#ensue careless whisper

[cupcaketeddybehr]

pinky promises (toji x reader)

toji x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 1.1k

blurb!: toji comes home late from work again. you want a break, but you don't know that he's been working overtime to spoil you.

a/n: wow i forgot how much i love writing. cranking out fics is so fun hehehe <3 thank you so much for stopping by! i hope my blog brings you comfort and happiness!

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You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Toji to come home. He was supposed to be home hours ago, and while this is the thousandth time this has happened, you can’t help but worry. 

Every time your phone chimes, you glance at the screen, hoping it’s him, but it never is. Your sweet texts, “Toji, I made your favorite for lunch!” and “When are you coming home? I miss you!” remain unanswered. His cold lunch (which could now be considered a midnight meal) sits on the counter untouched. Yours sits right next to his as you cling to the hope that you’ll be able to eat together at least once this week. 

When the traffic outside almost finishes lulling you to sleep, you hear the lock click in the living room. A bag drops, and the shuffling of feet ensues.

“Toji?” You call into the emptiness. 

He walks into your room slowly and sits on your bed. “I’m so sorry, doll.” He apologizes. He kisses your forehead as he continues profusely apologizing.

“Toji, you’re always late.” You say, refusing to look at him.

He sighs, “I know doll. I’m sorry. They needed me to work overtime today.”

You turn away from him. “You always say that.”

“I know. I-” 

You pull the blanket over your head, done with his excuses. “It’s like you don’t love me anymore.” You whisper. 

He stares at how the blanket engulfs your petite frame, heart breaking as he wills tears not to fall from his eyes. He hasn’t cried in years. “Of course I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Why would you even say that?” 

“It doesn’t seem like it.” You peek your head out of the blanket to look at him through glassy eyes. “If you’re cheating on me, you can just tell me.” 

“Doll, do you not trust me? You’re the love of my life.” He says, reaching over to rub your back over the blanket. “I would end the world for you.”

“I don’t know, Toji. All I do every day is wait for you and cook your favorite meals in case you come home on time. But you never do.” You look at him and start to sob, refusing to believe that you’re saying the next few words that come out of your mouth. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“No, wait, don’t say that.” He says. “Please.” He adds.

“Toji, I don’t see this changing. You apologize to me every day you come late, but nothing ever changes.”

“No, please. Just give me one more chance. Just one more. I promise I’ll change.” 

“I just want to be alone right now.” You choke out through your tears. 

You don’t look at him as he leaves; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. Tears are blurring your vision. You’ve never cried this much in your life. 

After a while, your tears turn into sniffles. You lie awake the entire night, unable to sleep.

In the other room, Toji remains hunched over, his head in his hands. He raises his head ever so often to pull at the skin on his fingers. How could he be so careless?  

An hour passes when you hear the door squeak open. You beg your tears to stop where they are, but they come down anyway. How could he just leave like that? He would give up on the three years you spent together just like that? 

Your phone dings, but you ignore it. He’s probably ending things. You should be happy. This is what you wanted, right?

Eventually, you cry yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of pancakes, your favorite. Didn’t Toji leave? And even if he didn’t, shouldn’t he be at work by now?

As you move to open the door, it swings open. You walk straight into a plate of pancakes and a rock-hard chest. Syrup drips from your hair. 

Toji stands in front of you, trying not to laugh at the sight in front of him. 

“‘s not funny, ‘ji.” You make eye contact with him once. He looks at you with adoration and a million apologies in his eyes. You start to cry. “Toji, please stop forgetting about me.”

He puts the plate down on the counter and pulls you into his chest. “I’m so sorry, doll. I’ll be better, I promise. Please don’t leave. I don’t know how to do life without you.” He whispers into your ear. “You’re everything to me. I would set the world on fire if it meant keeping you in my life.”

The sentiment is weird, but you get it. You get him, and he gets you. 

After a few moments pass, he tries to pull away. You cling to him, refusing to take your face out of his chest. “Just one second, doll. I have something for you.” He says. He takes your hand and leads you to the island in the middle of your kitchen. 

When you finally pull away from him, you see a giant basket in your favorite color. In it are all your favorite things. Your favorite snacks, drinks, a fuzzy blanket, fuzzy socks, three stuffed animals, and the new designer bag you’ve been talking about for ages.

You gasp. “Toji! Where did you get the money to buy this?” You know your boyfriend enough to know he can’t even afford the basket all his gifts are placed in. 

“I worked overtime.” 

You immediately hug him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask between sniffles. “Thank you so much.”

“It was a surprise.” He says. “I’ve been saving up for a really long time.” He pets your hair as he basks in your arms a bit longer. “I’m sorry for neglecting you, though. I didn’t go about this in the right way.” He admits while rubbing the back of his neck.

You drag him to the couch and sit on his lap. “I’m sorry that I made you think I wanted to break up.” 

“I deserved that. I was an asshole. I’m sorry for not responding to your texts.” He takes the pancake plate off of the counter and begins feeding you pieces of pancake. “I promise we’ll spend more time together, yeah?”

You nod, clinging to his wrist, scared that he’ll leave again. “Pinky promise me.”

After years of being with you, he knows better than to start an argument about the silliness of pinky promises. “Of course, doll.” 

Your fingers interlock, and you feel his love and devotion in the weight of his pinky finger. 

“I love you, ’ji”

He kisses you all over your face. “I love you more.”

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thank you so much for reading 🥹 it really means the world to me

reblogs and comments are welcome and very much appreciated! 🤗

[ri-writes-if]

🌙 O's bonus story

I wrote a small thing for that scenario with a panic attack. It’s for O. You can read it here or under the line. I might be preparing another one for L with another idea, ehe

Your back hits the wall as you grip the clothes on your chest. It feels like your lungs are burning. Your heartbeat, painfully loud, drowns out all other noises.

As you slid down the wall, your gaze unfocused and breathing heavy, O catches you before you hit the floor. They crouch, trying to look into your face, and cup your cheek, the touch light.

They aren’t the best demon to deal with such a situation, but they wouldn’t trust anyone else with you. Even if it comes awkwardly to them, they force themselves to act as they were taught to.

O is better suited to dealing with whatever made you panic rather than offering comfort, but they’ll set aside their preferences for you. You need them here.

They slip their hand to your palm and hold it, squeezing it once. “[name], it’s all right,” they say. Their voice guides you through darkness like a beacon. “Nothing will hurt you while I’m here. You’re safe.”

You grip their wrist, unable to form words as you choke on air. O considers it a sign you don’t want them to leave. It brings them relief. They don’t know how they would leave you alone in such a state if you wished for it.

O lowers to their knees and pulls you closer. When you go willingly, they embrace you, their hands resting on your back and shoulder. Not the best position, but it matters little with you shivering against their chest.

“Try focusing on your breathing,” they say, their cheek pressed against your head. “This will pass soon. And I’ll stay with you until it does. Come on. Breathe with me.”

Several minutes crawl by while you regain your senses. When your panic abates and you can breathe properly, you slip your hands around their waist. O almost smiles. They guess you don’t want to move, perhaps having no energy now, so they raise you carefully, waiting as your hands settle around their neck instead, and carry you to a nearby couch.

They hesitate putting you down. They want to hold you longer. O remembers how they found you in the room, and their grip on you tightens. They turn to settle on the couch, still keeping you in their arms. Your head falls on their shoulder under their chin again, a position O thinks most comfortable. They could sit like this for hours.

“Do you need anything?” O murmurs, afraid of breaking the ensued silence. It feels different. Peaceful. Peace? An unattainable luxury for both of you recently. Maybe that’s why they’re so reluctant to let go of it.

“Nothing,” you whisper, your voice bleak. “Can’t move. Stay?”

As you ask, your arms press on them just a little harder. A hint of your uncertainty in the face of their potential refusal.

O can’t imagine why they would refuse. Before? Maybe. But the months have blended into a careless stroke on a canvas of their life, yet you’ve lingered on their mind like no other. It’s not because they’ve seen you at your weakest or spent quite some time with you. Their heart isn’t so easily opened.

It’s something else.

They would lie to themselves if they found a reason to refuse you and leave. And O sees no point in lying to themselves.

“I will stay,” they say.

You relax once more, and they smile. Almost laugh at themselves. What type of arrangement is this? What are they doing? Breaking their rules, closing their ears so they won’t hear the obvious. How foolish.

Fine. They will be a fool then. Sometimes it’s easier to give in than to fight against yourself.

[merbear25]

Been thinking a lot about Caesar...

Been thinking about how difficult it'd be to set your suspicions aside. Despite his calming and inviting demeanor, his actions deteriorate those around him—decay and peril extending out of his finger tips.

A talented mind being applied to such chaos and suffering: when paired with a wide grin, doubt in his sincerity blanketed over you. Fearing what could happen if you were caught off guard, planning precautions ensued. However, he'd be keeping an eye on you, even when you thought you were alone.

You were refraining from getting too close to him; you'd witnessed too many fall victim to having the life sucked out of them or being overly trusting, leading them to nightmarish experiments. Naivete was acting as an opiate—omitting any sense to resist, making them malleable.

Keeping track of what exactly set him off, you'd jot each one in your notebook. In doing this, you were picking up on certain habits of his, which were ones that might be seen as endearing if it were anyone else: babbling to himself if he made a careless miscalculation, how animated he'd get around certain people, and the way he threw his hair up in a huff while working.

Danger comes in all shapes and sizes, though. Unbeknownst to you, he was just as cautious of you as you were of him. Having his fair share of trust issues, he'd been keeping tabs on you since you waltzed into his life. He kept an eye on everyone, but you and your most recent behavior set off alarms.

Lurking behind each corner, staying just out of sight, so as not draw your attention to him, he observed you. Distrust made his chest heave, while watching you scribble something in your notebook. Forboding casted itself, consuming any ability for reconsideration.

Hissing from what sounded like a busted pipe caused fear to wrap around your heart, making you break out in a cold sweat. Shortly after the first signal of his presence was released, the gas clouds trailed up and over your body and dispersed around you.

