me waiting here, ‘Tex. Can’t you see I’m starving?”

As if. The medic’s belly had doubled in size from the s’mores alone. It sat comfortably swollen in his lap, hiding his thighs from view and framing the striking stretch marks that covered it in rows of soft white light. Vortex obliged regardless, because a cranky medic was not a fun medic to be around… and really, he couldn’t bear to let First Aid wait. Not tonight, at least.

“You’re a greedy little thing,” Vortex said, all the while holding the last s’more between his claws. “Go on, then. Eat up.”

First Aid did. He bridged the gap between them, only stopping once the curve of his belly was pressed against Vortex’s own thighs. He leaned in for every bite, all down to the last crumb, and even then did he slip his tongue out and lap at the residue marshmallow fluff and chocolate coating Vortex’s fingertips. It was like licking the edge of a knife blade, and playing with fate every time, but he’d grown good at his tricks. At the end of the day, Vortex was only as scary as he pretended to be, and First Aid had learned better.

Each sticky digit was licked clean, and even Vortex’s palm was lapped at by the end. Still, he seemed unsatisfied. He studied his empty servo carefully, all while First Aid rubbed at his sore belly and smacked his lips with a satisfaction that could only come from devouring an entire bag’s worth of marshmallows and the extra additions that made them s’mores.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Vortex said.

He was smirking again, the kind of smirk that so obviously said he had something else in mind. First Aid was baffled for all of a few seconds before a clawed digit reached out and caught him by the chin.

“C’mere,” he whispered, “lemme get a taste of that.”

How could he resist? The second kiss of the night was shorter, sweeter, and it stung a little deeper. Vortex was nipping at his lips and licking him clean, polishing off the sweet aftertaste of melted chocolate and sticky, sugary marshmallows while beckoning him further with claws digging deep into the grooves of his plating and smushing First Aid’s plump frame against his own slender chest. Dessert was sweet, but the encore was sweeter, and disaster of a vacation or no, First Aid was certain that this made up for it entirely. He hoped Vortex felt the same.

First Aid dared to crack open an optic, only to find the copter staring back up at him with that hungry look and toothy smile. Somewhere along the way they had gone from snuggled in front of the fire to having him straddling Vortex’s lap, and Primus, if that wasn’t just the perfect way to finish things off.

Well, start to finish things off, he should say. Vortex was looking a lot happier than he had been when they first arrived, which was a good thing. Another good thing? His panels were growing too hot to keep shut, and the nasty copter beneath him had already started kissing his way up the curve of his belly and grinding his hips in time with First Aid’s stuttering intakes.

This was going to be a good vacation, First Aid decided. He hoped Vortex would say the same now, and really, a part of him wanted to ask… just to be sure. The rumble of an eager engine and the feeling of those claws pawing at his belly gave him the answer he was looking for, though. He didn’t need to ask to know things were looking up from here for them both… really, he had already gotten his answer, and he was getting it actively.

Cold, snowy weather or no, it was a good trip. Electricity or not, it was a good cabin. Vortex couldn’t complain about his company on the vacation, and he sure as hell couldn’t complain about the direction things had taken. Not when First Aid was panting above him, and not when that belly was smothering his frame… he couldn’t be happier. They couldn’t be happier. It was going to be a good vacation. Hell… it was going to be a great vacation.

He was still going to kick some conmech aft when he got home. For now, though, he had a belly to worship and a medic to frag.

[honeyhotteoks]

Is this a safe space to vent about something? If it’s not, feel free to delete my message. Has anyone noticed the sheer amount of AI generated stories lately? I don’t find joy in reading anymore. I'm hunting for fics written by real humans like water in the desert. People don’t seem to understand that reading something created by AI just isn’t a beautiful experience. I don’t feel anything when I read those fics. And if you're going to post a fic written by AI, keep it to yourself, I don’t want to see it. Stop pretending it's your work. I really appreciate people who put real effort into their writing and don’t use AI at all. You are truly amazing, and I’d read a hundred of your stories over any of that AI junk. Oh, and one more thing, those of you who write stories without any help from AI, I truly appreciate the effort you put into your work. I’d much rather wait weeks or even months for the next chapter to be posted than read something written by AI and posted every single day. I hope this message didn’t bother you, but I really needed to say it to someone.

hey! definitely a safe space and definitely happy to have this conversation.

i honestly do have a lot of thoughts about this, and it's for me pretty complicated because outside of my smutty little fic i work in a field that demands a lot of conversations about AI / use of AI and I just feel very weird and torn about it.

obviously there's horrible environmental and economic implications and all of that, which i won't get into but think we can all acknowledge..... but the affect i'm seeing on art is pretty painful to me as someone who spends so much time writing and planning.

i think for me personally.... AI is one of those things where like..... if you want to hop into Chat GPT and be like "write me a drabble about xyz specific thing" because you want to kick your feet over it and just get the dopamine hit, i really don't care. you probably shouldn't do that considering it's going to destroy the planet, but i'm not going to call you a bad person or something, i get it. what you do in the privacy of your internet browser is between you and god.

i also personally don't mind if people use a writing software with AI to edit their works (such as grammarly etc.) i've never actually used them outside of a professional email setting at work where my company pays for a subscription, but i can understand how lengthy the process of editing is and how nice it could be to have something be just like.... a better spell check and grammar check tool. i post stuff with typos all the time and it makes me sooooooo annoyed at myself when i catch it, but i don't have a beta reader and it just is what it is.

the problem for me, which plays into what you pointed out, is actual generative ai and content creation. if you understand how ai works are created, how work online is being scraped for data, and what it means to be derivative.... then ai writing is not writing. you can certainly come to my inbox and explain nuances of using generative ai for content ideas, outlining, etc. and honestly.... whatever, you do you. i don't like it, but i also know writer's block sucks etc.... but the idea of having a tool write something for you in full and then posting that and claiming it's writing? it isn't.

people have scenario ideas all the time, think about every twitter thread or imagine, and those are forms of writing sure, but if i fed that into chat gpt and asked it to turn it into a 10K word fic and then i turned around and slam published that on AO3..... like i'm sorry but what the fuck are we doing? i don't understand who that's for. the only thing i can think is that the people doing that want the attention that writers in these spaces get or wish they could do it, but either they aren't a good writer naturally or they don't want to put the work in to learn. in my opinion.... if you post an AI generated fic and get positive comments, they're not praising you for anything, they're praising chat gpt for successfully plagiarizing actual art. i'm not sure what the comments or clout those people are getting is actually doing for them except for giving them momentary ego boots.

