#he has to feel useful. hes so used to having to help to take care of to do

[tealvenetianmask]

I want to talk about a kind of troubling reaction I've been seeing to both Apology Tour and Ghostfuckers among parts of the fandom. The person is usually a reaction youtuber but sometimes someone writing on tumblr or twitter. They say something along the lines of "oh, I'm glad Blitz is being forced to confront his crimes/traumas/pain. This is the only way he will finally heal."

That's not how healing works.

I know that reaction youtubers don't always have the most developed takes because they're . . . you know . . . reacting in the moment. But I think it's still worth talking about.

I'm going set aside the people who seem to believe that Blitz needs to be punished for his crimes, and address those who genuinely think that getting a tidal wave of his own trauma in his face is what he needs to heal.

There's an attitude in contemporary culture that traumas are something people need to confront. As in, put on a brave face and dive in like a big boy. I blame capitalism, rugged individualism, and all the pieces of media that tie up a character's arc neatly by having them confront their darkest fears and insecurities. It can put a nice bow on things, but it isn't really how healing from trauma works.

Apology Tour:

Blitz gets confronted by a shit ton of people who hate him, at least some of whom are his exes, who he feels he's personally damaged. The decor and party games are all about killing and torturing him. Verosika confronts him about how much he hurt her. Oh, and then he sees the love of his life, who he's just recently pushed away, making out with another guy- proof, in his eyes, that Stolas is happier without him. And this all reflects the underlying fears he already has about who he is as a person (shown to us by Truth Seekers).

So what was the takeaway? Blitz came to the conclusion that he doesn't always want to be like this (good, but like . . . worth this much pain?). He flops on his steering wheel (relatable). He stops trying to reach out to Stolas (uh oh . . . ). He spends A MONTH spiraling in his own misery and making a mess of all aspects of his life until he's dragged out of it by a caring friend.

The party doesn't empower Blitz to change. It knocks him down and fucking traumatizes him (seriously, images of Stolas from the party show up later in his trauma reel) too much for him to be able to do actually work toward said change. I suspect that if left to his own devices, he would have kept spiraling for quite a while longer. It's one thing to want to change, and another to try to do so alone in the aftermath of a pile-on.

Ghostfuckers

After Blitz drags himself out of his hole of cheesy ice cream and despair to "play sex ghosts" (escapism, again, still knocked down by Apology Tour), infester demon Rolando picks him out as an easy target and assaults him, yes, assaults, with horrific images of his worst traumas and fears.

Not to state the obvious, but Rolando isn't interested in helping Blitz heal. He's trying to kill the guy. He wants to engulf Blitz in his trauma to the extent where he's consumed by it and loses the will to fight back. And as some excellent posts by others have pointed out already, he very likely would have succumbed if not for Millie's support.

Millie helps Blitz get through the onslaught by telling him about what makes him great and how he's improved her life and showing him love and care. And by literally beating the fucking infester out of him. Because there's someone in him who's hurting him, who's re-traumatizing him against his will. She takes him away from the reel of horrible memories.

So . . . do I think that confronting traumas can play a role in healing? Sure. But only if it's consensually (which neither of these situations are) and when the person trying to heal is ready. And most likely in small doses. No one's going and successfully confronting every horrible thing that's ever happened to them in one go.

And in my humble opinion, it's not going to work (for anyone, but especially not for Blitz) alone and without a healthy dose of kindness and compassion (both external and internal).

Blitz has a long road ahead of him toward healing, and it's going to be hard work on his part but also require love and support from the people in his life.

In a wonderful moment near the end of Ghosfuckers, Blitz and Millie work together to get Blitz's wrecked van unstuck and push it back through the portal into Hell. I love it because it's so simple and it kind of tells us everything we need to know. This sweet and salty gremlin has a lot of work ahead of him, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

[pieflavorpie]

My unpopular opinion is that i dont enjoy bards Lament. At all. It is objectively good, well performed with appropriate buildup. However, I am a child with an absentee father, and i have had similar thoughts to him before, and i used to have a friend that went down his path. I have seen and experienced every point of view. And what that was isnt justice. Its not calling people out, or making them realise how they have hurt him.

Its a very broken, depressed man who finally snaps and burns down the bridges with his friends. No, VM never asked for Scanlan's mum's name because that's not something they do. If you can list me 5 times where the team ask questions about peoples backstory [before Bards Lament] BEFORE it became relevant, then you have successfully proved me wrong. Anything revealed is either probed out of them as part of recon, or willfully offered as a piece of friendship.

[E.g: Keyleth talking about her aramente, Pike's history with Grog vs Percy's backstory being revealed after they get invited to dinner with the Briarwoods and Grog talking about his pack when its revealed his uncle has the vestige.]

And he never offered any of this information. There have been several times where VM have shown concern and actively asked how hes doing just for him to lie and shrug them off. They prank him while he was asleep because they think hes a fairly centred person who will enjoy an attempt to bring things back to normal and they were drunk.

And yes, they are mean to him sometimes, because they are a group of assholes. They never disguise themselves as anything else. Vax and Percy's friendship post-briarwoods for a good while is based in distrust and self loathing, respectively. Everyone has moments where they say mean shit to Grog [except Pike] because he cant understand it.

And the "without his songs hes just a guy" comment or however it was phrased was a tactical comment. Because he would be. He doesn't have any sort of weapon beyond Mythcarver which he refuses to use, and he doesn't have anything else he can use to support or fight. The same applies to Keyleth without her nature magic, it applies to Percy without his guns, it applies to Grog when people are out of range.

And no, I don't blame him for snapping when he woke up. I doubt taking a -4 to any rolls made would translate to a Happy Peachy character in-story. And all of his internalised misery finally coalesces in his tiredness. But what happens isn't good. It isn't progress. It is showing everyone a wound that has been tearing open over months, and then promptly storming out.

And his whole "I didn't want my daughter to see me like this." Isn't some Grand Show of how much he cares, it shows him as fucking selfish. My dad being weak is what drove him away, his insecurity stopping him from getting help from my family. That line of thinking is what makes him a sad, lonely man rotting in a flat after abandoning many families like my own.

That man in real life was strong, a brilliant teacher of martial arts. A true marvel to see and train with. He had a certain charisma to him, but he had his shortcomings. And when his partner got too close to them, he'd hold them tight to his chest and scurry away, only coming back for the drunk sex and eventually leaving entirely. Having enough distrust in his heart to claim any unwanted children to be illegitimate.

Now, Scanlan is nowhere near as bad as him, but there are similarities. And enough that I feel my word has weight when I say, if I were Kaylie, I would not want to travel with him. If he truly wanted to be closer to her and do good for her, he'd get better first. And to get better, you need people. Plural. You cannot depend on one person. And that person can absolutely not be your own fucking child. I'm not saying he should've stayed with vox machina, but he should've stayed with a group. A group of adults that could support him. And honestly I feel like so far from my watching of CR, his epilogue with kaylie is the most unrealistic character development possible. I know she's supposed to be rough and hardy, but I refuse to believe that girl would not be breaking under her father's bleeding desperation for validation. And I definitely refuse to believe that she could actually help him to the point he'd gladly leave her on another continent while he talked to the people he'd snapped at.

Anyway, fuck dickhead dads who don't get actual help. Especially fuck them when they start depending on their children for them to be a good person.

For those who do not know. Scanlan's departure from the party in the stream wasn't as... friendly. It was kind of an ugly break-up. It came from Sam wanting to do some unexpected twist with Scanlan's character and it led to a very emotional moment. That he did not feel validated, that he did not feel appreciated and that he was considered a joke by the group.

And it came down to one phrase from Scanlan to the group: "What is my mother's name?" and when nobody was able to answer the question. Scanlan left.

However, interesting little tid-bit that might help understand this change. which comes from one of the Q&A. which is no longer up because... uhm... a whole other Drama I am not here to explain.

And what Sam said in that Q&A is that there WAS one way in which Scanlan would have stayed.

And it was Pike. who wasn't there at the time (technically was as an NPC, but since Ashley wasn't there, it's the same thing), but which Sam said was the only person who could change his decision.

And what has Pike done the entire season? BE that person who supported Scanlan in his darkest moment, and who deflated the situation probably without meaning to. And so he is able to leave the party in much better terms.

A shame because the emotional rollercoaster that it involved will be missed, but hey, it's cool to see what Sam meant by saying Pike was the one person who could stop Scanlan walking out of the party like he did

[writetheidea]

In the Quiet of Us

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. This one was more of a spur-of-the-moment idea, but I hope you still find it enjoyable. As always, I have anonymous ask available for those who would like to express their opinion anonymously.

Pairing:  Lando Norris x named!female character

Plot: Lando Norris learns to navigate his girlfriend's hesitation with physical affection, patiently helping her open up and show love in her own quiet, touch-starved way.

Tag: fluff.

Word count: 1697

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

The girlfriend has a name as I wasn’t able to write this without a name, I apologize, I made it a shorter name so it can be skimmed over. There is no physical description of them.

Lando Norris had always been an affectionate person, and anyone close to him would tell you the same. Whether it was a warm hug after a tough day or a playful nudge to break the silence, Lando found comfort in touch. Friends and family alike knew he’d be the first to throw an arm around your shoulders, squeeze your hand for reassurance, or wrap you in a bear hug when you needed it most. For Lando, physical closeness wasn’t just a part of life—it was his language, one he was fluent in and spoke without hesitation.