Too nervous to turn around to face him, you calmly closed your notebook and waited.

"What have you been up to?"

There was no malice in his words, yet you knew better than to take him at face value. "I was just finishing up the notes from earlier. You know, before I forgot."

Locks of his hair drapped over you as he leaned in. He whispered, "How long did you think you'd be able to hide this from me?"

Attempting to suppress your rising heart rate, you assured him you'd been keeping to your work as normal.

He placed a hand down firmly on the table next to your notebook. Going wide-eyed at his sudden falter in patience, you peared down at what contained all that you'd written down on him.

"In that case, you won't mind if I take a look, will you?" His other hand snaked around from the other side.

When he threw the cover open, you shut your eyes, not being able to bear witnessing death closing in on you. After a few moments passed, you were shaking from anticipation of the punishment he'd surely cast down on you—but nothing was happening. Cautiously, you opened one eye to see which page he'd opened to: those of his personal habits, along with the little hearts doodled next to some of them were glaring back at you.

Not knowing whether you would've preferred to be slain for plotting against him or from your own humiliation, you sat where you were—staring at the pages that'd betrayed you.

Breaking the silence, he let out a chuckle, "Had no idea you were the type to get 'love sick'."

NSFW below the cut!!! fem!reader, teasing, fingering, vaginal penetration

Shell shock still effecting you, you weren't able to muster an excuse.

"Don't worry, dear. Your little secret is safe with me," he laughed a bit harder this time, the irony was too sweet not to torment you with. Calming down from that outburst, he leaned in again and brought his hands nearer to you. "That is, on one condition."

With surprise replacing your fear, you'd unfortunately allowed yourself to fall pray to his trickery just as the others had. "What is it?"

Tilting his head up to ponder, he laid his hands on your shoulders saying, "Hm, I may have a suitable solution." Offering his hand, he lured you in with a simple command, "Follow me."

Finding yourself in his bedroom made you halt in your tracks. "Did we...take a wrong turn?" Denial passed over your lips of what was about to unfold.

"Surely you can't be as naive as the others." Grinning down at you, he ran his hand over your dress, cupping your breast just before you pulled away in disbelief.

"Don't tell me you were scribbling hearts in your journal next to my name as a bluff."

While backing away, you stumbled and tripped onto the floor. Having fallen on your tailbone, you winced from the sudden pain.

Cocking his head at you, he sighed, "You may, however, be more hopeless than the others." In one swoop, he tossed you on the bed. Not having enough time to process what was happening, he took advantage of your vertigo—climbing on top of you, releasing spores of arousal with each shift he made.

Having picked up on your nerves, he started out slowly: rubbing your legs, running his hands up your dress, and circling his thumbs at the top of your pubic bone. He was observing your expressions and body language, all of which were hinting that you were getting rather excited.

Laying down next to you, he had you wrapped in his arms. Opening your legs, he ran his hand over your panties, which were already set to be rung out. Witnessing the affects he had on you, he pressed his hardening member against your leg while twirling his fingers around your clit.

This was proving to be too much for you; you were feeling overwhelmed from the rushes of lust and uncertainty towards him. "I don't know if I can do this," you breathed heavily, trying to avert your eyes, which had already begun to blur from the much awaited release you'd secretly been after.

He nuzzled against the top of your head, caressing your weeping slit. "Your body is calling out for me though. Why should it be denied what it's obviously craving?"

You bit at your bottom lip as you felt him grind up against your thigh again; your chest was falling and rising from the build up which you were hanging on by a thread.

Sensing you were cracking, the drive to push you past your limits took over; he forced your delicates to the side, partcially exposing your needy pussy. Sliding his fingers inbetween your slick lips, he grinned at the sight of you: clinging to the sheets, already thrusting against him; you were still trying to resist, although your will-power was hurridly reaching its breaking point.

Watching you deperately chase after your repressed lust, he ripped the top of your dress down, revealing your breasts. Greedily grabbing and clenching them, care was especially given to your erect nipples. You whimpered as he pinched them, testing how easy it'd be to make you crumble from ecstasy.

Rutting against his stiffened length, your hand latched onto his hip to steady yourself. Paying no mind to how he'd been watching you, you failed to notice his dark fantasies coming forth.

Him abruptly tugging your panties off made you gasp―the material left behind red spots from the sudden force. Your shrieks only added to your delectable vulnerability.

After seeing him chuck them off to the side, you felt his bare cock proding you. Pressing against your thigh, the motions from him preparing himself jolted across your lower half.

He forced your legs further apart; a faint whimper came from him when he realized your lower half had been coated in your disgraceful abandonment of morals.

After taking a minute to admire the view, he promptly thrusted inside you. Knowing it'd cause some pain, the sadist in him still yearned to see you squirm. The initial twinge of discomfort wore off, now just fragments scattered amongst your spasming walls.

You both new you wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer. Settling on twirling your pearl against the pad of his finger, he allowed himself the pleasure of watching your breasts chaotically bounce and slap against each other.

Your self-control was failing you: slipping away with each thrust he rammed between your creamy lips. Your breath was shaking as your vision speckled. Feeling you unravel on him unexpectedly forced his own willpower to collapse―joining you in your rapturing frenzy.

As he eased out of you, you let the cum spill out; watching it drip down, you kept the tingles of bliss prickling at the sight of it a secret from him.

You looked over at him to catch a devilish look appear on his face. Forgetting what'd gotten you into this predicament, you casually asked what that look was for.

"Hm? Just thinking about the next secret you'll try to hide from me. You're constantly scribbling in that damn thing, so there should be plenty to blackmail you with."

Your cheeks reddened when thinking back to the incriminating ideas you had. When you shrank away from him, he alluded to his hunches, "This will surely make for a good compromise."

[doumadono]

Emergency request

Lately, I've come to the realization that I'm expecting my first child. Regrettably, my boyfriend's reaction hasn't matched my excitement. In fact, it's safe to say he's quite upset with me. He told me I should have been more cautious because he hadn't considered starting a family just yet ☹️

Could I perhaps ask for a scenario where Bakugo reacts to this news initially with resistance, creating an angsty atmosphere, but then gradually comes to understand that he'll do everything to protect both you and the child growing inside you, providing a comforting and reassuring twist to the situation?

A/N: hello, dear Anonnie. I deeply appreciate your trust in me for this request. I've endeavored to craft a narrative that balances the angst and sweetness, and I sincerely hope you find the final result enjoyable. I'm sorry to hear about the challenges you're facing right now. Remember that your excitement about becoming a parent is valid and beautiful. While it may take time for your boyfriend to come around, focus on taking care of yourself and your growing baby ♥ You've got this! If you ever want to discuss it further or need advice, feel free to reach out to me.

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Bakugo's apartment was frequenly a battleground, whether it was due to his relentless training or the fiery arguments that often ensued between the two of you. Tonight, however, was different. It started with a subtle yet significant change in your demeanor, one that Bakugo couldn't ignore.

As you nervously shifted on a couch, Bakugo sensed something was amiss. His sharp crimson eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a hint of irritation. "What's eating you, nerd?" he grumbled, clearly not in the mood for any drama.

You hesitated for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn't how you'd planned to break the news, but there was no turning back now. "Katsuki, I… I have something to tell you."

His patience was running thin as he snapped, "Quit beating around the damn bush and spit it out, dumbass!"

Taking a deep breath, you finally blurted out, "I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening. Bakugo's crimson eyes widened, and his normally fierce expression contorted into one of shock and disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," he chuckled darkly, his voice a dangerous whisper.

Your heart sank as his reaction played out exactly as you'd feared. His anger was palpable, his fury radiating off of him in waves.

"How could you be so careless?" he roared, his palms igniting with sparks of explosions. "I never signed up for this!"

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I wasn't careless, Katsuki! You should have been more cautious, that's the fact! I didn't plan for this either."

He stormed away from you, pacing back and forth in his living room. "This is a fucking disaster," he muttered, raking his fingers through his unruly ash blond hair. "I can't believe you've put me in this situation. You're a fucking idiot! Attention whore!"

You watched him, your heart breaking with every second that passed. You knew Bakugo was stubborn, fiercely independent, and had never considered settling down, let alone becoming a father. This wasn't the joyful reaction you had hoped for, and it stung. You hadn't expected him to be overjoyed, but you had hoped for some understanding. Tears rolled down your cheeks, your chin quivered.

Days turned into weeks, and the angsty atmosphere in your shared home didn't dissipate. Bakugo's initial reaction still hung between you like a dark cloud, making it difficult to find common ground. But as time passed, you noticed small changes in his behavior.

He started accompanying you to doctor's appointments, though he grumbled about them every time. He began asking questions about the baby's development, and you could sense a growing curiosity in him. It was as if he was reluctantly accepting the reality of the situation.

One evening, as you sat in your small room in silence, Bakugo cleared his throat awkwardly, peeking inside. "You know, I've been thinking, nerd," he began, his tone noticeably softer than before. "Maybe I reacted like a total idiot back then."

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected admission. "Katsuki…?"

He faced you with a conflicted expression. "Damn it," he grumbled. "I can't believe I'm going to be a father. I'm not fucking ready."

It was a fragile moment, a crack in his gruff exterior, and you seized the opportunity. You got up and took a cautious step closer to him, your voice barely above a whisper. "Katsuki, I know this is overwhelming, but we'll figure it out together. We can do this. Together…"

His anger seemed to waver as he looked at you, and for the first time in weeks, his gaze softened. "I don't want you to experience negative emotions, it hurts the baby, as I read."

You smiled through your tears streaming down your cheeks, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "I know you'll protect us, no matter what."

It was a long, tense night filled with more discussions. But gradually, Bakugo started to ask questions, seeking to understand the changes that were coming. He may not have shown it openly, but you could see the determination in his eyes.

As dawn approached, Bakugo finally pulled you into an embrace, his grip surprisingly gentle. "I won't let anything happen to you or our child," he vowed, his voice filled with newfound resolve. "I'll protect you both, no matter what it takes." Suddenly, the man reached out, hesitantly at first, and then placed his hand gently on your already visible baby bump. His touch was warm, his palm tender against your bump.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions.