and truly like.... not to talk up my own writing, because i'm not trying to be cringe or pretend i'm some great writer (like i'm out here writing rpf kpop porn trust me i have a good grip on reality) BUT - i spend hours and hours and hours on this. i spend hours outlining, i spend hours researching, countless hours writing, editing, making edits for my headers, like..... truly it's the thing that consumes my brain because i love it. i have a drive in me to write that is unlike anything i've ever felt otherwise.

if you all knew the sheer number of half written fics on my google drive of just like.... i had a dream about xyz scenario or can't get a particularly thing out of my brain. it's insane. i literally have a 60k word fic for yunho that i will never publish because there are topics and experiences in it i don't know if i'm comfortable working through in writing publicly, but i write it in my spare time because it means something to me to do it, and to have that (literally like therapy)

i write because i have to. if you guys weren't here reading it, i'd still be doing it. i can't get my brain to calm down without it, but then being able to share it and have it embraced? that's extra for me.

i really appreciate your words. and i agree, if you're someone using AI to generatively write your fic.... i also really don't want to know. i also really don't think you deserve the comments and kudos at all, and i think deep down you also know this. i personally hope those people can find creative outlets that suit their talents if that's something they want to do, because as someone who's been writing for well over a decade, it's been the most fun and rewarding process of my life. i sucked when i started, like really REALLY sucked, but it's something i had to do, and i got better.

writing is a little bit of a gift, i'm sure, but it's also a learnable skill. ai is never going to help you hone that skill.

okay rant done.... i hope this makes sense. let me know if anyone has thoughts on this!! i'm super curious. i've been noticing other ai fic popping up and just feeling weird about it too.

[lquiorra]

ꕥ``Tedious.``ꕥ Mayuri Kurotsuchi x AMAB! Airhead!Reader ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:

Fandom: Bleach

Rated: NSFW (18+)

Word Count: 4.1K

Genre: Dating Headcanons, Neurodivergent Mayuri Headcanons, (NSFW UNDER THE CUT)

Warnings: 18+ only! No mention of He/Him pronouns, mentions of Unestablished relationship at the start, cock is a describing word for the reader's genitalia, minimal mention of Nemu, slight Yandere themes, general mental health/light involuntary self harm headcanons for Mayuri, sub!reader, dom!Mayuri, anal sex, rimming, anal fingering, degradation, dry humping, knife play, blood play, fear play, cuckolding.

! There is a SFW and NSFW drabble in this work, 2nd POV !

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! SAFE FOR WORK HEADCANONS !

ꕥ- Mayuri never really cared for dating anyone in general. He had considered attraction to other people a primitive urge and would not allow himself to stoop down to "pitiful romantic affairs".

ꕥ- In terms of his sexuality, Mayuri never considered himself anything. Mayuri considers romance as an instinct to breed and nothing more, Homosexuality and Heterosexuality holds no meaning toward him. He simply doesn't care enough to think about labelling himself, but he can be placed under the Bisexuality umbrella.

ꕥ- Other than his ego creating a field of untouchability around Mayuri, he simply feels that he puts far too much time into his field of profession to be able to balance a healthy relationship on top of that.

ꕥ- When he meets his S/O, Mayuri is not afraid to express a vile distaste to the behaviours that you exhibit within the minimal conversation the two exchanged.

ꕥ- He will refer to you by formalities and expects you to do the same for him. He gets quite annoyed if you call him by his first name without permission.

ꕥ- Mayuri would go as far as trying to remove your ability to talk in general because of the massive difference in intellect the two of you hold, only being prevented in doing so because although you're airheaded, you are productive.

ꕥ- He finds a sick satisfaction in scolding you with every small mistake, Mayuri enjoys the way your nose scrunches up in irritation, or the way fear fills your eyes when you know he's going to pass a harsh punishment on you.

ꕥ- The only reason why Mayuri would've ever consider dating you would be because of your personality; he'd feel naturally drawn toward you due to an undiscovered instinct he has to nurture.

ꕥ- Not to mention being around you would consistently stroke the already inflated ego Kurotsuchi has.

ꕥ- When he first catches feelings for you, Mayuri reminds himself of everything he hates about you. He hates how reckless you were in his laboratory, the messes you made and the quite unintelligible conversations you attempt to have with him.

ꕥ- However as the feelings fester and get nurtured from every little endearing thing you do, he finds himself being more mindful toward how he treats you, approaching you a bit more slowly than he usually does since he knows how hard it is for you to catch up with his intelligence.

ꕥ- Mayuri will probably vent his problems to Nemu, not because he feels like she could support him, but because he likes to put his issues onto someone who won't talk back or try to provide him advice.

ꕥ- Mayuri asking you out will be more of a demand or order rather than a request. It wouldn't be anything extravagant, at best you'd probably receive some kind of morbid letter under your door describing in detail of what parts of your personality he likes most, and the parts he likes least.

ꕥ- Considering that Mayuri is Neurodivergent, he isn't necessarily the touchiest of people. When Mayuri desires affection, he usually prefers showing it in other ways, often rambling about something interesting that he discovered in a recent experiment.

ꕥ- When he does show physical affection, it's usually from a subtle touch on the shoulder, do not expect a hug from him while greeting you, ever. The only time he would hug his s/o is if Mayuri was happy about a breakthrough in his research, not because he's happy to see you.

ꕥ- Kisses on the other hand, oh boy you're in for a ride. Mayuri loves degrading you, so doing it in public where he could humiliate you entirely is something he is addicted to. Surprisingly, if you establish boundaries in PDA Mayuri will abide by them begrudgingly, after all, he doesn't want you running away from him so soon.

ꕥ- He especially loves using his freakishly long tongue to keep you on your toes.

ꕥ- On the other hand, if you attempt to kiss Mayuri in public he'd probably end up pushing you away from him as if you had the plague. Mayuri does not like it when things are initiated by another person because it makes him feel weak, so it is not a good idea to kiss him in front of people.

ꕥ- If you want an apology, you will need to ask him to apologise for that, Mayuri has almost no empathy and will probably think that the way he responded to your advances as normal.

ꕥ- Mayuri will avoid running experiments on you at this point, his mind would be occupied with the possibility of breaking you too much for you to stay with him or even love him the way you currently do.

ꕥ- It would be easy for Mayuri to lose interest in a person if they can't keep up with his eccentric behaviour, so you better count on matching his energy the entire time you're in a relationship with him.