But when it came to Evie, Lando soon realized that physical affection wasn’t something she was used to. She wasn’t cold or distant—quite the opposite, actually—but there was a quietness to her, a shyness that kept her hands tucked in her lap rather than reaching out. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close to him; he could see the way her eyes softened when he touched her, how her breath would hitch when he leaned in a little too close. But there was always a hesitation, a space she kept between them.

Their first date had been sweet and simple, a quiet dinner followed by a walk in the park. At one point, he’d offered her his arm, hoping she’d take it. But instead, she’d simply smiled and slipped her hands into her pockets. At the end of the night, as they said goodbye, he leaned in for a kiss. She blushed a deep pink, her hands clutching her purse as though it was the only thing keeping her steady. Her hesitation caught him off guard. He’d pulled back, a soft smile on his face to cover the moment’s awkwardness, but she didn’t move away. It was as though she wanted to be closer but didn’t know how to reach for him.

As the weeks passed, Lando began to notice the small ways Evie responded to his touch. She wouldn’t reach for his hand, but she’d linger if he held it. She wouldn’t initiate a hug, but once he pulled her into his arms, she’d hold on tight, pressing her face into his chest like she was grounding herself in his warmth. If he brushed her cheek with his thumb or let his fingers graze hers, her cheeks would flush, her lips parting in a soft, unsure smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close—it was just that she wasn’t sure how to be.

It stung a little at first. Lando had always been so open with his affection, so ready to give, but he quickly realized that Evie just wasn’t used to it. And as he got to know her, he could see how deeply she cared for him in all the ways that didn’t involve touch. She’d make him laugh until his stomach hurt, stay up late just to talk about their days, remember every small detail he shared with her. He saw kindness in her every action, even in her hesitance. And whenever he held her, no matter how shy she seemed, she never pulled away.

She wasn’t rejecting him; she just wasn’t sure how to express her feelings through touch. But that didn’t stop him from being patient, from offering her the space she needed while still trying to show her how much he cared in his own way.

Then, as the months passed, Lando started noticing something else. A pattern, little signs that showed she was trying to be close in her own quiet ways. She’d poke his shoulder after a joke or hold her hand up for a high-five with a shy smile, only to linger a second too long. These gestures became more frequent—small touches, like a light brush of her fingers over his, the faintest hint of a hand on his arm. It dawned on him, in the sweetest way, that this was Evie’s version of physical affection. A high-five, a gentle nudge, an extra glance over her shoulder as he watched her laugh with his family. Each small touch felt like her way of reaching out, even if it didn’t look like much to anyone else.

And Lando loved it. Every high-five, every poke on his shoulder felt like a step forward, like she was learning how to show what she felt in her own way. He noticed that these gestures would come at the sweetest moments—after they’d had a laugh, or when she was watching him with that soft, shy smile of hers, or during the quiet times when they were just being near each other. He realized that Evie wasn’t distant at all. She was just... a little touch-starved, perhaps too used to holding back.

So he decided he’d help make up for all the love she hadn’t had, all the closeness she never felt she could ask for. He started pulling her close more often, wrapping her in warm hugs, brushing kisses over her temple whenever he could. She’d always hesitate at first, that little spark of nervousness in her eyes, but then she’d melt into his arms as if they were the safest place in the world. And every time, he’d whisper soft words of affirmation, making sure she knew how much he loved her, how happy he was just to hold her.

---

One afternoon, while they were sitting together in silence, Lando reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Evie’s ear. She looked at him, her eyes soft and a little uncertain, and he couldn’t help but smile. He liked the way she looked at him, like she was always just on the verge of saying something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing over her cheek.

Evie turned pink, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I... I’m not good at this, Lando,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being close... I’m just not sure how to... I don’t want to mess it up.”

Lando’s heart ached at the sadness in her voice. He reached out, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Evie, you don’t have to know how,” he said softly, his voice filled with love. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me love you. Let me hold you.”

She met his gaze, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and slowly, she leaned into his touch, allowing him to pull her close. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, as if he were the only steady thing in her world.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice so soft, he almost couldn’t hear it. “For being patient with me.”

“You’re worth every second,” Lando murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He meant it with all of his heart.

---

As time passed, Evie began to open up in small, quiet ways. She started to initiate small gestures, things she’d never done before. She would reach for his hand when they watched a movie, her fingers gently curling around his. She would rest her head on his shoulder, her breath soft against his neck. Each small touch was a quiet declaration of her love, her way of showing him that she was learning how to trust in the closeness they shared.

One morning, as Lando was making breakfast, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind. He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the warmth of her embrace. But then he relaxed, covering her hands with his and smiling as his heart swelled. They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other, and for the first time, Lando felt like they had finally found a rhythm together—one that didn’t need words, one that was just about being there for each other.

Each day brought something new—a gentle touch, a small kiss, a hesitant hug. She would press a kiss to his cheek, rest her head on his chest as they lay together, ask him to hold her on days when she felt vulnerable. Every gesture made his heart swell, and he made sure she knew how much he cherished each one. With every forehead kiss, every squeeze of her hand, he let her know that her love was a gift, never a burden.

---

In the quiet moments that followed, Lando never stopped showing Evie how much he loved her. With every soft kiss on her forehead, every gentle squeeze of her hand, he let her know that her love was a gift, one he treasured deeply. And in return, Evie began to understand that love didn’t need to be loud or perfect—it just needed to be there, in every little gesture, in every quiet moment they shared.

One quiet evening, after a long day, they found themselves on the couch, wrapped up in each other and a warm blanket. The TV played softly in the background, but neither of them paid much attention. Evie was nestled against Lando’s side, her fingers tracing slow patterns over his hand, her head resting against his shoulder. He felt her breath even out, and he looked down to find her gaze soft and peaceful, a contented look he was coming to cherish. It was a peaceful silence, one that spoke volumes.

After a while, Evie lifted her head and looked up at him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Do you think I’ll ever be as good at this as you are?” she asked, her voice filled with uncertainty.

Lando gave her hand a gentle squeeze, smiling at her with a warmth that held no expectation, only love. “You’re already everything I need, Evie,” he said simply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just as you are.”

She leaned back against him, her fingers curling around his as she closed her eyes, content. And for the first time, they didn’t need words to feel how much they meant to each other. They had found their own way, and it was perfect.

In that silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, they both knew that love could be quiet, soft, and yet, more than enough.

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part four

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Mattheo is in an awful mood after the party while Theo takes reader to the peony field.

Word Count: 4772

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Theo get into it. Reader overthinks for a little bit. Mentions of drugging? One mention of Y/n. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 I can't tell you how nervous I am to post this, I feel like it's not my best work. But regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you endlessly!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Did something happen last night between you and Mattheo?” Pansy asks, throwing the door open with an expectant look. Despite your low mood, you can’t help but crack a tiny smile at the sight of her—hair a tousled mess, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She’s the perfect picture of someone who had way too much fun last night.

“Is there any particular reason you’re asking?” You reply cautiously, eyes following her as she saunters over and slips into bed beside you. She gives the blanket a hard tug, leaving you to huff in irritation when she claims more than her fair share.

“Because I heard him and Veronica fighting. I didn’t catch much, but I did hear your name.” Pansy looks you over, taking in your rumpled clothes and tired eyes. You’re not in much better shape than she is, and she can't tell if it’s the lingering effects of last night’s drinks or the aftermath of whatever happened with Mattheo.

“Merlin,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed. You haven’t moved since Theo left about twenty minutes ago, and you’re not sure if you’ll find the energy to do so anytime soon. Honestly, the idea of staying curled up here is more tempting than you'd like to admit. “We got into it again last night.”

“Again?” Pansy raises an eyebrow, shifting to face you.

“Apparently, he does care.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm and frustration.

“He told you that?” Pansy shifts so quickly it’s as if you’ve shocked her. Both of you know very well that Mattheo isn’t the type to open up about what he’s feeling. Years of watching him around his parents taught you why—with how many times you had seen them scold him for even a flicker of emotion, it was no wonder he kept everything locked up.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling, “He said he wanted me to admit I have feelings for him too.” Pansy's eyes widen, her mouth falling open as she stares at you in disbelief.

“Feeling for him too?” She echoes, and you finally turn to meet her eyes with a weak nod. Your best friend sits there for a moment, studying your face carefully before choosing her next words. She knows she has a nasty habit of saying the first thing on her mind without considering that it might not be what you need to hear.

Pansy sits up, grabbing the pillow she was using and hugging it to her chest as she stares at you impatiently. She’s waiting to hear if you’ve finally told the boy you’ve been head over heels for, for years, that you like him too. “Well? Did you?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Please, tell me it’s for the reason I’m thinking.” She all but begs, her eyes wide with hope.

You let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know when I stopped having feelings for him, Pans. I didn’t even realize I’d lost them until he asked me to tell him I felt the same, and there was just...”

“Just..?” Pansy prompts gently.

A pause hangs between you as you search for the right words.