You both stood in silence for a moment, his hand resting on your belly as if feeling for any sign of movement from the growing life inside. Then, with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, he remarked, looking into your eyes, "I can't believe there's a little person in there."

You smiled, placing your hand on top of his. "It's incredible, isn't it?"

It wasn't a sudden transformation, but a gradual acceptance of the new reality. Bakugo's gruff personality remained, but now it was infused with a fierce determination to be the best partner and father he could be.

As you rested your head on his muscular shoulder, you knew that while the road ahead would be challenging, you and Bakugo would face it together.

[thesith]

— Chapter Seven: Result of Anaxes

Bedtime Story Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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“Echo, what happened to them? Are they alright?” Omega’s still wide awake, with no sign of tiredness in her body, “Continue pleeeeease! I need to know!”

Echo sighed and looked at the time - way past her bedtime. She didn’t look like she was going to sleep soon anyway, so might as well just continue, “Fine. Don’t tell Hunter.”

“Yes!” She happily exclaimed, “Our secret.” She placed a finger over her lips, making a shushing sound.

“You wanted to match with me, did ya?” Echo’s voice came from beside you as your eyes opened, a phantom pain shooting up your left forearm.

You blinked at the bright light in your eyes, “What happened? Where’s Trench?” Your eyes scanned toward your body, noticing your missing hand, “Shit, Master Windu’s gonna kill me!”

“Hey, hey, calm down, you’re alright. You were only out for a few minutes.” Anakin knelt beside you, “Just relax.”

“Relax?” You sarcastically said, “My hand is gone, I’m probably going to be expelled from the Order, and you’re telling me to just relax?”

“You are not going to be expelled from the Order, I’ll make sure of it,” Anakin reassured you, “Try to clear your mind - everything will be okay.”

You sat up and placed your feet on the ground, standing from the makeshift medical table and making your way to the cockpit.

“I have a present for you, Wrecker.” Anakin said from beside you, handing the detonator from Trench’s ship to the mentioned clone.

Wrecker’s eyes widened and started tearing up, speaking a few words of gratitude before pressing down on the button. You were grateful to not miss this - the rainbow that ensued was beautiful.

“How’re you feeling, Commander?” A concerned Hunter asked, “Should you even be standing?”

“I’m fine.”

Hunter nodded, not taking his eyes off of you, “If you say so.”

Anakin leaned down to whisper something in your ear, “He really cares about you.”

You were surprised to be hearing those words from a council member, the poster boy of the Republic nonetheless. He didn’t speak with malice, but with understanding.

You mumbled an acknowledgement before sitting in an unoccupied seat, watching the planet of Anaxes come into view. You dreaded the moment you’d land and have to speak to your Master.

You were ushered out of the ship and in front of your Master the moment you landed. You winced at the sight of Mace, though he didn’t seem mad - just concerned. Masters Kenobi and Windu spoke to the clones regarding their incoming accolades before turning their attention toward you.

“My Padawan,” Master Windu started, “What you did was careless and not thought out. Your recklessness has landed you injured. Again.”

You prepared yourself for his next words, expecting to be expelled from the Jedi Order.

”You were reckless, yes, but also courageous. You ensured a Republic victory here on Anaxes, not to mention you also saved my life. I am proud to have been your master, though only for a short period of time.”

Here it comes…

”When we return to Coruscant and you’re healthy, you will undergo your remaining Trial of Insight. I have full faith that you will succeed, as you have done nothing but exceed our expectations as a Padawan.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand? I thought I was to be expelled from the Order.”

Master Windu called over the 501st medic, Kix, “You have passed your trials of skill, courage, spirit, and now flesh,” He motioned for you to sit on the medic’s portable examination table, “Your training has come to an end. You have the necessary skills to succeed as a Jedi Knight.”

You sat on the table and looked to your Master, “There’s still so much to learn, Master.”

“You will always be learning, Padawan. It’s the way of life.” Obi-Wan said to your now seated form, “I look forward to the next time we meet.”

You nodded, “Thank you, Master Kenobi.”

Anakin walked over to you, “Not to say ‘I told you so’, but…”

“Congratulations Commander. Once you’re a General, come back to us.” Hunter’s voice called as Kix hovered the table to a more sterile environment, “We miss you.”

“Now that Echo’s with you, I might have to!” You joked, waving with your remaining hand. You didn’t know when you’d see them again, but you’d be waiting for the day - regardless of how long it may take.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

The Cishet 1990s American Father-Son Movie, Good Omens triggered.

For those who are confused, @howmanyholesinswisscheese made a heartbreaking Good Omens post. Read it and weep.

The reblogs however degenerated into a Cishet Father-Son saga, since you maggots are all my adoptive parents. Here is a more polished version of my latest contribution to the hellsite.

[Opening credits play over highly saturated, sundrenched midwest farmland. Bob Dylan's Sara plays and the title appears as the camera slows to a halt in front of a sprawling house.]

[TITLE: Farewell, Iowa, We'll Meet Again, a Gus Van Sant film]

Art 'Greeny' Matthews, a man who does an honest day's work in the farm and is pretty darn proud of it, wanders through his house. His wife Darlene just left him (hence the opening song), and he is faced with the prospect of raising his only son, a ten year old lad Asmond 'Mond' Matthews, on his own.

Greeny takes Mond along with him as he works in the farm on holidays, riding in the tractor. Mond cries about Darlene, who didn't even leave a note, the hussy, and Greeny comforts him as much as he can. "It'll be alright, son," Greeny says on Mond's eleventh birthday, as they sit in the stable with a badly made cake on the wobbly stool. "Just you and me, eh? Not bad!"

"I hate chocolate," Mond whispers miserably, and the birthday party ends in more tears.

When Mond is thirteen, he starts to grow more closed with his emotions, just helping his dad around the farm. They're making a huge profit, and Greeny has business deals and free time, and makes an effort to bring Mond along to golf games and such. Mond is being bullied in school for being caught writing poetry, but he refuses to tell his dad why he comes home with a black eye every other week.

"I'm always here if you want to talk over a game of catch, son," Greeny tries one day. "No thanks, dad," Mond says, and wanders away into the stable. At fourteen, Greeny tries to bring him on fishing trips to discuss his feelings, as they used to do back when Darlene lived with them. Mond swallows, but shakes his head.

Finally, Mond can't keep it from him anymore, and when Greeny finds out, he goes into a rare fit of temper. "Just like your mother, boy!" he says, hand rattling his mug of ale. "A wanderer and a careless fool, that's what you'll turn out to be! There ain't no place in this world for people livin' in their heads."

Mond doesn't write poetry anymore.

As Mond grows, though, he helps out more with the farm, and they bond over hopes for future profit, and joking about golf, which they both find pretentious. "C'mon, champ, let's go play golf," Greeny says while they watch suited businessmen make their way to the house, out of place amidst the yellow-green farmland. "What's your favourite golf club?"

"That a literal club, or the thing they whack the ball with, dad?" Mond responds, and Greeny chortles. "I taught you better than that, son."

He has high hopes for Mond, he will take over the farm. Greeny is growing weary of his duties, he married late and had Mond even later.

[Montages of sunlight days ensue, intercut with shots of Mond, who always has a melancholic air about him. His mother was a dancer, and that rebellious spirit, so long dormant, is beginning to stir as he enters his twenties.]

On his twenty-first birthday, Greeny has baked him a cake, not chocolate. Mond barely sees it. His father doesn't know him. Not really. Not at all. When Greeny says he is handing over the farm to him, and starts to give him instructions about the responsibilities, Mond has had it.

He picks up the rucksack he's been storing by the umbrella stand for weeks, and shoulders it as Greeny pauses mid-lecture. "I'm sorry, dad," Mond says. "I'm going away to be my own man. This was your dream. Not mine."

Greeny is too frozen to stop him.

[Knockin' on Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan plays with another montage]

Mond travels the States, far from home and Iowa, and after a year of struggle finally publishes his first anthology of poetry. Hoping to make his dad proud, he sends a letter home asking if it imperative he return, since he's too ashamed to say he wants to. The reply is a brief but polite no from the housekeeper, saying his father wishes him well but does not require that he return. Assuming Greeny wants nothing to do with him, Mond stays away, bitter and homesick.

He is called home a few months later, and when he arrives, he is met not with Greeny, but with the housemaids and farmhands in black, and the housekeeper teary-eyed as she guides him to the back garden and a lonely gravestone. Greeny, heartbroken by his son leaving the same way Darlene his wife did all those years ago, declined in health, but he kept up the farm till the end, all ready for Mond should he want it after all, and for the head farmer if he didn't.

Mond, still carrying his book hoping to have shown his dad at last, stares in shock at the gravestone. He thinks even at the end Greeny did not know him, thought he would want the farm. Until he reads the inscription. Art 'Greeny' Matthews, friend to all, loyal husband, and most of all, proud father of a poet.

His father knew, Mond realised. His father knew what he'd been doing.

"Are ya proud, dad?" Mond whispers, dropping the book and kneeling down before the stone. "Are ya proud? It was all for you."

[The camera pulls back to show the farmland, scattered with people in black going about their work because business stops for no one, and a solitary figure by the gravestone. Bob Dylan's Blowin' in the Wind plays as the end credits roll.]

"How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man?

How many seas must a white dove sail, before she sleeps in the sand?"

The end.

@howmanyholesinswisscheese The challenge has been issued.

[a-random-weeb]

hi could I request a “bsd/Genshin impact men when their s/o flinches in an argument?” Thanks!!!!!

Absolutely! I don't know too much about genshin impact but I know enough. Just sorry if the characters are a little ooc.