ꕥ- However it's not all semi-pleasant with his eccentricities, Mayuri suffers from SHU Syndrome and often has periods of psychosis due to being confined in the Maggot's Nest for so long.

ꕥ- This trauma also lead him to seeing himself as something less of a person and more of a thing to experiment on, which explains why he wears his makeup. Mayuri is obsessed with control, he doesn't like being seen anything similar to a person because in truth Mayuri knows that the vast majority of the time he can't relate to the love, experiences, or mourns of other people. The makeup helps exaggerate his personality and how he is seen by other people, it's his way of separating himself from anything he perceives on himself as too human.

ꕥ- Mayuri's emotional response to this period starts as a slow simmer, he starts distancing himself from you altogether, in fact Mayuri seems to depend on Nemu to bring him food and water, which is something he'd never do for the sake of keeping his pride.

ꕥ- On the event that he does leave his room during this period of time, albeit rare, you will notice that his fingertips are raw, and his usual clown-like appearance is smudged, as if Mayuri was delirious while applying it.

ꕥ- When these periods of time pass Mayuri is typically more easily agitated for a few days afterward, which leads him to snap at you much more often than since getting together with you.

ꕥ- On the topic of marriage, it is safe to assume that most marriages in the Soul Society are usually alliances between noble houses rather than love, so Mayuri never thought about getting married to anyone.

ꕥ- It is unlikely he'd ask for your hand in marriage, but there is no logical reasoning for him to say no to you other than not having much time for emotional intimacy.

ꕥ- In fact, Mayuri might like the idea of you belonging to him in that way.

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! SFW DRABBLE ! Word Count: 718

Cold hands brushed against skin, the violent antiseptic scent of Mayuri's bedroom abusing your senses as piercing gold eyes cut into your own, as if they were trying to pick apart every thought and action that ever did in front of them.

Mayuri's room was a strange place to sit patiently in as he explores your body, his tongue tasting every inch of skin that was revealed from underneath your Kosode, at least without Mayuri having to peel anything off to grant himself access underneath.

Your lips tingled with excitement and newfound energy whenever the two of you parted before you chased Mayuri for another passionate kiss, your hands carding through his blue locks of hair, which was typically styled into a wild mohawk, but he hadn't much time to do it up before you barged into his room and demanded for affection.

When you glanced around, your eyes begun to naturally get used to the dim lighting that barely illuminated Mayuri's painted form, and you could allow them to swallow up your surroundings in greedy gulps.

It wasn't necessarily a big room, instead of the traditional wooden floorboards you'd find yourself walking across when traversing the barracks of Squad 12 you'd find that the flooring that was underneath you had been plush and padded just as the walls and roof were, like one of the many mental hospitals you'd visit in the World of the Living.

To the right of where you currently were, there was a large, rectangular indent on the wall, undoubtedly the fold-out table that Mayuri had installed for himself when he was experiencing an episode and couldn't bare leave his room without feeling like a horrid beast was breathing down his neck.

Another feature of Mayuri's custom place of slumber was the sloped surfaces, most notably the shower in the corner of his room which was tilted down in undoubtedly the most uncomfortable angle to shower with. It was obvious that his room was made this way to suicide-proof it, not because Mayuri was suicidal, but in the case than an enemy was capable of controlling him and decided to make Mayuri attempt suicide, or so that's the conclusion you came up with, who knows what was going on inside of Mayuri's labyrinth of a mind.

His bed was probably the only thing that you two shared in common when it came to living space was the futon that the paranoid captain of Squad 12 was currently sitting on, not a stain in sight which made sense considering how much of a clean freak Mayuri could be.

A sudden nip to the neck snapped you out of your thoughts with a loud gasp being torn from the chambers of your throat. Mayuri clearly noticed that your attention shifted off him for a moment and didn't appreciate that.

"You shouldn't pry so much, you know?" Mayuri warned in a raspy tone of voice, laced with the same desire for closeness you shared with him. Your face flushed, red hot embarrassment embedding itself within the depths of your being after Mayuri had called you out for dozing off in the middle of your make out session.

An uncomfortable pause passed between the two of you, silently agreeing that this was a good time to have a break even if it were uncomfortable for you to look the man in the eye.

"I'm sorry," you apologised briefly, lips curled up into a wry, goofy smile that you swore momentarily cracked the cold gaze that was plastered onto your Captain's expression.

"You're such a dolt, you demand for affection, but you get distracted so easily..." it wasn't long before your lips started to dance with Mayuri's once more, his face paint smeared and turning some parts grey.

His fingers bit into your shoulder and in result caused you to reach toward his face, thumb sliding across the contours of his sharp jawline, to the uncomfortable earpiece that liked to poke into you when you were blessed the permission to sit beside Mayuri.

A groan passed Mayuri's lips at the touch, your thumb grazing his Adam's apple and applying pressure, your action causing the golden gazed man to shudder in just the right way, a burning hot reminder of the delicate balance the two of you had.

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! NOT SAFE FOR WORK HEADCANONS !

ꕥ- Surprisingly, Mayuri has a high libido despite avoiding physical affection like the plague. however, before you, he solved his issues with his hand rather than the company of another person. In all honesty Mayuri found it much easier to do things himself than have someone whine because he didn’t want to waste any more time trying to give the same amount of attention to them as they did he.

ꕥ- However as soon as he got his hands on you, Mayuri quickly grows addicted. It’s much more fun to get himself off by having someone he likes to fuck than his hand, especially with the ways he can taste you deeper than he ever has before.

ꕥ- He prefers to have sex in the confines of his bedroom, or in the personalised sex dungeon he has prepared for you, because it allows for him to bring whatever depraved fetish or kink he desires from you to the table without the possibility of a perverse eye watching the two of you, in his eyes, you're his to touch, his to taste and feel.

ꕥ- Mayuri’s cock is modified like the rest of his body, connected by three different segments to make himself longer in an unorthodox fashion which leaves him at a staggering 9 inches, but that doesn’t take the pleasure of sex. The stitches aren’t fragile which makes the chances of them breaking during sex unlikely, and his cock is curved to a nice angle, this combination bringing friction that’ll leave your body tingling with every thrust. He is neatly trimmed, a light dusting of blue hair at his base and trailing up to the area just below his bellybutton. Mayuri's balls hang low which is complimented by the flushed red tip of his arousal, expect him to go a few rounds when he really means it.