You hardly slept last night; your mind raced with thoughts of the past few months, trying to pinpoint when and how your feelings faded so quietly. You had liked Mattheo for so long, even convinced yourself that maybe you even loved him. But how could you truly love someone who was so closed off? Sure, he turned to you when he was struggling, but that didn’t mean he ever shared what he was feeling. He liked your presence and relied on you to be there whenever he needed support, but he never trusted you enough to truly let you in.

Not in the way you wanted, at least.

If he wasn’t comfortable with his own emotions, there was no way he would be able to handle yours. Maybe that was the heart of it—the realization that he would never fully open up to you, and that had kept you from falling in love with him. And maybe that was the best thing that could have happened, no matter how painful or uncomfortable it was to come to terms with at the beginning.

Then there was Theo. Who had promised to help you get over Mattheo, and from that moment on, he was there for you without hesitation. He held your hand whenever you needed it, and honestly, you had begun to lean on him a bit too much—being close to him had become your favorite feeling. He never made it feel like supporting you was a chore; instead, he made it seem like something he had always longed to do.

In truth, everything had changed for you. Spending time with Theo was no longer just a way to distract yourself from Mattheo; it became where you wanted to be. Being around him made you feel safe and accepted in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

And that was absolutely terrifying.

You sit up abruptly, fully facing Pansy, “When you said that you thought Theo would give me everything if I let him, did you mean that?”

“Babes,” she begins, sending you a soft smile. “I’ve always thought you would be good for Mattheo. You bring something out in him; he’s happiest when he’s around you. Veronica seemed to make him happy at first—” she adds with a snort—“but nowhere near the level you do.”

“But with Theo…” Pansy trails off. “I’ve never seen you so happy—and not the kind of happy you were with Mattheo. It’s not the relief of him not having a one-night stand or flirting with you a bit bolder at a party. It’s genuine happiness; you’re truly yourself. Theo brings out a different side of you, and you do that for him, too.”

Glancing over at the vase of red peonies, battling the tightness in your throat and the sting in your eyes. You decide you’d rather not spend the day in bed.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Since last night, Theo has been struggling to push away the thought that maybe the idea of you having feelings for him isn’t so far-fetched. Especially after you’d implied that the two of you were together to the girl who’d tried to flirt with him. The way you’d intertwined your fingers with his, staking a silent claim that he was off-limits, had left him reeling. There was no way you’d be so possessive if you didn’t feel the same. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself all morning.

And then there was the way you hadn’t been able to answer Mattheo about your feelings. Theo’s whole heart had been in his throat as he waited for you to tell Mattheo that you did have feelings for him, that you’d had them for years. But you hadn’t answered.

In a way, though, you had, hadn’t you? You’d pushed past Mattheo without a word and gone straight to him.

“Are you coming with us to Hogsmeade or not?” Enzo nudges Theo, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boys had all planned to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, a plan set firmly in stone since last weekend. But when Theo saw you this morning, he couldn’t hold back. On impulse, he asked if you wanted to spend some time together, suggesting—almost shyly—that he could finally show you where he’d been getting the peonies.

“No, I’ve got plans.” Theo shrugs, and Draco sends him an irritated look from the opposite couch.

“We made plans.” Draco huffs, clearly agitated with the change. He always hated it when the boys ditched at the last second.

“Something came up.” Theo sighs, hoping that he’ll let it go quickly. He’s well aware that Mattheo should be coming down the stairs at any second. Enzo had told them that he was taking forever to get ready, probably hungover from last night. 

“You mean your girl.” Blaise corrects, and Draco looks disgusted. His head swings back to look at Theo.

“You’re ditching us for her? Mate, that’s pathetic.” Draco scoffs. “She isn’t even your girlfriend.”

“She’s pretty damn close.” Blaise points out, and Theo tries his best to ignore the feeling that jolts through him when he thinks of you as his girlfriend.

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything—not that he would have—before Mattheo walks over to join the group. He claps a hand on Draco’s shoulder, only for Draco to shrug him off irritably. “C’mon,” Mattheo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the others rise, stretching and adjusting their robes, Theo remains seated, gaze fixed on the fireplace in front of him. Mattheo pauses, giving him a puzzled look, one brow lifting in question. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” Theo answers curtly, clearly uninterested in extending the conversation. The truth is, he hasn't spoken to Mattheo in quite a while, and when they do, it’s nothing but tension—a quiet frustration simmering beneath each exchange.

Mattheo’s curiosity sharpens. “Why not?”

“He’s got plans with his girl,” Draco interjects with a roll of his eyes, impatience seeping into his voice. “Now, can we go? We’ve waited long enough for you as it is.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Mattheo turns to face him fully, and Draco huffs when he realizes they’re not going to be leaving any time soon. “Your girl?”

“You know what he means.” Blaise interjects calmly, his eyes shifting to Mattheo as he watches tension coil through his stance.

Mattheo gives a casual shrug, though his jaw tightens. “No, Blaise, I really don’t.”

Theo huffs, rolling his eyes as he stands, making to push past. “Why the hell do you even care?”

Mattheo’s hand snaps out, stopping him mid-step. “You know why I care.”

Theo’s gaze darkens, voice low. “Oh, you mean because of your feelings for her?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Does your girlfriend know that you told Y/n you’ve always liked her?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over Mattheo’s shoulder, catching the shared looks between Blaise, Enzo, and Draco. There’s no shock in their expressions—only a knowing look as if they’d been bracing for this moment all along. It’s unsettling, the way they seem almost resigned, like they’ve seen the tension building between him and Mattheo from a mile away.

Mattheo scoffs, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice. “Did she go and tell you everything I said?”

Theo raises a brow, “No, I overheard you. But even if she did, what does it matter to you?”

Matteo narrows his eyes, “Because I care about her.”

“Bullshit. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have put her in that position last night.”

“I care about her more than you think.” Mattheo bites out, and the boys watch carefully as Mattheo takes another step forward.

“Right,” Theo scoffs, “You care so much you went and found yourself another girl.”

Theo sees it before Mattheo even speaks—the subtle shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to—”

“So you weren’t ready for her? But you were for Veronica? I don’t get it. You can’t just expect her to always be there when you finally figure out what you want.”

Mattheo laughs in disbelief, “I wasn’t waiting, I—”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” Theo’s voice sharpens. “You had years to tell her how you felt, and you didn’t say anything. Then you get a girlfriend, she starts spending time with me, and all of a sudden, you care? Leave her alone and quit messing with her.”

“I’m not fucking messing with her—”

“You are. You’ve been doing it for years.” Theo’s eyes flash with frustration, and suddenly he feels the urge to make it clear that he wants you—that he always has, and Mattheo isn’t the only one. “She deserves better than someone who can’t make up their mind. She deserves to be someone’s first choice.”

Mattheo’s expression hardens and his tone drops. “And that’s you?”

Theo doesn’t have the chance to answer, because Veronica’s shriek causes both their heads to snap in her direction, “Matty!”

Theo watches as Mattheo steps back, anger giving way to frustration, a quiet curse slipping from his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Veronica strides forward, pushing right past Blaise and Enzo without a second glance. Blaise shoots her an agitated look, irritation flashing in his eyes as she barrels through.

“I thought you said you guys were going to Hogsmeade.” Veronica smiles, reaching out to take Mattheo’s hand, but he subtly pulls away, dodging her touch with a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“We are.” He grumbles under his breath, but Veronica keeps smiling sweetly, unfazed, as if her boyfriend hadn’t just blatantly brushed off her attempt to hold his hand. Mattheo turns to leave, muttering something to the boys, likely a brief comment about their plans.

Theo watches as an agitated Mattheo strides out of the common room, with the boys trailing behind him. But the boys glance back at Theo, their expressions a mix of caution and confusion. Theo turns to leave as well, but Veronica’s voice stops him, soft and pointed, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You should tell your girlfriend that last night was a mistake,” she murmurs, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. “Mattheo thought she was me; you know how he gets after a few too many drinks.”

Theo thinks about correcting her, letting her know that he doesn’t really know what she means at all. From what he saw last night, Mattheo was tipsy—not that drunk—and Theo has had enough years of experience to tell the difference. But instead, he shrugs it off, deciding he’d rather find you than spend any more time in the common room.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Hogsmeade is that way.” You say, a bit confused, gesturing in the opposite direction as you walk beside Theo.

“I know.” He replies simply, his gaze flickering back to the trail that you’ve never gone down before. Honestly, you had no idea it even existed. It’s evident that this path isn’t used often, as moss and grass have claimed most of the walkway. Vibrant wildflowers dot the sides, their colors brightening the greenery around them. 

He’s been quiet for most of the walk, which feels strange; you’re not used to this side of him. The more time you’ve spent with Theo, the more he’s opened up—sharing memories of his late mum, the weight of his father’s expectations, and his hopes for the future. These walks, where you slowly unravel each other’s stories, have become your thing, something that only the two of you share.

You frown slightly, glancing at him as you try to piece it together. “But I thought you said you got the flowers from a shop.”

“I never said that.” Theo’s lips curve into that soft, gentle smile that never fails to send your stomach into a flutter. “I said I’d take you with me the next time I went to get some. I never said it was in Hogsmeade.”