I didn't know if you wanted oneshots or headcannons, so I did what I wanted to for each character. If you want me to redo one in a certain way feel free to ask :)

Characters: dazai, Chuuya, Diluc

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dazai:

All that can be heard are the sounds of yelling and screaming. Dazai came home, teasing you and being more annoying then normal, and it didn't help that you had a bad day. You kept telling him to leave you alone but he wouldn't, so you snapped and yelled at him, and so, an argument ensued. He's yelling at you, but it gets to the point where he actually looks scary, and so you flinch. He freezes, taking a second to process the fear in your eyes, but once he does, he pulls you to his chest, clinging to you tightly "i-im so, so, so sorry belladonna, I shouldn't have pissed you off like that after you had a bad day!" You cry into his chest and he buries his face in your hair. He picks you up and carries you to the living room where he cuddles you in the couch "I'll do better, I promise..." he whispers softly, and you both pass out on the couch.

✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧˖°♡✧

Chuuya:

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU TRY TO COOK?! YOU BURNT YOURSELF, YOU COULD'VE BURNT THE GODDAMN HOUSE DOWN!!" He screamed.

"I-Im sorry!" You choke out, but feeling your own anger slowly bubble up inside you. That's how it started, the worst argument of your life. You too went back and worth, yelling, for at least an hour until Chuuya finally loses it completely. He smashes a glass cup on the floor and it shatters everywhere, that's when you flinch. He notices, but doesn't react and first, too caught up in this to relise how scared you were. It wasn't until you backed away did he relise he screwed up. You two stand there in silence for a good 30 seconds before he slowly reaches out to cup your face.

"I-Im sorry..." he mumbles as he begins to cry, pulling you close "It wasn't supposed to be like this, I know you were just trying to surprise me with a nice meal, even if you failed and burnt it and yourself...." he grabs a cold cloth and holds it to your burn. He spends the rest of the night tending to your burn and apologizing, and when you forgive him he cuddles you all night.

✧~°♡•✧~°♡•✧~°♡•✧~°♡•✧~°♡•✧~°♡•✧~°♡•✧

Genshin impact

Diluc:

SMASH! You knocked over some of the wine glasses at his bar while fooling around.

"You were careless!" He yells and the argument slowly escalates into something, much, much worse. Dilucs not one to scream, but at some point in the argument, he screamed at the top of his lungs "JUST SHUT UP!"

.............

A look of absolute horror crosses your face as you back away, flinching. All that can be heard is a deafening silence. You were so hurt... tears began to spill from your eyes as he stares at you in shock for a moment before to cup your face in both his hands, wiping your tears as well as mumbling apologies. You also apologize, after all, you broke a lot of glasses, it was your fault.

"It wasn't completely your fault, I lost my temper instead of helping anything..." you both clean the glass up and go home, passing out in eachothers arms.

ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°_ו~°

I don't think I know enough about any of the other genshin men. I mean, I know kaeya too and I tried to write for him, but it turned out way to cringe and ooc, but I hope you enjoyed anyway!

[your3fundamentaltruths]

for your WIPs I'd love to know about either a careless man’s careful daughter or project Penelope! :)

OMG I haven't gotten to talk about a careless man's careful daughter in literally years!

To recap, a careless man’s careful daughter is a canon-era Polin AU (show/book fusion) in which Penelope has an older brother which opens after the carriage scene happens and Colin just walks into their house and casually asks for Pen’s hand. Big bro is just like “hell nah” and chaos ensues. In the tag above, there's one scene I've already shared from it and I'll share the opening scene below:

When Lady Featherington says “Felicity” before Colin can get a word in edgewise to ask for Penelope’s hand, her older brother rolls his eyes. “Good God, Mother! Of course not Felicity, he arrived with Penelope and insisted she sit beside him. Not that he’s good enough for either of them.”

Colin’s polite smile freezes on his face. He’s known for years that Preston Featherington doesn’t like him and he’s tried not to let it bother him, but he wasn’t expecting this level of aggression. 

“Preston,” Lady Featherington hisses, her daughters’ exclamations equally disapproving.

“Over my dead body.”

Lady Featherington’s jaw drops and Felicity’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

Penelope whispers her brother’s name.

It is only the second time in his life he’s been stunned speechless. He’d honestly thought this conversation would be more of a formality than anything else, given that Penelope is very much of age and doesn’t need her brother’s permission. But to be met with this much hostility . . . “I beg your pardon?” he finally manages.

“The answer is no. I wouldn’t let you marry Penelope if you were the last man on earth.”

“Preston Featherington!” Lady Featherington looks to be on the verge of a nervous attack.

“You cannot be serious,” says Penelope, having finally recovered her voice.

“Deadly,” Preston replies.

“I would like to have a private moment with you, my lord,” he manages through gritted teeth.

“And me,” adds Penelope instantly.

“Not you,” Preston retorts.

 “Yes me,” Penelope insists.

“Fine. Not that it will change my answer.”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 4 - Sweets

And on we go...

Prompt: Sweets

Pairing: Bilbo x Thorin, Ori x OC

Words: 2 365

Warnings: Tension, fear, seductive cake

“Welcome,” the King greeted, and—even though he’d spoken in a calm, measured voice—his voice was booming across the mostly empty chamber.

The two hitherto taciturn men hastened to his side. A short, hushed conversation ensued, and then the King turned back to his potential captives.

“I’m informed that you were found trying to camp in a warg-infested region,” he said, his tone heavy with disapproval. “Very bad idea.”

Elya cocked her head; his inflexion and speech rhythm struck her as odd as well. It seemed to her that the King and their handsome guide had acquired the language by studying an old book, only ever practising amongst themselves, but she was only surmising. Mayhap, it was only disuse or misplaced gravitas which made him speak in such a stilted, cautious manner.

“What is a warg?” Bilbo exclaimed, taking another eager step closer to the throne.

Only when three sets of brows drew together warningly did he realise that he’d better not rush towards a foreign dignitary as if he were a common merchant in his festival stall.

“A dangerous beast.”

More whispering. The King frowned in visible disbelief.

“Where can I find one? I’d be very interested in studying—” Bilbo went on, but was interrupted by a massive, beringed hand being raised commandingly.

“You’d meet them only once,” Thorin chuckled. “Ori can show you a drawing and explain. After you’ve eaten. Kíli tells me you’ve only had smelly water?”

His brow wrinkled again as if he was unsure about his halting translation.

“It was broth, thank you very much, and it was quite nourishing,” Bilbo replied sharply.

“Cakes then,” the King said with a careless shrug. “Fíli?”

At once, the golden-haired warrior turned on his heels and exited the hall.

“They’re quite good,” Ori whispered into Elya’s ear. “The King honours you.”

Twisting her head this way and that, Elya—overtired and overwhelmed by the recent developments in her first and foreseeably last research mission—struggled to pinpoint what it was that irked her about the strange people who’d effectively captured them.

When the King stood, it hit her like a punch to the gut. They were all uncommonly short for men of such brawn and overall physiological structure.

“Dwarves?” she whispered under her breath before she could stop herself. Her fingers itched to fumble in her backpack to retrieve her sketchbook once more.

“Ah! Yes, that is the word!” Ori cheered with a bright smile. “Dwarves. Yes!”

Elya’s eyes almost bulged out of her skull—she’d always imagined dwarves as small, old men with long beards and pointy hats, carrying lanterns and spades while digging holes in people’s back gardens.

She’d never considered that even the silly ornaments theoretically could have been young and gorgeous before ending up harassing cats and tripping burglars in the dead of night.

“May I draw you?” she asked breathlessly, turning around to face Ori again for two very good reasons. First, the way Bilbo was staring hungrily at their host made her stomach churn uncomfortably, and second, she found that she was inherently desirous to look upon that pale, freckled face as much as she possibly could.

“Me? I—yes, if that is your desire. Unfortunately, you shall not be allowed to take your art when you leave. Nobody, as you were told, must learn of our existence.”

At first, Elya had found that imperative ludicrous and had fostered not even the slightest intention of respecting it, but as she now stared up at the invaluable riches displayed on and in every wall, she started to understand.

Thus, she nodded with more conviction than before.

“Tell me about your studies,” the King demanded, going as far as to step off his dais and join his unexpected, improbable guests at the foot of his throne. “What are you searching? Have you found it?”

“I feel like we’ve found more than we’ve bargained for,” Bilbo muttered under his breath. “Things we didn’t expect to find anywhere, let alone on a deserted island.”

As she was a reasonable woman and thus was standing very close to the only person she knew and could trust, Elya had no problems making out his words, though, and so she lifted her hands and conjured up her blankest, most innocent expression.

“I’m a mere assistant,” she said in a breathy, whistling voice. “There is very little I could tell His Majesty.”

Whirling around, Bilbo gave her a dumbfounded, distinctly suspicious look.

Thorin II hummed pensively and opened his thin but sensual lips to reply when the door swung open with a bang and an impossibly rotund man strolled in, carrying a platter heaped with sweetmeats and cakes.

“Impossible,” Bilbo commented under his breath; he couldn’t help doing the math in his head and coming to the conclusion that it was not possible that a single man could lift, let alone bear, such a weight.

Moreover, the newcomer didn’t even appear to be strained in any way.

“Ah, there comes Bombur,” the King announced and waved his hand in a generous gesture of invitation. “The cakes are made with a local fruit—Ori will show you a picture of it so you might recognise it—that is quite tart when eaten untreated but very sweet when stirred into a dough and consequently baked.”

Both Elya’s and Bilbo’s eyes narrowed—in their experience, it was unusual that a royal would know not only his cook but also the ingredients of his meals by name.

Instinctively, they both bowed, eyeing the offered treats uncertainly.

On the one hand, they’d not consumed anything but insipid broth and stale biscuits for weeks, but, on the other hand, taking food from strangers was dangerous in more ways than one.

“They are digestible,” Ori promised in a quiet voice.

“How would you know? You’d also claim that this tray is easy to lift,” Elya replied in a discreet hiss without taking her eyes off the impressive figure of the King who was presently entirely absorbed by Bilbo’s stammering explanation of their doomed expedition.

“A pebble could not carry Bombur’s platter, but they could eat themselves through the cakes. Trust me!”

Despite not understanding how rocks could do either of the described things, Elya realised that she wanted to believe the one who’d brought them out from the cold, windy wilderness into a warm, beautiful underground kingdom.