ꕥ- Another note to add in regard of his makeup, Mayuri does in fact paint his cock to match his body.

ꕥ- His favourite part of you is the crook of your neck and your spine, Mayuri enjoys running his fingers down the ridges of your back just as much as he loves to kiss it, it provides Mayuri a level of satisfaction that kissing you normally doesn't typically offer him.

ꕥ- Mayuri when he is prepping you for sex prefers to stay fully clothed, staring at your tantalising body as his fingers explore all the nooks and crannies that would be hidden otherwise.

ꕥ- Mayuri loves receiving more than he likes giving because it allows him to feel like he is the one in control, alongside the fact that Mayuri is quite selfish when it comes to the pleasures of the bedroom. He'll prefer having you on your knees so he can fuck your throat in every way he likes. However, when he's on the giving end he's definitely using his tongue, if your cock is veiny, he'll be tasting every single one individually, if it's skinny he'll wrap his tongue around you like a snake, anything you could imagine Mayuri doing with his tongue is more than likely something he would do.

ꕥ- On the topic of giving, if you expect any rimming from Mayuri, he expects you to take a shower prior to sex because of how paranoid with germs Mayuri is, he loves you, but there are a few things that he is less open to doing.

ꕥ- It was mentioned before that Mayuri liked to degrade his S/O, so in bed his harsh words increase tenfold as long as you're comfortable with it. Mayuri loves it when you're on your knees for because that gives him all sorts of things to say to you, one of the most memorable things he has said to you is "You really like being on my knees for me, don't you? Have you practiced with everyone else in Squad 12, I wouldn't be surprised with how much of slut you are."

ꕥ- Mayuri's fingers are long and slim, don't be surprised if he makes you come a few times, abusing your prostate as much as he could until you're whimpering for him to stop scissoring you open because of how overstimulated you are.

ꕥ- Before fucking you, Mayuri prefers to dry hump you, he enjoys the way his hand wraps around your cock and the sound of his clothing clothing shuffling against skin, pumping your length furiously within his hand and while his other is holding you down as he humps you like a dog in rut.

ꕥ- Mayuri doesn't find him typically satisfied with vanilla sex, he prefers things to be rougher and more depraved, teeth snapping against skin and nails raking down flesh to create marks that will last for hours after sex.

ꕥ- His favourite positions are doggystyle and mating press. Mayuri rarely ever likes to sub in bed because he likes to have you rely on him for pleasure completely.

ꕥ- With doggystyle Mayuri can bury your face into a pillow or whatever is below you with the palm of his hand, having you at his mercy while he pistons his cock deep inside of your waiting hole, or with his hand wrapped around your neck so he could hold you up to his chest and pant beside your ear feverishly.

ꕥ- On the other hand, a mating press makes it possible for him to fuck you almost anywhere he so desires. Most of the time, it is over his desk or against a counter, his cock deliciously nudging against your prostate with every violent thrust of his hips, milking you of all you're worth to his hearts content.

ꕥ- Just because Mayuri is mostly a top doesn't mean he can't bottom if you want him to. He likes to be humiliated just as much as he likes to humiliate you, so pressing him against the wall to the point that he can't move will drive him crazy with desire, his insides hugging your length and practically sucking you into him.

ꕥ- Mayuri is very sensitive, where he can last a long time if he's the one on top, Mayuri can be rendered into a snivelling, begging mess if you decide to caress the base of his cock while fucking into his body without mercy.

ꕥ- He is not a big fan of aftercare, at first Mayuri simply cleans himself up and expects you to do the same, but if you express that you want some kind of care after sex, Mayuri will try his best to compromise. Mayuri will run a bath for you most times so he wouldn't have to do much, it's rather heartless, but at least Mayuri is trying.

ꕥ- To him, you may be quite stupid but you aren't horrible in bed, he'll praise you after a session, and in fact might find it amusing to offer you some kind of sweet as if he hadn't fucked your brains out only mere moments before.

ꕥ- Cockwarming, although a little annoying to prepare in Mayuri's opinion, is one of the mad scientist's favourite things to do with you. He likes to be able to do work in his bedroom while you're rested on his lap, a hand on your thigh to prevent you from squirming all too much while his other hand is occupied with writing a report about his recent findings.

ꕥ- As stated before, Mayuri loves overstimulating you, he could make you come a number of times before finishing his work and then paying proper attention to you.

ꕥ- Mayuri can't have a routine when it comes to sex, he is rather restless and often experiments with every fetish and kink he possibly could pull from the back of his mind as long as you are comfortable with it.

ꕥ- Some of his favourite kinks surround knives, he likes being able to leave a reminder onto your very being, and the taste of the iron in your blood is addictive to him. Sometimes, Mayuri traces the underside of your length with the blade, not necessarily cutting you down there, but teasing you.

ꕥ- Mayuri also has a particular kink about the fear that fills your eyes when you know he is going to hurt you, in fact if you let him Mayuri would probably go through with his threats as long as he has a safe method of keeping you in one piece.

ꕥ- Unless if the two of you are very close, don't expect Mayuri to remove the makeup, even for sex, so shower sex will be hard to achieve unless if his makeup is waterproof. In the case that it is, he'll purposefully fuck you against the glass every time, your chest pressed up against the see trough material as your cock bobs pathetically with every thrust, untouched and aching for release.

ꕥ- Cuckolding? That is out of the question for Mayuri, he is a very jealous man through and through, which means it wouldn't be unlikely that he would probably stop you before you finish and ruin you himself. Mayuri would definitely find a way to simulate it for you, if you desperately want it.

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! NSFW DRABBLE !

Word Count: 744 Warnings: Dom!Mayuri, Sub!Reader, Mayuri is wearing his paint, hand jobs (user receiving), knife play, blood play, no orgasm.

A cold hand was wrapped around your length, a mostly nailless thumb caressing the underside of your glans while giving the occasional swipe to the sensitive slit of the tip. You were left bucking hopelessly in the mad scientists hand, his eyes watching closely for your every reaction, every twitch of your leaking cock in his hand.

He made sure to use a higher quality paint for this considering that the two of you liked to get messy in situations such as this, especially since neither of you had much time to begin with.

Mayuri liked this position, he loved seeing your hands gripping the edge of a tool box to the point that it made it seem like you were trying to become a part of it, the feeling of his heart rattling against your back sent shivers of pleasure down into the pit of Mayuri's stomach.