It takes you a second, too enamored with the view in front of you for it all to click. The walk isn’t long, but as you continue down the path, you spot a patch of red ahead. It stands out against the greenery, a cluster of flowers blooming a pretty, vibrant hue. You can’t quite tell what kind they are, but when you glance at Theo, you notice the way his eyes flicker nervously, and it suddenly feels like you’re walking toward something important.

But then it hits you all at once: “They’re peonies.”

On instinct, you grab Theo’s hand, giving it a playful tug to urge him along toward the blooms. He lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, and a warmth fills you as his earlier mood seems to lift, the tension in his shoulders fading.

When you reach the edge of the flower field, you pause, still holding Theo’s hand as your gaze lingers over the vibrant blooms stretching out before you. Theo glances at you, heart beating a little faster as he wonders what you’re thinking, but he brushes aside his nerves and releases your hand, shrugging off his jacket to lay it carefully on the ground. You murmur to him, urging him not to squish any of the flowers, and Theo smiles, his expression softening as he gently reassures you that he won’t.

There isn’t much room on his jacket, so you find yourself pressed against Theo’s side—though you don’t mind in the slightest. He’s leaned back on his hands, while you sit cross-legged beside him.

The quiet is soothing, broken only by the soft chatter of birds and the occasional hum of an insect drifting from flower to flower. The warmth of the sun on your skin feels heavenly, its heat a welcome contrast to the long, cold months that have passed.

“Is this why you left? The first night you stayed with me?” You ask, glancing to the right to watch his reaction. 

From where you’re seated, you can see how the sunlight catches every small detail of his face, highlighting any imperfections. There’s the faint mole on his cheekbone, his dark lashes that you’re secretly jealous of, and the thin scar along his chin from when he fell off his broom as a kid. Another mark splits through his brow—a scar whose origin he could never quite remember, but has always just been there. It tugs at you, knowing you can recall the origins of his faded scars. It might seem trivial, but it means he’s let you in, sharing parts of himself that not everyone gets to see.

Theo nods, “I had to go early in the morning to give them to Pansy. With practice later, it was the only chance I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face as you imagine Theo, slightly awkward but determined, handing over the bundle of flowers and the little card to Pansy, who no doubt teased him relentlessly. You’d had wondered how she noticed that Theo was different with you, especially when most of your time together was just the two of you. But now, hearing this, you understand perfectly how she recognized a side of him that only seems to surface around you.

“I didn’t want to leave, y’know.” Theo continues, finally glancing over at you, and the effect is instant—those watercolor eyes meet yours, sending a flutter through your stomach as you instinctively lean closer, feeling yourself melt into his side.

“The flowers made up for it,” you tease, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Aside from you, they were the only thing that made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Theo glances down at you, tucked into his side, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Hearing you say the flowers meant something to you eases any nerves he had—because they were never just a way to cheer you up. They were his quiet, unspoken way of telling you that he was there, that he cared. And that, despite your feelings for Mattheo, he was an option too.

“Yeah.” You confirm.

For the rest of the afternoon, you and Theo sat together, talking about whatever came to mind as you picked flowers. You gathered a few, but mostly you watched as Theo picked the ones he liked the most, adding to the small bundle that sat between you both. Watching him carefully select the prettiest flowers, knowing he was going to give them to you, made something shift inside you. If you hadn’t fully realized your feelings before, you were certain of them now.

You lost track of time with Theo, but eventually, he had to leave for practice. He handed you the freshly picked flowers and walked you back to the castle, stalling as if reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and murmured a quiet ‘thank you.’ You didn’t want to say goodbye either, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the reason Theo might get into trouble.

It wasn’t until you got back to your dorm, leaning against the door with a giddy squeal, the flowers pressed to your chest, their scent lingering in the air, that the realization hit you. You should’ve kissed him. The thought made your stomach dip with excitement, and for a fleeting moment, you entertained the idea of running after him, catching him just before practice, and kissing him. Absentmindedly, your hand rises to trace your lips, lost in your racing thoughts. 

You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t notice Pansy at her desk, watching you with an amused look.

“You look like you had a good time.” Pansy smirks as you startle and send her a look before pushing away from the door.

“Pansy, I’m fucked.” You whine and she lets out a loud laugh.

“You were from the second he stayed the night with you.” You pause for a moment, letting the realization settle in, and as it does, you know she’s right. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone—not in the way you did that night. Sure, you felt safe with Mattheo, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t compare to the way you felt when you were with Theo.

“Did you know he’s been picking me flowers?” You ask instead, setting the new bundle onto your desk before turning to face Pansy. 

“Oh, I knew.” Pansy hums, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. 

“How did I not notice?” You wonder aloud. 

“You were a little distracted.” Pansy shrugs, and you nod in agreement.

After Pansy tells you she’s meeting Blaise after practice, you briefly wonder if you should go with her. You sit on your bed, lost in thought, weighing the decision, but before you can make up your mind, Pansy is already gone.

As much as you want to see Theo, you hesitate, not wanting to assume that today meant as much to him as it did for you. It’s clear from the fact he’s been picking you flowers that he has feelings for you, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself or risk ruining something before it has a chance to begin. So, you stay in your dorm, trying to focus on an assignment you’ve been putting off for far too long, though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

So when you hear the knock, your heart skips a beat, and before you can think, you're off your bed and rushing to the door. You know exactly who is on the other side and your stomach flutters in anticipation. You pause just before opening it, taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, willing yourself to appear composed. 

You pull the door open, forcing a casual smile as you try to sound unaffected. “Hi,” you say, though your voice betrays the excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

Theo stands in front of you, one hand holding onto the doorframe. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are flushed—whether from practice or the rush of seemingly running here, you can’t quite tell.

And when he looks up at you, he’s out of breath and looks downright impatient, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You pause, thrown off and completely caught off guard. That was not what you expected him to say, and your mind spirals into the worst possible conclusions. Was he regretting what happened earlier? Apologizing for showing you the flowers, or for picking some for you? Giving you flowers at all? Maybe his feelings for you weren’t strong enough, or perhaps he only thought he had them? The thought that it could be too soon after your feelings for Mattheo crossed your mind, even though you’d started moving on from him months ago, gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, releasing the doorframe and stepping forward, one step, then another. He pauses, giving you a moment to pull away if you need to, but you stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Theo stands so close now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. He reaches up, and your breath catches when his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, his hand settling just below your ear. His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words makes your heart stutter. “I should’ve kissed you, dolcezza.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he steps even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw. “All through practice, all I could think about was you. The moment I walked away, I just wanted to turn around and kiss you.” His voice drops to a whisper, low and thick with a longing that sends shivers down your spine.

You murmur his name softly, but he’s barely listening, his gaze intense as he leans in slightly, his lips just inches from yours. “Fuck, you've been on my mind for months—years, if I'm being honest. I feel like I’m losing my mind, wondering if you feel even a fraction of what I do.” His hand still lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through you as if he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to say what he’s too afraid to ask.

It’s you who closes the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, fervent kiss that catches him off guard, pulling a surprised moan from deep in his throat. His body reacts instantly, his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against him. The sound he makes causes a rush of warmth to flood your veins. He’s hardly touched, and you’re already too warm, and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. You let him guide you backward, the pressure of his hand firm against your back until your steps falter just inside your dorm. Every inch of him feels like fire against your skin, and your previous worries fade into nothing.

Once you’re inside, he kicks the door closed with a thud but the sound barely registers. Without any hesitation, he presses you back against the door, his body close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. But you want him closer. So much closer. One hand rests flat against the door beside your head, while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. Then, it’s him who leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepens with an aching intensity. There’s no rush now—just an overwhelming wave of longing, a perfect culmination of the emotions you’ve both held back. Your head spins, your heart races, and you’re certain that if you could take your temperature in this moment, it would be burning hot.

But then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his breath heavy and uneven. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You feel the urge to close the distance between you again, to press your lips to his, because there’s something about the way Theo kisses that leaves you breathless, already craving more. But then again, maybe it’s just him—the way his touch makes a thrill course through you.

“I wanted you to kiss me before you left—”

The door jolts against your back, halting you mid-sentence as Pansy’s voice cuts through the moment. “What the hell? Open the door.” You hold your breath, hoping that if you stay silent, she might forget the whole thing and simply go away.

But that’s wishful thinking: “Babes. Please open the door."

“I thought you were hanging out with Blaise.” You call back, stealing a glance at Theo, whose expression mirrors your own surprise. Before leaving practice, he’d told Blaise to keep Pansy distracted—he wanted time with you because he had planned on telling you exactly how he felt about you.

“It’s about Mattheo.” Your brows raise is surprise at the intensity in Pansy’s voice and you fling open the door without another thought.

“What’s wrong?” Theo stands behind you, watching the way your face turns nervous.