Hence why she extended a grimy, slightly trembling hand and picked up a dense bun, covered in a sticky, fragrant syrup—her mouth was watering instantly.

“Elya!” Bilbo said warningly, but it was too late. She’d already sunken her teeth into the fluffy pastry and was moaning indecently at the countless unknown flavours bursting across her tongue like fireworks shooting across a night sky.

“Oh, it’s so good,” she mumbled, embarrassed by her shameless behaviour.

“My girl!” Bilbo chided. “Did I not warn you to refrain from actions that might get you entangled irreversibly?”

“They said they’re dwarves, not fae,” Elya chuckled, wondering whether her undeniable, witnessed fall would entitle her to another sweet. After all, if she’d bound her soul, hand, and heart unwittingly to this strange folk by partaking in the sugary feast they’d laid out, what difference would it make whether she ate one or ten?

As she reached out slowly, Bilbo’s eyes followed her every movement, but he didn’t object any further.

Feeling the King’s intensely blue eyes on him, he squared his shoulders and joined his assistant—after all, he knew how important it was to show appreciation and interest for any potential host culture.

“So, Ori has admitted that we’re dwarves?” Thorin asked calmly as he watched Bilbo chew cautiously. “I didn’t expect him to be quite that forthcoming. How peculiar…and interesting! I wonder what other secrets my nephews and the little scribe might have entrusted you with.”

Ori flinched; he was evidently afraid to have committed a faux pas. His ears were turning dark red as the princes, also eyeing the pastries longingly, exploded into raucous laughter once more.

Bilbo nodded cautiously. “They had to tell us something about you and this Kingdom to convince us that they were not merely trying to catch their evening meal.”

At that, the King visibly bristled. “We do not eat the poor souls that find themselves stranded on our shores.”

His handsome features tightened. “However, you were not washed astray, were you? You purposefully set out to find us here. May I ask why?”

Bilbo shook his head vehemently. “No, we were searching for new species of plants and animals.”

“To steal them?” Thorin’s voice was sharp and accusing now, making Elya wither where she stood. She was unsure whether to step closer to her boss once more or whether to seek refuge behind the ginger dwarf who was still watching her with a small smile.

Blowing up his cheeks and rubbing his nose, Bilbo kept his peace. He instinctively felt that he didn’t want to lie to this mystical ruler if he could avoid it.

“Only if we had the feeling that our finds might change the world for the better.”

He’d discussed the potential risks with Elya on their long voyage, and they’d decided that—except if they were to find the cure for cancer or an ingenious solution to pollution—they’d disturb as little as possible.

“Do you know where you are?” Thorin interrogated sharply. “If I was to toss you back into the ocean, would you find your way back here?”

Bilbo swallowed thickly before exchanging a meaningful glance with Elya who shrugged sheepishly. She’d been the one to take most of the day-to-day notes, but neither one of them was a trained sailor.

“There has been an element of luck,” Bilbo then admitted. “We’d had our sights set on a group of islands…”

“You would not have liked the closest one,” Thorin grumbled. “The pointy-eared savages might well have tried to poison you. The rivers running through their lands are sluggish with dark enchantments!”

“As I said, luck,” Bilbo repeated.

When Elya nudged him in the ribs discreetly and coughed into his ear several times, he went on, “Also, we’ve already been informed that we’re not to take anything from this island. No specimens, no recordings, no notes—thus, robbed of our meticulous archives, I dare say that we’d never find our way back here. You are safe.”

“You’ll remember, though,” Thorin commented provocatively.

“Not if there is a nifty potion baked into these treats,” Bilbo joked, earning another thunderous gaze from the dwarven ruler.

For a while, the hall was eerily silent except for the soft sound of enthusiastic chewing.

“I respect your inquisitive mind,” Thorin finally said. “You must be tired. If you’re willing, I shall arrange for you to be awoken at dusk. You can accompany me, and I’ll attempt to show you a warg if you’re still so eager to see one.”

“That would be wonderful,” Bilbo exclaimed, his scientific curiosity once more overruling his sense of self-preservation.

He was about to shake hands with Thorin when another gnawing doubt overcame his mind.

“What about Elya? She’s been acting very foolishly, but I’ve yet to see another woman in these halls. You won’t…abduct and imprison her for her impudence, will you?”

Thorin’s dark brows drew together in earnest vexation. “There are many things you’ve not yet seen, Bilbo Baggins. If you give me your word that you won’t breathe a word about them to another soul, you might, in time, discover all you’ve been wondering about. As for the young lady, no, we shall not detain her against her will.”

Relief drove a peal of laughter up Bilbo’s throat, but it never burst forth. Once, he would have confidently vouched for Elya’s unwillingness to be left behind on a deserted, wild island. Now, he was no longer so sure.

“Worry not,” he said instead. “There are few that would even want to hear from us or believe us. Your secrets are safe.”

“I doubt that,” Thorin muttered, his expression mellowing into something neither Bilbo nor Elya could describe or fully understand. “Now, Balin will take you to a suite of rooms where you can rest.”

They’d been so focused on the breathtaking spectacle of the King that they’d completely missed the discreet, noiseless entry of a white-haired, aged dwarf who now stood a little distance off, wearing a richly embroidered tunic and a beatific, welcoming smile.

“Come,” he crooned in a low, melodious voice. “The young ones have done well in bringing you here. Follow me!”

Sensing their nervous confusion, the old dwarf gave them another reassuring grin.

“We are an old people, and we honour our traditions, but you mustn’t be afraid that we’d do you any harm.”

His speech was more fluid and sounded almost natural, Elya noticed.

When she brought it up, he gave a flattered chuckle. “Thorin and I have been abroad. The young ones were born in exile. I might have practised more than the King has, though.” Again, he chortled merrily.

Exile! The word echoed through Elya’s mind, but she decided against probing further as the memory was visibly painful to their stalwart guide, leading them unerringly through the endless, sombre tunnels.

“But…”

“Ori is my apprentice,” the creature called Balin explained kindly. “He’s a good lad and eager to be of service.”

“I’ve noticed,” Elya replied carefully, throwing a vain glance over her shoulder in hopes of seeing that luminous creature lurking in the ever-shifting shadows only to be disappointed.

“What dread are you seeking?” Balin asked.

“No, nothing.” Elya felt herself blush furiously. “I—Will I see him again? He’s insinuated that he could show me a few drawings.”

At that, the wizened, bearded dwarf gaped at her in open, genuine surprise. “Did he now? How uncharacteristically brazen of him! Do you want this to happen? I can arrange for him to meet you after your repose if that is your earnest desire.”

“I’d like that very much,” Elya blurted out, earning another unfathomable look from Bilbo who’d never believed her to be easily impressed with men.

“So be it then.” Balin grinned cheerily. “That will surely cheer the old boy greatly!”

@fellowshipofthefics

-> Masterlist

[mushabumi]

"Let Me?"

Eldritch horror BJ. 692 words. Smut.

You weren’t sure what got into you. One moment you were adding dried herbs to the draught brewing, and the next you brushed against his hand as it handed you a vial you needed. Blunted obsidian claws glistened against your skin as your hands closed around the glass. Your breath hitched. Eyes trailing to his chest, his abdomen, all exposed and glistening in the balmy air. The drawstring at his waist was very loose. Practically begging to be undone. It was careless, really, having it hang so precariously on his hips. A thigh high slit was on his robes. Either way, easy access was granted.

The skeletal maw clicked. Your eyes darted to his concerned expression. He sniffed the air. Undoubtedly scenting your arousal. You smiled, sharp and feral, as you set the vial down gently on the table. You licked your lips as you stepped closer. His breath hitched as he stepped away from you, uncertain whether to be alarmed or aroused. You seized a clawed, calloused finger and brought it to your lips to suck. Eyes on his the entire time as you forced it deeper down your throat.

“This is…” he shivered, “well, it’s …” You dragged a nail down his chest, slowly raking it across his abs and pausing on the drawstring at his waist. Your eyes carefully latched on his as you sank to your knees before him.

“Relax. Let me?” A hand squeezed his thickly muscled thigh, the other traced patterns under his drawstring. He nodded. You grinned as the robe fell to the floor. He was half hard already, and the sight had you drooling. You scraped his thigh with your teeth as you drew closer to his length, stopping at the base where it retracted into his anatomy. You licked the tender skin under the skeletal plate and smiled as he hissed. You felt a giant hand on your head gently weave through your hair with clever fingers. Blunted claws scratched at your skull with silent urgency. Gingerly you lapped at the bead of moisture at the tip and gripped his length with your hand for a stroke. Tongue swirled along his head as you pumped your tightly gripped hand down his shaft. With each stroke you took more of him in your mouth, lapping your tongue underneath the head before you released with a pop. A trail of spit followed your mouth and you smirked at his desperation in his eyes. A short series of clicking and purring ensued as he looked down at you with shock.

With both hands you twisted as you stroked a path for your mouth to follow. Your tongue lagging behind to devour the droplets of precome dripping from him. An errant hand left to snake around his thigh to grip his ass as you worked. You kneaded the thick muscle and pushed him closer to you, relishing the way his claws dragged down your neck. It made you ravenous. You stroked faster, elated with the obscene slurping and pops you made and the primal groans that escaped him. Soon his hips bucked into you in time with your bobbing head. He started pulling your hair with gentle urgency as he bucked, whispering gentle encouragement. You felt the base stiffen further. Your fisting became erratic as he lurched to steady a hand on the table behind him. The steam gushes at the back of your throat. You swallow what you can before another rope of gushes into your mouth. You grip his ass and thigh as he unleashes a third into you before he softens and falls out of your mouth. You wipe some from your chin as it drips to the floor, noticing the sweetness of it before his hands cage your ribs and lift you up as if you were paper on the desk behind him. He rubs your back in long strokes and cards clever fingers through your hair.

“That was… nice. Wonderful. You shall be repaid for that. You won’t leave this place until you are, dearest one,” he whispered into shell of your ear. You shivered with excitement.