Your thoughts were practically cast aside as he palmed your cock, the mix of his cool skin enveloping the warmth of your shaft suffocated your entire being with a layer of pleasure that your hand has never brought to itself before.

A sudden squeeze to the base caused your hips to buck forward into Mayuri's hand, the other, which was originally playing with your already reddened nipples shot up to catch the gasp that was almost pulled from you with a squeeze of your throat. Mayuri's teeth ghosted the shell of your ear before giving it a sharp nip, a strange laugh coming from him as you elbowed his side, hoping to send a message of distaste for his actions without messing the rhythm of his strokes up.

Mayuri cooed as you tried to let out another sound, his hand tightening once more over the pipe that allowed any sound to come out of, a coiling feeling swelling at the pit of your gut while the man's pace became achingly slow.

For a moment he'd stop the movement of his hands all together, the only thing keeping your arousal awake was the small circles he'd trace into the bottom of your length, and you trying to get him to continue by pathetically moving your hips against his hand like a bitch in heat.

"I thought I told you that I am the one in control here, or have we somehow forgotten that?" The man hissed venomously into your ear, his damp breath fanning against the soft hairs at the back of your neck which in turn sent shivers running down your spine.

With a wide grin on his face, Mayuri's hand slipped away from your cock a moment later, leaving you to whine in protest. You couldn't help but turn into putty from his touch, the hand gliding across your skin in as if it were a song that he had played dozens of times.

Mayuri wasn't very secretive about his sadism, especially with the glint that was burning deep within his gaze as he saw you, panting leaning your weight back onto the metal surface below which had since been warmed by your body heat.

A knife pressed against your lower abdomen, sliding from just below your abdomen to the surface of your sternum, dancing across your chest like a heartless serpent in the deep dunes of Hueco Mundo. A sudden pressure from the knife to the surface of your skin left a cut on your stomach, it wasn't bone deep, but it was certainly deep enough to allow a trickle of blood to run down your body and to your hip before Mayuri caught it in the tracks and swiped the droplet astray.

You'd watch with a quiet groan as he'd lick the blood off his fingers as if it were the sweetest wine of all, the crimson liquid coating his tongue in a grotesque display of dominance as his eyes locked onto your expression.

The tip of the knife made contact to the plane just underneath your cock, tracing up and down slowly as if Mayuri was mapping out places to cut and gore to his hearts content. However, the pain didn't return and the mad scientist tucked the crooked blade to your gut again, a threat telling you not to move.

The wide grin returned to your partner's expression, the hand which paint was now chafing from the dried blood wrapping around your cock once more. "I'd say we better finish up here, I don't want you to become a tedious distraction..."

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[r3ia-v]

T for Takeout or Tadhana?|💿📌x You

Imagine & Drabble

Tired? Drained from the tasks you have to put up with for the time out in the busy world? Home will always have a place for you, waiting with the usual somewhat healthy takeout meals and maybe, even a heartwarming treat

Today really just wasn't your day,

it must've been because of a mishap that made your tasks harder to deal with than it should've been or you've been feeling burnt out of stress and frustrations but you still continued since unfortunately, work doesnt work for itself...

coming home after a long day with a sigh, hunger numbed and body aching the sweet relief of a nice bath or the longest rest in your bed,

you almost haven't noticed the smell of a delicious fragrance wafting through the air if it weren't for it being extremely familiar,

And without realizing your feet dragged you to the kitchen— and there he was, lounging on his chair as your favorite comfort takeout food laid out on the table for you two to eat

It started from the moment you became his roommate, you both didn't have the knack or the motivation to cook meals so often than not, your shared dinner had always been takeout that still were considered healthy and just enough for the both of you, but tonight... Felt different

He knew your day wasn't particularly great the moment you had texted some of your complaints whilst on one of your few breaks to vent

and even though you two had only known for almost 3 months as roommates and your friendship is still in the works—

"Kain na", he softly muttered with a slight accent

—It almost felt like he knows exactly what would lift your mood, even just a little

And as he urged you to sit, you had only realized what he had said, making you look at him in disbelief mixed with awe before you could take a first bite!

—Your jaw must've been comically wide open once he responded with a chuckle,

"Did I say it right?"

Charmed and heart fluttering like butterflies ready to take flight inside, you played your flustered self off with a clear of your throat whilst trying to act chill and cool your food,

"Uh- Yeah! you did great."

[peaxhxhair]

Hi!! First off, I hope you're doing well! :) Just wanted you to know you inspire me a lot, your writing is admirable <3

Onto the request (can be an oneshot or headcanons! no preference, go with what you want!), how do you think Venture would treat a sensory overstimulated FTM!reader? I know for sure they would respect him and treat him like he wants to be treated in that moment, being there for him OR leaving him alone, if he wants to. Personally, I think they would try to talk him through it (that actually helps me a lot!), letting him vent or distracting him with their excavation stories in a sweet, low voice... jwhwhwjshs I love them so much

If you don't want to write it, it's okay!! Hope you have a good day/night <3

Pairing: Sloan Cameron x FTM!Reader Warnings: Binders, mentions of claustrophobia, sensory overload / sensory overstimulation. Word Count: 1.3k A/n: AHHHH I LOVE YOU!!! I'm gonna give you a little kiss on the forehead ahhh!! <3 Thank you for the request!

I've really gotten into doing head-canons with little drabbles in the middle, so that's what I decided to do here! Hope you enjoy!! <3

Navigation Overwatch - MASTERLIST Consider becoming a Member! <3

The Background

Let's say you work within the wayfinder society with Sloan.

Maybe you two started your apprenticeships at the same time.

Being similar ages, the two of you got along like a house on fire.

It was nice, speaking to someone your age.

~~~

You figured out your identity at around 16 years old - right as you accepted into your apprenticeship into they Wayfinder Society.

It was difficult - telling everyone you knew to change their view of you.

Well, it wasn't hard for you - but it was hard to make them understand.

You tried, but if the words you said to them didn't stick - then they just didn't stick.

You preferred to focus on yourself, rather than on what other people thought of you.

It was easy for you to deal with the silent disagreement with your identity.

You focused on your apprenticeship - moving to live close to their main base.

All on your own.

~~~

Meet-Cute

Meeting Sloan was well - a little chaotic, as one would imagine.

They had found you cutting your hair, with the bluntest scissors on earth.

You had finally been given a chance to work with archaeologists, so obviously you wanted them to view you as you saw yourself.

Or at least...Make a good impression.

It had been a while since you had cut your hair...