“Veronica’s been giving him a love potion,” she says softly, her eyes studying your face as it twists in disbelief. “He’s in the infirmary... and he’s asking for you.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work 🤍

[theminecraftbee]

because it amused my friends but is also a useful metaphor, i'm going to tell a story now: so there was this one time i punched my dentist.

i have never done something like that before or since. i was getting a filling, see, very routine. (side note: i quite liked that dentist; he has since retired but he's always been not exactly "nice" but not mean about things like this. had a specific manner that worked well with my anxiety.) the dentist numbed the nerve that went to that part of my jaw and got stuff to start on the work.

what neither he nor i knew was this: i was actually in the small percentage of people that actually needed a SECOND nerve numbed to fully numb that part of my face. so when he started trying to do the "drill the cavity and give the filling" part, i started to feel pain. now, he'd warned me ahead of time this was a possibility! there was a thing i was supposed to do if that happened!

what actually happened is that my brain went: "I NEED TO MAKE THIS STOP I'M GONNA PUNCH THIS GUY".

i then immediately burst into tears.

luckily my dentist is a dentist and has had people fight-or-flight far more spectacularly and also far more effectively given that i don't know how to hit people. i managed to do exactly jack shit and he was bemused afterwards.

the thing is: this was not a sensible response to the situation! the dentist still had both a drill and a needle! i was way more likely to hurt myself than the dentist! my brain did not care. i was experiencing an adrenaline response, my brain felt helpless in the face of the pain to flight, so fight it was.

anyway, that's the emotion i am currently experiencing. i do not have the capacity to flight. so goddamn is my brain trying to find a good way to punch the problem.

this isn't a BAD impulse--hitting the dentist DID make him remove the drill from my mouth--but it's an impulse more likely to hurt me than help me unless i take a moment to go "maybe i SHOULDN'T punch the guy holding sharp objects right at my face", because it's not a rational brain response, it's a pure instinctive response. and it's an indicator i'm in fight-or-flight and should do everything in my power to avoid making any decisions that can't be undone, be those decisions "impulsively buy a bunch of tea" or far more severe.

my brain is currently trying to punch the dentist, and by the dentist i mean the election. i am not trustworthy.

but what i CAN do is this: i am going to volunteer at my local homeless shelters. this is an action i can channel my desire to punch the problem into that will help someone. look up your local volunteer organizations. organize into action. and do something that's more like "inform the dentist in the way you planned ahead of time that you're hurting" than "punch him and nearly get your eye poked out", you know?

and we will continue.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

BestFriend! Richard Grayson

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who's always there to talk on those lonely nights where you just need somebody with you after a long day of work. His voice is just so comforting and he almost always has something useful to say or put into the conversation.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who's always your shoulder to cry on whenever you get dumped or stold up on a date. The way his hands move across your back as you cry into his chest honestly feels more useful than your therapist, sometimes.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who takes you out on friend dates as often as he can because you desperately need to get out of the house. He would buy you a $300 steak, if it made you happy and like the person he grew up with in high school.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who sees how stressed you are almost every day and just wants to make it better. To be fair, his massages are the best and far better than any masoose you could book (especially on your salary).

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who calls you a petname out of the blue as you rest your head against his shoulder. The movie in the background had honestly faded into white noise as you let yourself drift off, nuzzled into his side.

"Dont go falling asleep on me, sweetheart. I won't be able to make myself move to go out on patrol tonight."

His tone is joking, of couse but it makes your cheeks heat up, nonetheless.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who lets his hands wander across your thighs while he massages your sore hips from walking around at work all day.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who doesn't even noticr how his hands wander right in between your legs, rubbing softly at your sensitive nub through the layers of your shorts and panties.

"Dick-"

"Shh... Just let me take care of you. You said your muscles were all tight from work, right?"

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who absolutely goes to town as soon as you give him the go ahead to have a small taste of you. And, god, does he eat like a starved man having his first meal.

"Taste so good, pretty girl..." He mutters through the obscene sounds of him practically making out with your pussy, tongue delving into crevices you could never reach by yourself.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who is getting off on your taste alone, rutting his hard on into the plushy cushions of the couch for an ounce of relief but won't ask for help, since you were far more stressed and pent up than him.

Bestfriend! Richard Grayson who doesn't immediately agree when you ask to return the favor, but eventually gives in to your begging. He absolutely loses it as soon as your tongue trails overntue dark vein on the underside of his flushed, leaky cock.

"Oh, fuck-" he cuts himself off with a soft groan as soon as you hollow your cheeks around him. "So good... You're so fucking good for me." He's a babbling mess as you suck him off, trying as hard as he can not to blow it early like a horny prom date.

God, does he love it when you eventually swallow down all of his pearly ropes of cum.

[inkdrinkerworld]

ok ok I‘m obsessed with spencer x bau!reader in a secret relationship!!

like imagine s2!spencer and reader and how reader always keeps their eyes on him during cases after tobias, trying to help him with his mood swings (caused by the withdrawals) in subtle ways

or s6!spencer dealing with his migraines and reader trying to be there for him, subtly helping him relax on the plane by playing with his hair or whatever and all that while trying to hide their relationship (the others probably already noticed but just keep their mouth shut and smile to themselves whenever they have a sweet little moment)

gets my mind running!!

Cw: withdrawal symptoms, vague mentioning that spencer is taking drugs, fluff

You’re worried about him. You can’t stop chewing your nails as you look at him.

You know the team knows, and you know Spencer knows you all know but you can’t say anything.

If you say anything, tell him to get help, he’ll need to report it and if he reports it he’ll lose his job.

So you do what you can.

There’s Gatorade in the fridge, all stocked with the purple grape flavored stuff you’d learnt through trial and error that Spencer preferred.

He drinks a few a day, suffering through it because he knows it will help. He also knows you’re doing this because you care about him.

He hopes you still love him after all of this.

You do.

“I got you a soup, Spence.” Your words are quiet and saved for when you reach his desk, setting the hot styrofoam container on his desk with a smaller box next to it.

He looks up at you, pupils blown wide and sweat beading on his eyebrows.

You don’t even hesitate to use your shirt sleeve to dab away the sweat. Spencer fights the urge to push your hands away.

He hates to disappoint you. “This has to be disappointing. I have to be disappointing.” His words are sudden you nearly jerk back.

“What?”

“This. I’m pitiful.”

You shake your head, stooping down so you’re eye level with him. “What happened was not your fault. I hate seeing you like this because you didn’t deserve it; not because you’re pitiful.”

Your words are so forceful and sincere that it stuns him for a little bit. In his shock, you walk away from him and Spencer panics when you go to the stairs to Hotch’s office.

His heart is pounding so hard he’s shocked he hasn’t blacked out yet.

Maybe he has because a couple seconds later you’re helping him stand and holding the container of soup and your bag.

“Let’s go.”

Spencer’s eyebrows tug together, his lips unconsciously falling into a pout.

“But we have reports to finish.”

You shake your head, for his protestations, Spencer follows you with his own satchel all the way to your car.

“I told Hotch you were feeling faint and you had a fever so he’s let us go home.”

Spencer is speechless. He’s even more so when you turn on the heater on his seat and keep the ac high.

“You don’t have to do all this.” He stammers out, holding the containers as you reverse.

“I want to take care of you and help you get better Spence. It’s as simple as that,” he nods, unable to help it.

You’re like his personal angel. He hopes you know how he feels about you. Hopes you know that he’s grateful and he’ll always be. Hopes that the flush in his cheek can be blamed on what his body is going through right now and not your next words.

“We’re going to my place, I’ve got a better bed and I can mess with the heating. You don’t have to do it alone, Spence.”

[egglain]

Go Ahead & Cry (I’d Wipe Away All Your Tears)

incl.: nanami, choso, toji, gojo, geto, sukuna

summary: for a group of men who kill for a living, they’re awfully sweet… most of the time.

a/n: ngl i’m writing this bc i’m finally processing the US election results & i just… can’t deal. my heart goes out to all of you. pls take care of yourselves & enjoy the drabbles 🫶

Nanami

Nanami would be the first to notice something is off.

Whether you’re both at home and you’re just a bit too quiet, or he hasn’t heard from you by his lunch break while at work, something is distinctly off.

He wouldn’t be the nosy type, or the type to press. He’d bring home a sweet treat and a sentimental good (a potted flower, a stuffed animal, something that reminded him of you) without a word.

He wouldn’t pity you; far from it. And he’d never want to make you feel like that. So he’d leave the gifts on the coffee table and greet you with a kiss to the forehead, like always.

He’d sit in silence with you as if nothing was awry— allow you to feel your emotions. He’d put on a movie you like, something mindless and upbeat, without asking. Drag you to his chest and hold you there, keeping you warm and grounded in his touch.

If the waterworks start up, he’d rub your back with a large hand and press kisses to the part of your hair.

“That’s it. Get it out. I know.”

Choso

Choso is either too emotionally in-tune or completely clueless until the tears start.

But when he knows you’re upset, he feels it too.

He gets it wrong a lot of the time, at the beginning— tries to pry the cause out of you so he can minimize it. In his defence, he does it with good intentions; tries to help you see that the perceived threat is small in the greater scheme of things, that everything will work out.

But when the tears start welling, he knows he’s fucked up.

And god, is he so sweet trying to fix things.

“So sorry—“

He’d kiss the salty tears off your cheeks without hesitation.

“How do I make it stop?”

His bleeding heart is his biggest weakness and his greatest strength.

You wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the day, as he tries to make things up to you. Cooking (though he burns the bottom of the pan), cleaning (though he spills the food and has to clean again), and cuddles would be the itinerary.

Though he loves to be little spoon, he’d let you rest in his arms as long as you need it. And once you find a spot in his arms, he wouldn’t dare move.

Toji

Toji is not great with words. Or gifts. Or quality time, really.