[marahuyomae]

The Duchess's Hope [Inazuma Eleven]

Prologue: Fuck you Monday, Hell is just a Sauna

[Previous] Series Masterlist [Next]

The cool morning breeze wafts through the hallways on this early Monday. The sound of footsteps and chatter can be heard throughout the busy hallway. Groups of students are mingling, but I walk alone, rushing to get to the library to help Mrs. Fukawa. My plans are forgotten when I bump into someone, lose my balance, and land on my bottom with a thud.

When I accidentally collided with someone, I quickly looked up to find myself face-to-face with Kidou Yuuto, the infamous soccer club captain at Teikokou. Everyone around him treated him as an authority figure. Any attempt to cross him resulted in severe punishment - not only that, but injuries or bullying among soccer club members were met with the Commander's wrath, which everyone knew was due to his pride in the team. After the collision, I swiftly shuffled backward on the ground, but Kidou-san proved too quick for me, grabbing hold of my ankle and dragging me to where he lay. My body trembled with fear, and I tried to run away, but he held me firmly, refusing to let go.A feeling of helplessness and despair took over me, with darkness enveloping my senses. I mustered up all my courage, staring defiantly back at Kidou-san, trying to maintain a carefree and casual demeanor. Despite my efforts, his green lenses failed to conceal the anger and irritation written all over his face. His grip on my ankle tightened even more, causing visible veins to pop up all over his face, further emphasizing his intense emotions.

More and more students started to gather around the commotion, whispering to each other without caring who might be listening and passing judgment on the two of us with cold stares. A thick tension permeated the air as time seemed to stand still. As someone who preferred to stay out of the public eye because of my unappealing personality and lack of charisma, I knew that my quiet days of anonymity were over if I didn't apologize.

"Kidou-san, I am truly sorry for my careless actions. It was not my intention to hurt you in any way," I replied, bowing my head and avoiding his glance. "Please accept my deepest apologies."

A moment of silence ensued before a familiar, deep voice spoke up, saying, "Follow me." The voice held my wrist tightly, seemingly to prevent me from escaping, even though I had no plans to do so. Instead, he pulled me along as he led me to a destination, which I assumed was Kageyama's office. There was an uneasy silence present throughout our walk, which made it difficult to maintain my doll-like expression. As we walked, several students gave us glances of either disgust or concern. Those who were disgusted were upset that they didn't get to be with their much-admired "Kidou-Chama," while those who were concerned were worried that I might not make it out of there alive.

As we approached the pair of heavy black iron doors, Kidou-san instructed me to stay put, which I swiftly obeyed. I simply stood there and prepared myself for whatever consequences awaited me. Although some may find this excessive, especially considering I had already rendered a sincere apology, this was none other than Kageyama's favorite disciple we were talking about. Kageyama values every member of the soccer club as if they were exquisite porcelain creations adorned with gold and silver. As a result, anyone who interferes with his disciples can anticipate facing significant retribution.

It seemed like no matter what, my time here at Teikokou was coming to an end. I had broken two rules, both of which were grounds for expulsion, and I was sure that I was in trouble. Not only had I gotten detention, but I was probably going to get expelled twice - if that was even possible. And to top it all off, my older brother would be disappointed that I had squandered my scholarship. But I was determined not to let him bribe anyone again, as that had gotten me into a bad situation before.

[marvol0]

OUTSIDER (3) || Rabastan Lestrange WTM

Series Synopsis: When the truth comes out about the future inside the walls of Hogwarts, on the first night back in 1977, what will happen for those involved with the chaos that ensued?

Secrets outed, Lies revealed and true intentions determined.

Pairing: Rabastan Lestrange x Fem!Regulus Black

Notes: Reunions, meetings, short chapter.

𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒, the future generation moved to be with their respected families while Hermione Granger started a discussion with Professor McGonagall.

Harry cautiously stepped towards the Gryffindor table, the eyes of His father friends as well as his mothers and Grandparents were staring at him in wonder. He took a deep breath through his nose, wondering how facing the younger version of his parents could be more terrifying than facing a Dark Lord.

By the time he released the breath he was standing in front of the seventeen year old versions of Lily Evans and James Potter. The group stared at each other, soaking up the others features, before the youngest Potter boy jumped into Lily's arms. 

The young woman tightened her arms around the boy- Her son- as she heard him sniffle from her shoulder, soon the two had another pare of limbs encasing them. James had been shocked that he had a son with the woman he had been crushing on since second year, he had kept the crush a secret up until his fifth year when he gained enough confidence to speak to her instead of the shy smiles he usually sent her.

Ron Weasley had been watching his best mate reunite with his parents from his spot between his own, who were delighted to have more children, Bill and Charlie wrapped around each of his legs, after they had caught up they had spotted the Potters watery reunion. Looking at their sons sad smile Molly and Arthur knew something must have happened to the young couple.

When they asked him about it, all the ginger boy could reply with was a comforting smile, telling them every thing will be shown in the memory movies.

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott regally walked over to their parents who were seated next to one another, greeting them the proper way before the two boy jumped on their respected mothers who accepted the hugs gratefully, their fathers let their lips twitch up into a small smile at the domestic sight.

The Greengrass family look similar to that of the Malfoy's and Notts' except Aden Greengrass, Daphne's father, joined in with the group hug. They talked about how Daphne was doing before asking about their youngest daughter.

Lastly, Atlas was shitting himself.

The boy had not known who half of his family up until a few days ago, finding out he was related to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black as well as the Most Ancient and Noble House of Lestrange was a shock to the system to say the least.

The only family he had known had no screws left in their heads at all, so seeing them all standing together- Regal as ever- he was indeed, Shitting Himself. The sight of the Black family together was an intimidating sight, in his own generation there was only one Black left and he had been in Azkaban most of his life, so Sirius Black also had some screws loose.

The Lestrange-Black boy straightened his back before strolling in a careless manner, that still radiated power, over to the two powerful families. 

Regulus was the first to move, seeing as Rabastan was staring at his son in amazement, holding her hand out to pull the boy into her embrace. She moved her head to Atlas' ear before whispering quietly...

"I am so sorry my darling." 

Regulus knew she wouldn't be there for his life, hearing his age he would be born in the next two years, but the woman had a plan. A plan that would hopefully help her étoile précieuse to grow up in a peaceful world.

"You helped us defeat him mother, you did it." Atlas whispered back, he hadn't known she had been so young when she had thought about sacrificing herself, but he was proud of her. He always would be.

Once Regulus pulled away, Atlas was dragged into a hug by Rabastan. It was unusual to him that the man who had always been insane felt so comforting, it was nice to finally have a family.

[uesmaxwolfe]

And Then There Was Nothing... || Self-Para

Max moaned into Sebastian’s mouth, just as their lips pulled apart. “Fuck... Do you really have to go...? Must thou leave me so unsatisfied?” he said with a chuckle, the wicked grin splattered on his face while paraphrasing Shakespeare, his tongue licking his lips as he watched the other putting his clothes back on. Some babble about him just making a quick trip home so that his father wouldn’t nag him about it and he would be meeting him later, to continue their steamy weekend, which had started at that party on some mutual friend’s yatch. Out of everything Sebastian said, the only thing that registered in Max’s brain was that they were going to meet again later that day, and that was all he cared about. One more sinful kiss soon ensued, before he slapped the man’s ass playfully and let him go on his way.

@smythe-in-manhattan​

While he busied himself to get ready to go as well, Max couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, which had been there almost throughout the weekend, and from some time now. Sebastian Smythe. That skinny, gorgeous boy, with green eyes that feel to go through your soul, the boy who had been the only one to even bother to come up and greet him on that first day back in freshman year, when all the other kids looked at him and whispered, after seeing that one of his fathers was wearing a dress. His only friend all the way through junior high school, the one who had been his first sexual full experience with a boy, since he had already had them with other girls, and have had blowjobs and handjobs from some closeted boys. The first one he shared his first drink with. The one he shared his first line of coke with. 

Their relationship wasn’t probably the most healthy one, but to them it was the most real thing they had in the world. In those moments they were together they were happy, careless, even more recently, with that dreadful Gossip Girl instagram account constantly on their backs, which seemed to appear everywhere they went, to report whatever it was they were doing. They were free. Sebastian was Max’s best friend, his lover, his fuck buddy, his confidant. And the more time it passed, the more it  weighed on Max how much he felt about the other boy, even if he was well aware that his father didn’t approve of their friendship, because Max had always been deemed as a bad influence for Sebastian, which often made both choke with sudden laughter.

With the high of their weekend together still pumping through his veins, sex, drugs and alcohol included, plus a pesky ‘feelings’ situation on going, Max skipped out of yatch and Uber’ed his way back home. “Morning!” he announced himself brightly as he stepped through the door of his house on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, taking his shoes off at the door before running into the kitchen. “Darling! Finally honoring us with an appearance?” Roy said, then pulled him in his arms and hugged him. “Not for long. I’m meeting Sebastian later. Where’s dad?” he asked, as he served himself some orange juice, and also grabbed a croissant, then chewed on it while Roy said he had to make an early run to the office. 

“On a Sunday? Jesus... What a work-aholic” he said and chuckled, then wiped his mouth and was about to head up the stairs, when Roy stopped him. “I thought you had already your time at the party with Sebastian. And now you’re meeting him again- Is there something you may want to tell your dad, Maximiliam?” He made an ‘ugh’ face when he heard his full name laid out like that, to which Roy chuckled, then he walked back to where his dad was and grinned. “Maybe” he said simply, then kissed him on the cheek and flew his way up the stairs and into his room.

Later that day, Max stood across the hotel where Sebastian and he had taken to spend their nights together lately, when they didn’t feel to go to a party, and simply to be alone, in private, out of the sights of any parents, whether they were accepting, or just plain annoying. There was this park on the sidewalk across the hotel, and a bench that was their encounter spot before they went into the hotel, maybe grabbing a coffee to go from the Starbucks at the corner at times, and with a room permanently rented under Max’s name. When you had the money, they were usually no questions asked. He looked at his watch and noticed Sebastian was running late, which was unusual for him, someone who always like everything to be perfect and controlled, starting with the hour when they were supposed to meet.