You family weren't exactly into the idea of you cutting your hair short.

~~~

"Woah, hey there!" You startle slightly at the sound of an extra person in this bathroom. It was lucky that the scissors you had acquired were the worst - so you didn't end up cutting any hair off of your head unintentionally. You were surprised to see someone your age when you looked to the left.

"Uh...Hey?" The look on their face was concerned, and slightly scared, even as you regarded them. Maybe it did look a little crazy - the fact that you were cutting your hair in the sink of a public bathroom. But hey, desperate times.

You observed them as the two of you stared at each other. Dirt on their face, long beige over-coat, pride pin secured to their front pocket.. Oh hey! You knew that flag!

It seemed like when you noticed their pin, they had noticed the trans flag pin you had secured to your backpack - which was still on your back despite being hunched over the bathroom sink. You both stared at each other in recognition - before they grinned at you.

"You uh... need some help with that?"

~~~

Their offer to help cut your hair was weird - but they did give you a sick ass haircut.

The idea of it made you slightly nauseous at first, but you did end up grateful that they were good at cutting hair.

…Better than you were anyway...

They introduced themself as Sloan, and you told them your name.

It felt weird, having someone actually call you by the name you told them.

In a good way, of course.

Since that day, the two of you spent every day together - and quickly became close. They were there for you through everything - as were you with them. The good, the bad and the ugly.

~~~

Sensory Overload

Since graduating from your apprenticeship with the Wayfinder Society, the two of you had travelled around the world.

Sloan was very opposed to taking days off - since they enjoyed their job so much.

You sometimes struggled to keep up with their enthusiasm.

By no means did you hate your job - you knew that you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

But...Everything was.. loud, and touching you.

Having to hold heavy machinery - hear the sounds of drilling - feel the dirt against your skin.

Sometimes it got to you.

~~~

You felt nauseous. Overwhelmed by the constant noise and heat - the goggles over your eyes making you feel claustrophobic. Your fingers shifted against the drill in your hands, and you tensed, immediately feeling more uncomfortable than you had been before.

The overwhelming need to stop sensing anything was the only thing you could focus on. Too. Much. Everything. You were in a bit of a difficult place to just, stop sensing anything. So, you kept drilling - pushing through the ache in your chest that made you want to just, drop everything.

The wayfinder society had decided that travelling to the middle of nowhere to find an ancient omnium was a good idea. Drilling for something none of you had any idea how to find, was just crazy.

There was so much drilling, and talking. and YELLING. You could hear it echoing through the tunnel you had made. The drill slips from your hands as you lose your focus - clanking against a rock as it falls onto the ground. Your first thought was to leave - but you hated the thought of moving. Feeling your clothes against your skin. It made you feel sick.

You slump onto the floor - shutting your eyes and covering your ears with your hands. An attempt to block out the noise. You could feel the fabric of your binder digging into your skin - making you chest feel tighter than it already was. There was a lump in your throat - and a pain in your jaw that you tried to suppress. You couldn't cry. You have no reason to.

~~~

Sloane is a very nosy person - I think everyone knows that.

On expeditions like this, Sloane would probably come and check on you.

Maybe they'd help you out, or show you a cool rock they had found.

In this scenario, they had found a geode when digging a tunnel of their own, and had come to show it to you.

Though, when they find you curled into yourself in a corner, they have an idea of what's going on.

It wasn't like this was the first time it has happened.

There had been a few times in the past where you had gotten overstimulated like this at work.

Every time was slightly different, but they knew what to do now.

~~~

"Hey dude! Look at this geode I found" Sloane calls as they wander down the tunnel you had dug. They weren't far enough in to spot you just yet, though when they didn't hear a response from you, they grew concerned.

Sure enough, when they reached the end of the tunnel, they spotted you hunched over - your knees pulled to your chest as you attempted to block out any noise. It doesn't seem like you notice them at first, only flinching slightly as Sloane takes a seat in front of you.

The first time they had found you like this - they had sat with their legs out-stretched. It hadn't been a big deal at first, until you had sat the same way - pressing the bottom of your shoes against theirs. You had explained at one point that it was somewhat grounding...To know that they were there.