Despite his best intentions, he always manages to fuck it up somehow. Usually by minimizing your feelings with a “what now?” or a “‘s not a big deal.” or a “nothin’ to cry over.”

It’s not his fault you cry over the little things & that you look so cute doing it. Those fat tears and reddened cheeks scratch the sadistic part of his brain so good.

That being said, he’s learned what you like over the years. Even stopped scoffing when he senses you’re feeling down.

No, he’s developed a plan.

At the first signs of distress (he’s gotten really good at recognizing these), he’s got you in his arms. If he’s at work, you better bet he’s speeding things up and hauling his ass back.

He wrestles you into his big clothes; don’t even think about fighting him on this. He wants you comfy and cozy. He’d be setting you up on the couch, dragging the comforter down from the bedroom to wrap you up. He’d sit there with you for hours, massaging your feet or calves and ordering food in. Your favourite fast food— and a whole lotta ice cream.

Don’t take advantage of his kindness though; he’s still Toji. Any snide comments, and he’d be quick to snap back.

“Shut up n’ let me take care of ya.”

Gojo

Gojo’s a little… misguided when cheering people up most of the time. That is, unless you find his goofy antics comforting.

He’s known for draping himself over shoulders obnoxiously, pinching and pulling cheeks, and light jabs that crack (only) him up.

When that doesn’t work, it’s a quick fix— thanks to the seemingly unending pit of his black card.

Gojo Satoru, at his core, is a gift giver.

Nothing pleases him more than sharing things with you that he thinks will bring you joy— whether that’s an expensive physical present or a luxurious vacation abroad.

He’s wrapped around your little fingers and a sniffle would have him buckling at the knees and fumbling for his wallet.

While this might look like a cop out— a way to get out of emotional intelligence duty— it’s just one part of his approach. The man is actually quite sensitive and understanding once you dig beneath the layers of persona. And he can be surprisingly mature— though he’d never want to show that side to most of the world.

He’d always listen to your yapping, validating your feelings— he’d take your side always. And he is a pro at shit-talking. At the end of it, you always come out feeling a little bit better. A little bit stronger.

You are the strongest together, after all.

Geto

Suguru is a problem-solver.

He’d sit and motion for you to lay your head on his thighs. Long elegant fingers would make gentle work of your roots and scalp, and the tension would be melting away. When you’re relaxed enough to breathe, he’d want to hear all the venting.

“Now do you want solutions or just my ear?”

He’s your rock; always puts things into perspective if you ask. He’s always got advice— though sometimes clouded by bias. Still, it’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone who actually listens.

Understands.

The flipside, however, is the darkness you find in him. He understands what to do because he’s hurt too. You can see it in the way he carries himself, in the bags under his eyes and the shake of his hands on the bad days.

But you care for him like he cares for you— braid his hair back, let him talk it out, gift whatever advice you can muster.

And as soon as you’re both feeling better, you’d be getting crêpes with the girls.

Sukuna

The King of Curses does not understand human sadness.

Perhaps he had empathy for it, centuries ago, before he became the Two-faced Spectre.

But now, seeing you upset, all he can think of is how pathetic tears look in reddened eyes.

He’d wipe them away with a big thumb, clicking his tongue.

“Unsightly, pathetic little thing.”

Yet, the way he speaks down to you holds a softness. A protective nature he rarely gives voice to.

He’d treat you like a porcelain doll; a prized possession. No measure was inconvenient when it came to appeasing you— though he’d be quick to reprimand entitlement. And vehemently deny any sort of feeling towards you.

When the tears come, he’d be signalling for Uraume to draw a bath and cook your favourite. You’d find your room tidied, trinkets left on the foot of your bed as if dragged in by a wild animal— an ornate dagger, gold jewellery, incense.

He wasn’t one to demonstrate affection— but he’d keep you close on the tough days. Whether it be making a seat for you on one of his hulking thighs or allowing you to sleep in his quarters, he’d allow you to do as you please.

[peppermintquartz]

I really love your fics! I'm in a bad flare up rn and want someone else to suffer, so my bucktommy prompt is: hurt/comfort and chronic (chronic pain, chronic illness, etc)

The thing about having a repaired left leg is that, no matter how good it holds up, it still carries the memories of the damage. Some days Buck is able to ignore any mild twinges of discomfort and focus on his work. Other days, like today, he is giving serious thought to chewing off the limb with his own teeth.

No one notices him white knuckling through the last call of the shift, which is good, because the last thing Buck wants is to be unable to hold up his own end. But the pain is a constant throbbing soreness that occasionally deviates into a stabbing agony, and he has to take slow, deep breaths to keep walking. He almost wishes it was a fire they had been responding to, because then adrenaline will help suppress the aches and pains.

In the shower, tears of frustration and agony are pouring from his eyes, disguised by the tepid spray. He manages to hold it together until he gets to his locker, when his left leg decides that it is done for the day and buckles abruptly, sending him to the floor.

"Buck?" Eddie hurries over and helps him to the bench. "What the hell? Did you strain yourself?"

"I'm fine," Buck says, perspiration beading over his brow. "I just need a couple minutes."

Eddie stares at him. "As if. I'll drive you home."

"No, don't," Buck grits out.

"You're in no shape to drive."

"No, I meant, drive me to Tommy's." Buck hates the way his voice wobbles. "No stairs to the guest bedroom."

With a sympathetic pat on his shoulder, Eddie sits with Buck until the latter is able to stand, and they walk/hobble to Eddie's truck. Bending his leg to get in the truck brings tears to Buck's eyes.

Before he starts the engine, Eddie asks, "You want to text Tommy? Or do you want me to give him a call?"

"I have a key, I can let us in."

Eddie snorts. "Not about that. I meant, to help get a hot bath ready, prep your painkillers, sort of thing?"

Buck almost says no. Almost. Because if he had asked this of Taylor or Natalia or Ali or even Abby, it'd have felt like an imposition.

But this is Tommy. Tommy likes making sure he's comfortable, likes keeping him warm and fed and happy.

"Yeah, you can call him," Buck says quietly.

He rolls the hem of his tee shirt in his fingers as Tommy's voice comes over speakerphone. Eddie updates him rapidly, and Buck tries not to tear up when Tommy immediately says, "I'll get everything ready. Drive safe, Eddie, and Evan, sweetheart? Don't worry, I'll take care of you once you're home. See you in a bit."

Eddie hangs up. "He's a good one."

Buck bites his knuckle when another spasm of pain ripples through his left leg. Yet it feels almost bearable now that he has Tommy's care to look forward to. "Yeah, he really is."

[niiwa-angel]

Let's take this a step further, really break it down so it's impossible to not understand.

Let's say you have a police officer, and on his off hours, he usually masturbates to BDSM porn where a man beats and rapes a woman while she begs him to stop? It's just a fantasy.

Now what happens when that officer is called to a domestic disturbance where a man has beaten and raped a woman? Do you think he really sees it as the horrific crime it is? Or has he been number by all the videos he's watched and masturbated to depicting this scenario? Can he sympathize with the victim or has he number himself to a woman's tears or even conditioned himself to be aroused by them?

Let's say we have a teacher who has tons of porn saved, and these videos are all teacher/student scenarios. Where the female student lists after her teacher and begs him to let her please him for better grades. It's just a fantasy.

Until that teacher has female students, maybe ones who need extra help with some topics or who are struggling in class. Can he see those young women asking for help as a genuine request or can he only see it as a plot to get in his pants? Does this impact how he grades his male vs female students? How he supports them? Would you feel safe sending your daughter to school knowing her teacher got off on student/teacher porn?

What if we have a surgeon who frequently gets off to videos of women getting violated while unconscious? Do you think he's safe to female patients? Would you feel safe going under the mask and being totally defenseless knowing he had that fantasy?

How about a daycare worker who gets off to DDLG and diaper porn? Do you think they can leave their fantasies at home when they're helping toddlers go to the bathroom? Or changing a babies diaper? When a little girl is playing with the toys at the daycare and using age typical lingo like "Daddy" or stammering over certain sounds, is that worker thinking of an actual child or the porn they watch where women pretend to be toddlers while getting fucked?

The fact is, fantasies aren't just fantasies, they do impact the real world. When you desensitize yourself to another person's suffering or create a pavlovian response to see it as arousing, you can no longer properly empathize with other people. A cop who gets off to rape kink will never be able to actually see rape victims as victims. A daycare worker who partakes in DDLG will never properly care for children, either they'll look at those kids the same way they look at their 'little' or they'll see behaviour to emulate during sex.

“yeah but it’s just a fantasy!!! i can’t control what i’m into!!! i don’t think this way outside of the bedroom!!!” —porn addict that fantasizes about raping and beating women.

okay so boom!—

when a male says this, it’s his poor attempt at explaining away his porn addiction. we have countless of sexological research studies on paraphilias/fetishes in males showing that they aren’t prenatal, but are a product of the environment males grow up in (and specifically what type of sexual content they are exposed to during puberty).

so when a male grows up in maybe a house with no internet restrictions, and he’s able to freely browse hardcore porn for hours on end, this actually affects his cognitive ability to control his sexual feelings, as-well as his ability to keep them from pervading stuff like his job, or platonic relationships.

this is why nearly all violent sex crimes are committed by males. males are infinitely more likely to take these heinous paraphilias outside of the bedroom, and into public life. which is, ding ding ding, due to porn and how it’s warped the way they view their interactions with women. stack misogynist thoughts onto this, and boom, you have a soulless group of pornsick chodes that hate women.

and although this is the case— you can actually recover from porn addiction! men just don’t care about, or like women enough to do that though. every porn addicted male is a danger to women. if you have even a sneaking suspicion that a male around you is addicted to pornography, i would cut him out of your life.