One hour...

“Are you really going to leave me here, all wind up? That’s cruel, Smythe ;) “

One hour and a half...

“Hey. Is everything okay?”

Two hours...

“Okay, I’m oficially concerned. Where the fuck are you, Sebastian?”

Two hours and a half...

“Fuck this shit” he muttered under his breath, then stood up and hailed for a cab, one stopping immediately for him to step in, and he gave him Sebastian’s address to go to. Since you could always count on the Manhattan’s traffic, it took them another half an hour to get to the building where the Smythes live, and he made haste as he walked inside and asked to be led to the floor they lived in, since it was a private card kind of lift that the building had. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolfe. But I was asked to tell you that Mr. Sebastian Smythe no longer lives here. He and his father took a cab to the airport, almost an hour ago.”

Max would later recall how those words sometimes came to his dreams in later years, almost to haunt him in a way. He stood still for what felt like a long time, then he swallowed the lump in his throat and simply nodded. “I see... Thanks” he said blankly to the desk clerk, then walked out of the building, where the cab driver was still waiting to get paid of his fare. For about two seconds, Max had the mind to ask the man to take him to the airport, to see if there was still time to know what the hell had happened, even if he had a slightest idea of what that was.

“Here” he said, slapping a couple of bills on the man’s hand, then threw his bag over his shoulder and walked away, leaving that building behind, as well as his life, or what what his life could had been with Sebastian Smythe.

------​

[keikakudori]

                 IT MATTERED LITTLE if Mayuri noticed the cold shoulder or not. It was petty and trivial, the silence, but it was also there to prove a point. No matter the restraints designed to entrap the power of the god, THOSE RESTRAINTS DID NOT NULLIFY IT. No, he was far too vast a being, full of a primordial strength that chewed away upon the restraints that remained in place only by a willingness on Aizen's own behalf. Power whispered through the air with every exhale from Aizen's lungs, almost thick enough to appear like violet mist if one were to look at him in the right fashion. Yet that was never to change.

                 He had always been powerful, yet there had been no difference in the end. Power had not been the goal; at least, not the ideal of personal power. His mind had turned towards other pursuits, had committed to variables that had likely never found themselves beheld by the maniacal scientist that stood nearby with such silent stillness. For what goals did Mayuri pursue things? Personal ones, certainly. Short-sighted. Aizen wondered over the years if whether the man had any ambition or long-term view. A question likely to never give an answer, and he did not feel like verbalizing such an inquiry. Not without a proper discussion to fall into place in the air between their mouths, and that remained wholly unlikely to ensue in a near permanent nature.

                 Farce or not, the silence remained something to prickle between the two of them. A silence that was tainted and cold. It was not the comfortable, companionable silence he had often dwelt in with the man he had named his silver shadow, but something harder, crueler. Silence could be an answer all its own, could it not? Never was Aizen a man to use his words uselessly; a fair hand at monologue he might have contained, but it was not the full summation of his character. When he had trapped the captains within Las Noches, there had been little surprise to find Mayuri amongst them. Yes, a man who could unwind the closure of the Garganta --- but not soon enough, certainly.

                 He could do little more than simply take in the appearance that had ever seemed of his nature; black upon white, designs fashioned to whorls or bars or something else altogether. Part of the brunet had to admit that the captain cut a striking figure by doing so; perhaps there was a trace of the peacock within the man. But it did not fool him; no, this was the poisonous plumage of a toxic creature. Virulent color palettes had but one simple message: do not touch me. Such was Kurotsuchi Mayuri. A man easily understood. Understanding, however, did not stir empathy within Aizen's breast.

                 Should those fingers ( and then some ) attempt to dig into this beast, however, then Mayuri would discover all too quickly that he was not singular in being a poisonous entity. True, the coloration of the traitor remained bland; brown eyed and brown-haired, Aizen did not befit the image of the poisonous nor of the divine. Yet how improbably the turncoat remained both in victorious degrees; to find closeness in the soul of the deity that was contained so neatly would remain an exercise in futility. There were no cracks to be found in the armor for inquisitive fingers to try delving into, for the nails to mine and widen. To attempt such with a beast such as the traitor would be an exercise in complete futility. To trespass upon the housing of the

                 One must heed the claws and fangs of the truly divine, the jutting spinal ridge that would flay open a careless hand, the needles of words that spilled like honey laden with toxins of such subtlety that there would never be panacea enough to recover from the violation of cruel syllables; such would remain the nature of their dynamic. One who was driven to discover, the other who had sought to learn and to create, a presentation of divergent pathways between the pair.

                 Stillness between them broke with his words and it animated the little menace once more; had Aizen not grown used to the stillness in the man he named his right hand, in the sheer stone-strong patience of Ichimaru Gin's personality when he chose to become STUBBORN, then there was a fair chance he may have been perturbed over the statuesque portrayal committed to by the smaller captain. As it was, he did little more than regard the garish picture exposed to that depth of aged amber.

                 In the wake of such words, Aizen allowed the silence to stretch like sinew once more. It did not last quite so long this time, yet the flavor did not change in the least. The solid foundation of distaste did not ease. How proud the beast, how deadened the stare of smoked topaz that took in the form of the captain when he tried to speak what was, perhaps, a fair counterpoint for ost.

                 ❝ Why would I have when it would never have accomplished a singular thing? ❞ he countered. ❝ You are sanctioned by the Central 46 and Yamamoto-soutaichou was more than willing to overlook your atrocities simply because they are all aimed in service of the Seireitei. Were it not for the fact that Urahara Kisuke extracted you from the Maggot's Nest, then you would have remained in there until your death. Of course, I must appreciate the Twelfth for many things; I learned much thanks to it. ❞

                 There were many things of interest in the Daireishokairo, after all. How many clues had he left behind for those left behind to discover, to attempt and piece together what they believed his plan to be. It was likely none understood it and with the falling of those that had known his true motives - no, he would never speak of those ideals.

                 The singular eye exposed did not move towards the fingers that moved. Let the man chronicle whatever input he may have received from the conversation; a clinical affair. Neatly labeled specimen jars. Accrued data. All of it did nothing but remain surface details. An artifice. Lines filled with color, but bore no life. Whatever the other acquired in his observation, it would remain flat and gauche; a garish concoction that would never be the revelation of the entirety of the brunet.

                 ❝ I did. For a long time. ❞

                 And then had come the fall. The nobility of Icarus soaring aloft upon his wings of wax, darting through the air with such freedom and ignoring the wisdom of his own father. The wax had melted and thus did the pride lead to folly. His sun was the moon and thus the moon had cast him down when loss had ensued. His hand had reached for the moon as he fell, as if to seek the embrace of those arms once more before the darkness would have swallowed him entirely.

                 And on the rocks below where the hungry waters waited, ruin had come to fruition. Yet ruin did not linger long. It had no power to any longer and never would again. The efforts of those empowered had come to naught, a sterile conclusion wrought by hands not their own. Never would the deity fall again from his position amongst the empty sky. And the moon was gone, set, never to rise again.

                 There remained no fear from the traitor of meeting the depths of mustard dullness, a cold understanding dwelling within the mind of the deity who stood so perfectly still himself now that he had chosen to remain so. Many may have flinched beneath the weight of such scrutiny, yet no single hair was turned beneath the weight of that observation. This man held no power over him. Whatever gadget he held meant nothing to Aizen. Let the other captain hold onto what was naught but a placebo. But if Mayuri of all people dared to try and tell him to practice what he preached, then Aizen would make it dreadfully clear those seals were only a courtesy on his own behalf. Binding was not something that

                 Or perhaps he'd try to punch those teeth down the man's throat.

                 He had yet to decide. Either option would be appealing, truth be told.

                 Familiarity, the saying went, bred contempt. And thus it remained that and nothing more. Distaste, something profound, yet the conversation did not pass easily between them, did it.

                 Gaze veering into the distance where powers played bright and hot upon mind's eye, it seemed as if Aizen had not heard those words and the singular nature of the tone. No flinch ensued at the sound of voice or of clicked teeth that sounded perturbing on some level, perhaps. His mind thought of bone striking bone. Not teeth, not wood --- a sound more hollow than organic. A detail noted distantly; sensory input was a vast thing after the years he had spent in the dark, near overwhelming. Sound and sight and hearing and touch all swam with sensation, though taste was little more than cold, dead copper sitting upon his tongue.

                 The flickering motion of those eyes was no disturbance at all.

                 Only slowly did the focus of umbre turn towards the brighter gold, lid almost entirely shut and closing off the depth of liquid chocolate that bore an emptiness which could never be sated. On that day, a hole had bloomed into his torso as he transcended to a new level. It had not broken his power. A tilting of his own head ensued, the movement wooden, stilted. It lacked life. Vitality. There was no more the fire that had once enshrouded those powerful shoulders. Aizen Sousuke stared at Kurotsuchi Mayuri with the empty gaze of one soulless.

                 Of one dead.

                 ❝ Are you insulted that you were not consulted upon it? I am here, helping, because I was forced to despite my unwillingness to provide aid. Consult with the soutaichou if you have a complaint over my being here. Of course, you must consider one thing; if you were all competent and capable enough of halting the Quincy under your own power, then I would not be standing here now. It is your incompetence that has seen the man who now leads the First extract me from the depths of Muken. Were you as capable as you so often have claimed to be, then my intervention and power would not be a necessity towards your survival. ❞

                 Tether or kindness, it did not matter. He had no care towards it. What was kindness now? What was a tether? Both were lost, ashes of ideals burning still upon his hands, the fires of his own ambition and pride little more than dead white coals in the now extinct bonfire of his very soul. Yet old habits still held true; Aizen evaded the question neatly, rebuttal strong, and thus deflected without thinking twice about it. He was sure that Gin would have been pleased by that interlock of words. Easy to press it elsewhere.

                 Sideways his own gaze flicked, to his right, before that middle distance became the focus once more. He could feel them, out there, those small souls that had become familiar. How quickly his mind swept across battlefield and through the skies above. But he would not speak again until spoken to.