So, Sloane sits the way they always do - giving you that invitation. They fish something out of their bag, pulling out a pair of soundproof earmuffs. You don't notice at first - due to your eyes being firmly shut. So they place them over your ears for you, having to tug your hands from your ears with the sleeves of your shirt.

~~~

They hate sitting in silence. But they'll do it for you.

They'd do anything for you.

It's a while before you open your eyes - blinking away the tears that had formed.

You prop your feet against Sloane's, and they grin happily at you.

The earmuffs were definitely helping - as you couldn't hear the sound of drilling anymore.

Having finally looked at them for the first time in what felt like hours - Sloane pulls out the geode they had found.

They crack it open, showing you the inside.

A beautiful Amethyst geode.

Having them show you that distracted you from yourself - from what you were feeling.

You were grateful for Sloane.

You always had been.

[forthechubbies]

Roadkill°{Rated X} Drabble ->Series

Criminal!Woosan x Victim!Chubby Reader

W! MOMMY KINK!, MILF! Reader,Strong Language, Sexual themed , mentions of prostitution, Alcohol, and pissed off San yummy 😋...Wooyoung is a mean drunk by the way.

"I said take a left, dumbass!!!"

It is often mentioned that nobody can bear the burden of a guilty conscience. However, have you ever considered what happens when someone or a group of people shamelessly disregard feelings of regret, remorse, and the basic principles of humanity?

Instead, they prioritize their own selfish desires for greed, wealth, and personal gratification, even if it means hurting others.

"ITS HARD TO FUCKIN HEAR OVER THESE SIRENS"

The individuals are the Korean bonnie & clyde; Jung Woo-young; the man driving the getaway van and Choi San the man poorly reading directions. Not much is known about these menances besides them being nothing but a handful of trouble.

Cutting through a rural region facilitated the pair's escape. The guys puffed, drawing in as much breath as possible before bursting into nervous laughter between the duo.

“Oh, sh*t, that was close. Lucky us, huh?" remarked Wooyoung.

San sat in despair and rolled his eyes, saying, "Drive the fucking car.." He had had enough of his beloved for the day.

.....

The stillness between the lovers was uncomfortable following today's somewhat botched theft. San was the one who broke the stillness. "I'll be back," he said casually over his shoulder as he crossed over the motel entrance. Wooyoung huffed, hot on San's trail. "Where are you going?" he inquired, without shoes in the crisp autumn air.

"For a walk." San said, plainly

Instead of confronting San's emotions based on his actions, Wooyoung answered, "Okay." Wooyoung steps furiously into the van before speeding away into the night..l

San didn't bother giving him a moment's glimpse.

What the hell is this place?! Wooyoung was driving through this dump of a town, venting his frustration. He was cruising down the deserted streets when he stumbled upon a crappy gas station. "Just in time," he muttered to himself as he pulled up to the pump. But of course, the tank was empty. "Fuck!" Wooyoung screamed as he punched the steering wheel in anger.

....

In the depths of despair, San painfully acknowledged the vast gap of time without his foolish lover. Anxiety consumed him as futile calls left him restless. Where could that ass be?

By the roadside, the van sat motionless, as if devoid of any purpose. Within its confines, a wooyoung, heavily intoxicated, slumped over carelessly, encircled by a sea of discarded beer bottles. His supposedly peaceful slumber was abruptly shattered by the obnoxious blaring of his cell phone...again

Wooyoung bellowed furiously through the speaker. "Ugh, What..what- Ah! Shit!.... Quit goddamn yelling in my fucking ear!.. ... How the fuck am I supposed to know where the hell I am?! I just woke the fuck up!.....wah! I'm not some damn drunk-asshole! You've been a colossal asswipe all day.. I fucking saved your sorry ass and all you gave a shit about is the dead bitch on the pavement...... He. would have..fucking killed you!... You dumbass."

San's mind was filled with a disturbing idea - were they heartless murderers or courageous outlaws? The reality was horrifying. They were criminals, but taking a life was an entirely new level of wickedness. However, San couldn't ignore the fact that they were not entirely innocent either. The truth was staggering and left San in a state of shock.

During their incarceration, whispers circulated about his involvement in sinister dealings that involved the disappearance of both guards and fellow inmates. But he was not acting alone, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

However, Wooyoung was a different breed altogether. His thirst for blood was almost demonic, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins like a sweet poison.

He reveled in it, relishing the taste of fear and the power it gave him. It was as if he had made a deal with the devil himself, and now he was paying the price in flesh and bone.

San's point was clear: Wooyoung possessed the power to decide the fate of that man, whether to merciless slaughter him or spare his wretched existence.

The man, feeble and defenseless, posed no immediate danger. Yet, in a twisted display of sadistic pleasure, Wooyoung coldly pressed the barrel of his gun against the man's vulnerable skull, relishing in the anticipation of the impending explosion. And then, with a resounding bang, the man's life was abruptly extinguished, his blood mingling with the already crimson-stained surroundings.

In a state of intoxication, Wooyoung seized control of the wheel.

Tragically, lost in his drunken haze, he dared to shut his eyes for what seemed like a mere moment. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the air, jolting him awake... Shit. He hastily pulled over, compelled to investigate, only to be confronted with a shocking sight - a lifeless woman sprawled before him.

He gnashed his teeth, the very last thing he wanted was the hassle of concealing a dead body. Wooyoung's gaze crept up your limbs until it met your face...Shit, she's bleeding a bit but she'll live...I must have scared her out of her wits and she passed out. The longer Wooyoung stared, the more he discerned your profession.

At first, The school girl uniform puzzled him but there's no way in hell, Parents would allow their daughter out the door the way your dressed.

He audaciously dropped to his knees in the grass beside your form, your name tag proudly displaying "Yn" with a heart-shaped flourish. "Bunny Lounge..." he uttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A humorless chuckle escaped his lips as he continued, "My dear, you are far too beautiful to be a whor-"

His intentions abruptly shifted towards your forsaken purse, mere inches away from your body. A wicked smirk danced upon his lips as he scoffed, relishing in the sinister thrill of his impending actions.

"Just hold on a minute, Sweetheart," He sneered.

With a savage force, Wooyoung tore through the contents of your purse, his hands ravaging through the remnants of your personal belongings. And then, amidst the chaos, he stumbled upon a collection of cherished family photographs, capturing the essence of your existence alongside your innocent baby twin sons.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his twisted mind. "You... you're a mother..."

A wave of sorrow washed over him as memories from his troubled childhood resurfaced. He was raised by a single mother who tirelessly struggled to provide for him, doing whatever it took to ensure there was food on the table.

He sensually pressed his ear against your heaving bosom, captivated by the rhythmic melody of your steady heartbeat... Wooyoung wasn't the cuddlyist person in the world but he found instant relief being against your skin.

San was teetering on the edge of madness, his mind consumed by fury, when his spouse burst through the door, guzzling down yet another bottle of the delectable soju. "Daddy's finally graced us with his presence," San sneered.

Woo-young's freakin' good-looking mug was all shiny, like he'd been doused in oil or somethin'. "Sannie-ah!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" San exploded, launching himself at Wooyoung and forcefully slamming him against the door. "It's fucking 3am. Where the hell were you?"

"I... I killed an angel," Wooyoung whispered, a sinister giggle escaping his lips as he leaned in close to San's ear. "She's so soft n' sweet...like you." His tongue grazed San's stud earrings. "So I had to keep her-..I had no choice.."