(the fact that these creatures are also born with genitalia that has the ability to penetrate is so unfortunate)…

(｡•́︿•̀｡)

[biteyoubiteme]

okay okay okay!!

txt vs no nut november! and maybe single / with a partner and regular sex life

like, would / wouldn't participate (and why), how long it would take for them to lose (if lose at all, I look at you taehyun), why they would lose (idek, forgot, were too stressed, too horny, etc)

would there be a member who would be like "I'll cum at 0:01, november the first, and will enjoy the whole month looking at you all suffer, losers"?

ahhhh now I think of requesting yeonkai x reader about nnn...

txt v. no nut november

warnings: 🔞!!! gn!reader, mentions of masturbation/sex, cockwarming, edging, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 0.7k total

an: hiiii @apeachty you're my favorite because you can read my mind on exactly what I want to write next lol I don't know if I got everything you asked for but I hope you enjoy!

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

taehyun .ᐟ

if you didn't think taehyun was winning I don't know what you're on but it's just known that he would hold out the longest. If he did lose it was because the clocks had just turned to midnight when he finished effectively ending his need to even participate in a game he knows is arbitrary. This does not mean that he doesn't still try because he loves a challenge. Will spend more time in the gym because of it but he will never complain. The guys will make fun of him saying he's not even in the game anymore seeing as he failed first, will actually go on into the first week of December just to prove a point.

beomgyu .ᐟ

Now I don't think beomgyu is very competitive about most things and if he is it's only because of teasing and needing to prove people wrong. But November is his time to shine. He will actively encourage the other’s partners to tease the boys just so that he can ‘win’ the bet. Will make it through the month but the end is an absolute struggle, suddenly he's getting boners left and right like he's a teenager again. The last day of November is the day he breaks. Technically all the other boys have already lost if you look past taehyun going past November. This is his excuse and doesn't even make it through the morning before he's cumming. By the end of the day, he is three orgasms down and doesn't even care about winning the title besides the fact he can joke about it until next year.

yeonjun .ᐟ

He tries so hard and wants to beat beomgyu because he is his only real competition. Actually masturbates a lot and just edges himself because he likes teasing and the ache it gives him. Avoiding his partner as if that will help anything, his imagination is just well enough. Only makes it a little more than halfway through the month before he's given up. He's not able to stay away from his partner and needs them too much to stop himself. Although he tries to just edge himself again, cockwarming only works until he's absentmindedly thrusting, cursing when he accidentally finishes. Just shrugs and goes another round this time without even feeling sorry. 

kai .ᐟ

Doesn't even remember that he's not supposed to be having sex, and doubly doesn't remember not to cum. He lasts a few days max and only because hadn't been near his partner. But as soon as they come near he's a needy mess, begging to get off because he just missed them so much. Remembers the last second about the group chat and the threats of having to pay for everyone's dinner if he's first to lose. Feels like a failure for only a second before shrugging just glad he doesn't have to worry about it anymore. Promises to win next year even if it's the last thing he does.

soobin .ᐟ

Talks big talk about winning but forgets exactly how often he finishes in a month. Will put himself into a bad mood and it's only been a few hours into November 1st. Has to avoid opening certain apps because he knows his feed will be evil and show him exactly what he wants to see but can't use to get him off. Surprises himself by even making it through the day only not really because he's got his hand down his pants only an hour before midnight. Cums multiple times and doesn't even bring it up that he's lost, actually lies about still holding out until he confesses to Kai that he too did not last long at all. “No, it was actually torture, the only thing I could think about was getting off and wondering exactly where you guys would pick to eat and if it would be that crazy to just send my card info in the chat to get it over with,” 

He and Taehyun have a full back-and-forth that lasts longer than it should about who should give their card to the waiter. The very serious debate ends after the laughter from the other boys is so loud people are looking their way. Soobin grumbles as he pays but knows it's only fair because he technically did lose first. He also knows that he was only a minute shy of actually finishing at midnight before the day even started for their competition and would have ended up paying anyway because unlike taehyun he would not have just continued the competition but would have just given up without even trying. 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Dude, this is killing me.

I genuine cannot understand how trump voters are choosing this guy. Like, WHY???

This man is a nepo baby and has never worked a real day in his life.

He's friends with Diddy and praised the bastard.

He's found guilty of 34 felonies.

He wants to turn the US into a fascist country.

He was friends with Jeffery Epstein.

He's friends with Elon Musk, a fellow nepo baby who's kids don't even want to associate with him. Who think women shouldn't be able to vote. Who didn't even design Tesla, but just bought it. Who's a massive fucking hypocrite. Who is a hateful bastard.

He hypersexualizes and objectifies women.

His only real defense is anti-immigration (bullshit), anti-LGBT (more bullshit), and misogynistic (surprise surprise, even more bullshit).

He's a horrible person. He doesn't care about this country, or the majority of people in it. He doesn't care about women's bodily autonomy. He doesn't care about survival.

He feeds lies and propaganda to make you think he'll make a change.

The only thing this man cares about is power and winning. And the people that voted for him are supporting that.

And if you're worried about the economy, let me tell you something.

Democrats don't fuck up the economy. Republicans do.

The way the government system works is that every policy takes time. A republican gets into office, and starts putting forth all these policies that aren't really going to take a strong effect until their term is almost up. Then a democrat gets into office and gets the blame for the negative effects that the policy has taken. They put in changes to fix it, which takes time. Their term is up. A republican takes office, and gets the credit for the benefits, only to fuck it all up again.

Also, Kamala Harris can't use tax dollars to fund sex changes for illegal immigants (because we've all seen that one ad). That's not the way the American healthcare system works, and sex changes are done through the American healthcare system. We'd have to be more of a socialist country for our tax dollars to go towards that. (Not that anyone should care about what someone wants to do to their body to feel more comfortable in their own skin.)

This man does not care about this country, so he should not be getting votes. And not voting for Kamala or Trump isn't going to help either. Independent parties pull votes away to give power to the Republicans. Most of the people who vote outside of the two major political groups are liberals. Which makes it more likely for the Republican party to win.

Stop voting for yourself, if you do this. Vote for the people who are going to be affected. Vote for the women who are going to die because they can't get the healthcare they need. Vote for the transgender individuals who are going to be hurt and attacked for something that we should all be sympathetic for. Vote for the people who aren't going to be able to marry those they love. Vote for the people who are going to lose the ability to safely practice their religion.

I've seen so many Republican woman talk about how "well it doesn't affect me, so why should I care?"

You should care because of human decency. Because of empathy.

Also, fun fact, the more educated you are, the more likely you are to vote liberal.

(It's British, but the point remains. I couldn't find the one specific towards US statistics. But it's almost 2 in the morning, so forgive me.)

And one of the first groups to be attacked in a fascist state is the more educated and intellectual individuals.

Secondly... Do you really want this being the face of America for four more years?

[blackenedsnow]

hiii, i hope you’re doing well 🤍 may i please request a hurt comfort with thomas hewitt? it’s up to you what’s the context going to be, i just want a little bit of angst with happy ending of course! much love, anon <333

roots run deep

WARNING: Mild descriptions of injury, emotional hurt/comfort, dark themes

PAIRING: Thomas Hewitt x Reader

NOTE: Hi anon <3 Thank you for such a gentle request, and I’m so glad you’re here! please don’t hesitate to send more like these—they mean so much. sending all my love back to you, take care of yourself <333

SUMMARY: When an accident leaves you broken and feeling like a burden, Thomas’s quiet strength becomes your unexpected salvation.

There’s a peculiar peace in pain—one that swallows the world whole, silencing every other thought, reducing everything to that sharp, all-consuming sensation. But today, even in the agony threading through your limbs, there’s no peace, only a hollow ache of shame and something you’re not sure you can face. You feel like a burden. An inconvenience. And with every second that Thomas tends to you, patching your wounds with hands too large and too gentle for this world, that feeling deepens.

It was a stupid mistake—a misstep on uneven ground, sending you crashing down hard enough that you could feel the sickening crunch echo through your bones. You’d always thought you were sturdy, that nothing could break you, but lying here, helpless beneath the careful hands of a man like Thomas, you feel as fragile as glass.

He works in silence, as he always does. The only sounds are the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight, the soft shuffling as he moves around, gathering whatever he thinks will help ease your pain. You can barely look at him, your gaze fixed on the rough, weathered ceiling above as he wraps your ankle in a makeshift bandage, his fingers brushing against your skin with a softness you didn’t know he had.

“Thomas…” Your voice is weak, barely more than a whisper. You want to tell him to stop. To tell him he doesn’t have to go through the trouble, that you’re not worth it. But the words catch in your throat, thick and choking, and you can only lie there, your breaths coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

He pauses, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. You can see the concern in his eyes—a deep, wordless worry that tugs at something inside you, something you’ve tried so hard to bury. He doesn’t say anything; he never does, but there’s an understanding there, a quiet reassurance that fills the silence between you.