Mayuri wasn't accustomed to a well-timed "cold shoulder"... but that didn't mean he wasn't entirely oblivious to the concept, either.

It was something he's observed time and time again (from within the comforting confines of his division and when forced to face the world at large, of which he's deemed as "civic duty" and nothing but.) with no reason other than, simply put, that it was available. Be it behind the many optics of his various cameras -- planted in either hard to reach places or, more frequently, places one would never even think to look -- or from idle surveillance, a few "social cues" have been accurately measured.

If, for one reason or another, Aizen decided to keep this little "farce" of his going for... ah, well, however long that he wished? Then so be it. Mayuri saw no point in arguing for any other path to steer the either of them towards.

He was a patient "man", one capable of boundless strides within the topic if necessary.

As such, the Twelfth found himself at ease without further poking and prodding. Should an opportunity lay itself bare at his very feet, however... he also saw it befitting to, quite literally, dig all ten (and then some; he's no stranger to needing an "extra" hand, so the next best plan of action would be to make his own.) of his fingers into that slim opening and pry it open like he would a gigantic, underwater clam for its emblematic pearl. There wasn't any doubt within Mayuri's mind that, as always, the ends justified the means. No matter what.

"..."

Aizen's silence did little to Mayuri's psyche, more-so reaching him and then...? Essentially, all that it seemed to have left in it was a second wind that was already near completion. With every inch it covered, drawing closer and closer towards the scientist, it dwindled more and more in size. By the time it actually managed to reach the tips of the captain's toes, it's already been rendered null and void.

In response to the man's perceived "rebellion" (mayuri didn't mind. didn't care, honestly. he knew how to wrench out proper results when he needed them the most. now was not a time that called for desperation.) and his lack of participation, Mayuri returned in kind. He, too, fell silent with his eyes merely preferring to do the rest of the hypothetical "work"-- he stared with an expression that felt more appropriate to that of a mask. It lacked any prior commitments, any obligation for a goal.

His overall body language, too, fell motionless. Both of his arms lay flat at his sides, fingers frozen in position of what could've been mid-type but never fully proceeding. Should closer inspection be spared, in addition, his breathing was as still as still could be. There were no hints of functioning lungs, normally implicated with the subtle rising and sinking of chest.

It seemed, for as long as it could go, that Mayuri had reestablished himself as nothing short of a mannequin.

"--Ah."

Suddenly, life!

All at once did Mayuri's entire "person" return to normal. He's breathing again and, of course, he's moving once more. Fingers were quick in their ministrations, immediately bending and performing by way of a well-trained typist's. Information's back to being gathered (took him long enough. mayuri was starting to wonder if he preferred the sound of silence over aizen's baritone.) and entered twice the speed it's being absorbed. Both of his hands remained at his sides, stabbing and jabbing at nothing but the air as his head slowly fell into a tilt.

"It appears that you were trying to insult me," came the droning observation, and it's not quite a response. It didn't have to be. Was Aizen intending for a conversation, after all? Most likely not. Mayuri didn't mind. He didn't like conversations much, anyway. "I propose a secondary query for you to chew on as I obligate myself to the rest of your, hn, speech: if you were so displeased with my supposed conduct, should you or should you not have reported me?"

Typing stops, and it's just like before. His fingers freeze, and it looks uncomfortable.

He feels just fine, though.

"Practice what you preach, is all that I'm saying."

Head turned, abruptly cutting off any potential "familiarity" from forming. Obviously, he held no issue with direct eye-to-eye contact (no, he doesn't mind the idea of meeting eyes with another. rather, he just knows he has better things to scrutinize whilst conducting renaissance elsewhere. multitasking was an absolute must in his profession.) but, also, was there any point in fulfilling such? Hardly. He's already on the prowl for something else-- if he were made to dedicate all of his time to just one thing at a time... then that was needlessly cruel.

Mayuri was incapable, fully unleashed at the idea of taking on several projects at once. That was who he was-- that was what he was.

"Hmm," he hummed, head now turning another way. Was there anything for him here? Maybe, maybe... All that it took to find even the tiniest morsel of a bit of exploration. "Hah... Is that why, by the way, that you are refusing to answer my question?"

He clicks his teeth, and it's a sharp (that's not what teeth sound like.) noise. It's almost like wood hitting against wood but... that's not what wood sounds like, either. Mayuri's eyes wander, rolling by Aizen without second thought only to, at the last second, snap back and land on him with pinpoint accuracy.

"It's a simple question."

[bonschai-moved]

i want to punch my anxiety!!! in!!! the face!!!

[rassvetsky]

Hi! First time doing this so I'm a bit nervous haha. As an idea maybe a meet cute with Eddie Munson as the reader being a part of the gang and they meet when, for an example, Steve and Robin need smth and reader either has it or helps them find it or smth. Just reader being a part of the gang and Eddie meeting them. Hope it gets you ideas!

Bonus points if you can make the reader a bit stupid and just a mess hahaha

Wish you well!

hi love, thank you so much for the request <3 it's quite short and rushed but i hope you like it! requests are always a blessing so you don't have to be nervous at all! have a wonderful day ^^ [bites you affectionately]

Culprit

eddie munson x gn!reader.

when you're brought to the hideout to meet this mysterious guitarist everyone's been gushing over for months, a small disaster ensues.

[1k] | clumsy!reader, meet-cute, dustin being paranoid, eddie being protective over his prized possessions, my poor english skills & mistakes you should definitely hmu about.

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated <3 not proofread.

When your friends brought you over to the Hideout to help set the stage before the show, you didn't plan on tripping over the thick cables connected to the amplifier and spilling your drink over the amp, not at all. And if you think about it, nobody ever trips on purpose- but Dustin was adamant about how Eddie, the guitarist whom they'd been trying to introduce you to for weeks, would definitely hate you forever for being so careless as you sat there, half-empty cup in your hands as your sad gaze met the heavy-looking equipment which wasn't buzzing with static the way it did before the incident. Steve stood over you, arms on either side of his torso with his mom mode turned on to a full, as Robin made her way towards the edge of the small stage to take a seat next to you.

"I'm pretty sure we can buy him a new one somewhere," she spoke, her voice barely over a whisper as you heaved a sigh. Dustin spoke before you could find a chance to, shaking his head feverishly. "Find something like that and come back before the show starts? Yeah, good luck! I accidentally tugged a bit hard on the tremolo of his guitar once and I swear, he tried to murder-"

"Jesus, just calm down, okay?" Steve finally intervened, his hand coming up to rest on Dustin's hair -disregarding his groans of protest which finally brought a half-smile on your lips- as he shrugged. Eddie might've been a terrible over-reacter at times, specifically if it was about things we had passion for, but surely, he wouldn't be that bad. "He'll be here in a few with the others. Yeah, he might hate you for it, but I'm sure he knows how to fix it or somethi- Oh, great."

"Why is my amp wet?"

Well, there goes Robin's master plan.

You turned around a bit at where you were seated, before jumping to your feet, palms clammy with anxiety as you watched the bundle of curls move side to side with each of his attempts at getting the amp to turn on. A bandana adorned the wild mess of his hair, big shiny eyes getting smaller with a rather adorable frown. When you finally managed to lift your gaze from the chains dangling from his jeans -strategically placed on the left side of his hips so that they wouldn’t scratch his guitar, you guessed-, a shaky breath escaped your lips. Although you were sure you could explain yourself, all of that courage slowly vanished when Dustin and Robin started tugging each other away from the future crime scene, a supportive smile on their lips. You returned your gaze to the boy before looking over at Steve, who only offered you a knowing look before walking over to the amp. "It's not that bad, right, Eddie?"

It was good to finally put a face to the name -which Dustin religiously talked about- but not like this. Not when you haven't even officially met him, and you were pretty sure he was going to hate your guts. "Just an accident!" you managed to blurt out in a meek manner, just as he started to speak while in the process of turning around. "Accident, really? It's Dustin, isn't it? I swear, if I get my hands on that little shrimp-"

He almost froze when he noticed you, right in front of him, realizing you were the one who spoke. Head tilting to the side slightly, as if he was studying you, knitting his brows as he raised one hand to get a hold of yours, to shake it. "Eddie Munson. May I ask who's the culprit, exactly?" he pointed out towards the amp, giving you enough time to take a deep breath before introducing yourself shortly, and getting quieter by the second. "It's me. I didn't mean to, though! I just tripped and- I'm very sorry, I'll pay for it."

Eddie met your eyes again, ignoring the way Steve's gaze was on both of you and the alarms blaring in his head were way too obvious to read, as he simply stared at you. His expression was far too unreadable, and you started to get uncomfortable- or scared, even, before his stoic scowl shaded off to a lopsided grin. "Did those dipshits scare you away from me, sweetheart?" he spoke, tone way softer than you thought it'd be like, as your eyes searched for Dustin and Robin in disbelief. "Jeff has a smaller spare in his car, I'll just ask him to fetch that. You'll pay if I can't fix it though." he trailed off, before offering you a wink and walking over to unplug the amp, leaving you speechless as you mindlessly followed him.

"So, you're not mad? Like, not at all?" you asked nervously, toying with the rings on your fingers. He just scoffed, rather playfully, before dangling the cord in his hand towards your direction. "If you didn’t seem as mortified as you are right now, I’d be. Lucky for you, I've been wanting to meet you for a while, so I’ll let this one pass." relaxing visibly upon his words, you nodded and brought your hands together on your back, shifting your weight between your two feet. "Well, thanks- I'll just join the rest, then." a smile tugged the ends of your lips upwards as you took a step backwards. "Good luck, Eddie."

"I hope you like the show, sweetheart."

As you dragged your feet towards the bar where your friends were waiting, you noticed Nancy grin towards you while she set her purse down on the bar. "You finally met Eddie, huh?" nodding slightly with your eyes following the curly metalhead, you took a deep breath and smiled, unknowing to the fact that you'd come here far too often from that point onwards to cheer for him after his shows, often with your fingers intertwined on your way to his van together afterward.