San brushed off Wooyoung's words, tossing him aside like a rag doll as he stormed out of the motel room. But as he took a few steps away, doubt began to creep into his mind. Could it be possible that his drunken lover was actually telling the truth?

As he crept towards the van's rear, his heart pounded with fear. San's hands trembled as he reached for the cold metal handles of the doors. With a deep breath, he pulled them open, and his breath caught in his throat. In the center of the mattress lay a woman.No angel. your dirty body was bound and gagged, your blouse ripped open to reveal a lacy bra. The sight was enough to make San's blood run cold. He knew he had stumbled upon something truly terrifying.

San held his breath slamming the doors shut before rushing to confront the murderer. Wooyoung flinched at the sound of the door. " You look pissed." He chuckled. "Did you see my piece of heaven? Beautiful. Right?!"

Meanwhile, in the cold. As you slowly regained awareness, your foot landed on a glass bottle, knocking it against others. Bringing you up to speed on the issue.

Your heart races as you feel the panic set in. The pressure is crushing you, and you can't even sit up because of the damn rope tying you down. You look around frantically, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Are you outside? In a shed? No, it's a van. Your mind races as you try to figure out how to escape this nightmare.

"You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A man's voice was the last thing you heard before you fully lost consciousness.

As your captors' voices grew louder, the chilling realization hit you like a ton of bricks - would you ever lay eyes on your beloved boys again? Tears threatened to spill, but you had no time for weakness.

Upon opening the doors, The men found you conscious and confused you stared at them as if their aliens. "Oh shit, She's alive." Wooyoung slurred, "See, Sannie, you hit me for nothing." He happily crawled into the van climbing up your body as you struggled. "Easy, mommy, you don't want to hurt your-"

San aggressively punished his lover upside the head. "Ya! The fuck is wrong with you?! This isn't us." He snatched his lover against the wall of the van with a Slam.

Wooyoung groaned, enjoying the feeling of being manhandled. " We're criminals, Dickhead, bad stuff is what we done." He couldn't take his eyes off your exposed legs. "We should reap the benefits. Don't you think, Sannie?"

San snatched Wooyoung's jaw forcing him to look at him. "There's a fine line between Criminals and monsters and that " He uses his head to movement towards your shaken figure. "Is going overboard!"

San had clearly had enough for the night, but Wooyoung wasn't going to let him get away with it. In a drunken rage, he snapped back, defending himself with all the aggression he could muster.

"Sleep in the damn van!" San barked at Wooyoung, not bothering to look back. "Fucking animal " He hoisted himself onto the bed, forcefully wrapping the rope that restrained your wrists around his neck, and effortlessly lifted you up.

As you observed the furious Wooyoung venting his frustration on the van, you instinctively leaned closer to San, finding some solace in his comforting presence.

..to be continued ♡

[mouseycometz]

Hi, guys! Here’s my half of the art trade with @lockheed-martin-unofficial. It’s a drabble featuring TFP Ratchet and Concorde (OC)! It was so much fun to write!

Flight Repairs

Warnings: None

Word Count: 899

Within the main room of the Autobot base, Concorde shifted his weight, feeling hugely out of place due to his size. True, it wasn’t his fault that he was twice the height of Optimus Prime, but he still didn’t feel quite comfortable inside the missile silo, especially around the other Autobots who often stumbled around him. 

Who could blame him? Concorde meant well. He considered himself to be graceful with his movements, but accidents could still happen. He wanted to keep that in mind, at least.

The mech stood tall near the Autobot logo on the floor, observing Team Prime as they assembled as one, intending to engage in a widespread patrol for any Decepticon activity. 

Once he spotted the leader walk by, he reached out a servo.

“Optimus Prime, may I join you?”

The Prime halted and turned, gazing upwards at Concorde with the same neutral expression as before. Although his blue optics were firm and steady, there was also a faint softness and understanding to them. 

“Concorde,” he glanced over to the side, “I suggest that you instead stay with Ratchet for the time being and provide him with additional aid.” 

Concorde followed his optics to the medic near the monitors and ground bridge controls. Ratchet met his gaze, but the two didn’t exchange a word. Feeling suddenly uneasy in his tail, he focused his attention back on Optimus Prime.

“Understood.”

The Autobot leader nodded and made his leave. Concorde stepped out of the way of the rest of the team, allowing them to depart through a ground bridge. Once the portal fizzled and faded, he found the courage inside him to lock optics with Ratchet once again.

He admired Ratchet, truly. As a skilled medic, he was a valuable and hardworking member of the team. But occasionally, Concorde felt the most out of place with him. He didn’t want to be a bother, after all.

“I…will be delighted to help you, Ratchet.” He gestured towards his equipment before slowly shying away. “But if desired, I can stay out of your way.”

Ratchet nodded, understanding. 

“Yes, thank you, Concorde, but I have no need for any help at the moment.”

Concorde blinked, starting to drive himself in the opposite direction. However, before he could even step forward, Ratchet reached out a servo, almost touching him.

“Wait just a nanosec.” 

Concorde tilted his helm at him, his canards flicking. 

“You…mentioned chronic pain earlier?” 

…

Inside the repair section of the Autobot base, Concorde relaxed on the tilted medical table. Because of his own size, it was a rather tight squeeze, but he made it functional for himself. 

As Ratchet performed maintenance work on his shiny frame, the larger mech couldn’t help but think of someone he knew well, someone who he held close to his spark.

He vented, sighing and rumbling, causing Ratchet to hum.

“Something the matter?”

Concorde frowned, his canards drooping.

“I…I miss my pilot.”

Ratchet nodded, choosing to reassure him rather than dismiss him.

“You will see her again, no need to worry.”

Concorde gazed at him for a nanosec, cocking his helm to the side as the medic tinkered with his frame using various tools. As he worked, Ratchet began to mumble to himself, gradually increasing the volume of his voice.

“Had any recent dreams that could give us clues to your past?”

Concorde shook his helm, pouting. 

“No. No, I have not.”

Not even the Autobots could help him recover the bits and pieces of his memory. Still, Concorde appreciated their kindness and hospitality, especially coming from Ratchet. Smiling, he turned to him.

“Thank you for clearing up the scratches in my paint.” 

Due to damages and imperfections in his paint from battles and such, he received scratches, making it uncomfortable to fly. It was a relief for Ratchet to aid him as best as he could. And he did try his very best. Ratchet was a good doctor, and Concorde’s appreciation for him knew no bounds.

Ratchet’s blue optics flickered as he focused his attention on Concorde’s faceplate. His expression fell, and he cleared his vocalizer. 

“I, er…”

He paused, tripping over his words as he stood straight.

“I must apologize to you, Concorde.”

The plane frowned.

“Why?”

He didn’t recall the medic doing anything wrong. As Ratchet regained himself, he caught the shimmer in his optics that seemed to be something akin to guilt.

“Once, I thought of you as a smug glitch who prioritized his looks above all else.” He lowered his helm, setting his tools to the side. “But I was wrong. This apology…I owe it to you.”

At first, Concorde didn’t know what to say, totally surprised. He didn’t think ill of him. He understood Ratchet’s struggles. And yet, he was apologizing to him? Because he previously thought of him as someone he wasn’t? 

There was a sudden fire of warmth in his spark, signifying that he was touched to the core. Maybe Ratchet did enjoy his presence. Perhaps he really could fit in with the Autobot team. It would just take more time. Yes, that was it.

Slowly, he stood.

“Thank you, Ratchet.” He smiled. “I accept your apology, even though it was never required.”

He stepped forward, beginning to exit. However, before he did so, Ratchet called his name once again. 

Concorde turned, his canards flicking.

“I could use your help sorting through my tools.”

Concorde smiled.

Divider Credit: @/enchanthings