He nods once, a slight, almost imperceptible motion, and resumes his work. His hands are steady, unwavering, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. Maybe he has. Maybe he’s patched up wounds far worse than yours. Or maybe he just knows what it feels like to hurt, to be broken in ways no one else can see.

You want to say something, to break the silence hanging heavy between you, but you can’t find the words. They tangle and knot in your throat, a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel. So you lie there, letting him work, feeling the warmth of his hands seep into your skin, grounding you, tethering you to something solid, something real.

As he finishes, he pulls back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. There’s something in his eyes—a softness, a tenderness that catches you off guard. It’s a look you’ve seen only once before, in a moment so fleeting you’d thought you’d imagined it. But now, seeing it here, with his hands still hovering over you, you know it’s real.

And it terrifies you.

You’re not used to kindness. Not the kind that comes without strings attached, without expectations. It feels foreign, strange, like a language you’ve forgotten how to speak. But Thomas… he doesn’t need words. He never has. His actions speak louder than any words ever could, a silent promise that he’ll be there, that he’ll stay, even when you can’t stand on your own.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible, but he hears you. You know he does, because his gaze softens, his hand hovering over yours for a heartbeat before he pulls away, as if he’s afraid to break you further.

There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, to take his hand in yours, to let him know that you’re here, that you see him too. But you don’t. You can’t. The weight of your own shame, your own self-doubt, holds you back, rooting you to the spot.

But Thomas doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for anything more than you can give. He simply stands, his hulking figure casting a shadow over you, a silent guardian in the dim light of the room. You feel safe here, in his presence, in the steady rhythm of his breathing, in the quiet strength he radiates.

As he turns to leave, you feel a pang of something you can’t quite name—a longing, a need for him to stay, to keep that silence filled with his presence. You don’t want to be alone, not tonight. Not when the weight of your own thoughts threaten to pull you under.

“Thomas,” you call out, your voice barely above a whisper. He stops, turning to look at you, and for a moment, you see something in his eyes—something soft, something vulnerable, something you’ve never seen before.

“Will you… stay?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment, but he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t look at you with pity. He simply nods, a silent agreement, and settles down beside you, his massive form filling the space, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

You sit in silence, the room filled with the soft sounds of our breathing, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace. A sense of belonging. Thomas doesn’t need words to make you feel safe, to make you feel understood. His presence alone is enough, a silent promise that you’re not alone, that you don’t have to carry this weight on your own.

In the quiet, you feel his hand brush against yours, a tentative, hesitant touch, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile peace between you. But you don’t pull away. You let him take your hand, let his warmth seep into you, filling the empty spaces inside you with something you can’t quite name.

It’s love. Something you haven’t felt in a long time.

[servicpop]

Could you please do your Oc’s with a bunny hybrid reader, sfw and nsfw headcannons please?

Also could I be 🎧 anon?

thx

Adrien has only ever owned a pet once and that was a dog he had as a little kid. He's never been one for any pet other than a dog ( he's a huge dog person ) so meeting you was a surprise !

SFW : Adrien is super possessive over you , like a guard dog and his little bunny companion ! Everytime someone looks at you weirdly , an arm will wrap around your shoulders and he'll stare down the other person until they look away.

He's really interested in how you would groom yourself ! He would spend hours on his bed , watching you nibble on your long floppy ears to get the knots out — he thinks its the most adorable thing

NSFW: As a bunny your libido would be insanely high , and lucky for you , Adrien's is too !

He won't grab your ears much since he's afraid he'll accidentally bruise them or something so he'll usually get you laying on your back to avoid that urge of grabbing your ears when hitting it from behind . . .

He loves it when you ride him just to see your ears flop around when you bounce on his lap and he can't help but fondle your little tail since he loves the feeling of it wagging in his palm.

Cole lives amongst alot of farm animals so its not a surprise he's so educated on bunnies !

SFW: He helps you clean and takes care of your fur, buying you special brushes and bunny-safe shampoo to use on your ears and tail.

Cole could spend hours brushing your fur , untangling all the knots while you lay your head on his lap , he finds it therapeutic being able to take care of you like this !

He can't stop his fingers from lightly tapping the tip of your nose everytime it twitches , its just too adorable for him he can't stay put !

NSFW: Cole is extremely sensitive so he's already winded the moment you get you go into heat.

Half the time he'll laying on his back , hand over his mouth as he's gripping onto your hips as tight as possible trying to get you to slow down but you just can't !

You practically milk the life out of him and he has to hold you down to get you to stop.

Even though he can't keep up with you , he'll help you ride it out by letting you rut on his thigh. Poor Cole T T

Vallen

SFW: He'll treat you like a lap cat ( he's more of a cat person ) letting you curl up on his legs while he works and strokes your ears in a steady , soothing pace.

He just loves messing with you , lightly teasing you to see your foot thump on the floor rapidly in anger. So he does it as often as he can !

He doesn't understand that you can eat the exact same things as a human can but Vallen always buys fresh carrots in bulk just for you. There's never one day where he doesn't have any carrots lying around for you to munch on.

NSFW: Vallen loves to grab your ears.

He loves to gently tug on them especially when you're giving him a bj , it turns him the hell on when he sees your face when he pulls on them. Hes relatively gently with them though , only holding them lightly enough to encourage you to move your head in the direction he's pulling.

He'll hold your tail captive while he eats you out , watching you arch your back and squirm cuz he's playing with your little cotton ball too much.

Your libido was never a problem for him , he'll just tape a vibrator to your dick and watch you tire yourself out ( sigh old man )

Callahan he's the type to hate hybrids but ends up tangled with one

SFW: Every little action you do , he'll quickly turn around and do a quick search on 'why does my bunny do this' and 'what does my bunny need when. . .' He's always on his phone frantically searching for answers because he's never owned a pet let alone took care of a hybrid ! he doesn't know what to do !

He'll act mortified everytime you present yourself to him for pets , Callahan would just turn away and scold you for even asking him for such a thing ! But then a few minutes after he doesn't even notice but he's running his fingers so delicately across the soft fur of your ears.

NSFW: Just like Vallen he's an ear grabber.

He's much harsher, bunching your ears together in one hand as he's thrusting into you. It's like he's tugging on a leash with the way he's pulling your ears while fucking you into the mattress.

Callahan is super into breeding you — even though you're a male bunny — he's putting you in a mating press and muttering on about how he'd love to see his kids have cute noses like yours or have soft ears like yours.

He's shooting loads into you and grips your ears hard enough to bruise — which he googles again what treatments bunnies need for bruises the next morning since he feels guilty.

[lustlovehart]

Hello Ves! I was wondering about your twst monster au, how would they react if y/n tries to help stitch any wounds that the characters have! (For example ace, deuce, Trey or riddle for any open wounds that they have or limbs that fall off).

Ahhhh!! I love this question!! It perfectly encapsulates the reason all of the monsters are in love with MH!Reader, the over abundance of kindness they have!! On one hand, there is no reason you should help all these fiends, in fact, you should be doing the exact opposite! Yet you can’t help but still have that pitifully sweet human heart that must help those in need!!

Pairings: Ace, Deuce, Riddle, Trey x Reader

Warnings: Stitches, Needles, They’re all delusional for you, Imagined kissing (I said they were delusional), Some world-building in Riddes portion, Small hints of obsession (only small), Loose Limbs, a little tiny bit of blood

For Ace, he quirks an eyebrow up at you with a feigning suspicion, the thin needle causing a sight sting. Though, not too much with the way his pain receptors have diminished with time. The moment you look up at him, it’s traded for one of the cockiest looks you’ve ever seen engraved on his pale features.

“Be careful who you stitch up. Who knows, maybe I’ll drag you down the grave with me when I die a second time.” You only reply with a sigh, prompting him to defend his honor with his “it was just a joke”. He stops when you use your teeth to snap the thread, his eyes glued on the singular action. Your lips look human. Something that shouldn’t be a compliment yet it is. He wonders what would happen If his cold dead lips kissed your own warm mouth.

It was pretty. You know what you’re doing.

“Be careful, do that to anyone else and they might… fall for…” he watches as you lean over him, the needle in hand as your thumb sticks out, pulling the lid of his scarred eye down. You could take him out, you could rip his eyes out and put him in a grave disadvantage. But he wouldn’t care.

Take him. Take all of him, even if it has to be in a bag, he wouldn’t mind.

He watches with a bated breath at every seam you enact, your soft breaths landing on his cold skin. A sight he wants for himself, he won’t even share with Deuce. You snap the thread with the same method from before, your lips close to him.

“You haven’t spoken at all. Has your tongue decomposed too, Ace?” Your words are teasing, yet the way you whisper them, and the way your thumbs massages the stitches, makes any retort he has die on his tongue. “Also… could you let go…? I’m not trying to die any time soon either…”

He looks down, his hand is gripping on your waist with a grip he never knew to be capable of. That will definitely bruise, in fact, how close was he to penetrating skin...? But… at the same time, just… How enchanting can a human be?

He wonders, would it really be so bad for you to join them in the after life?

Deuce, the undead know for consistently losing his hand and/or forearm. Before you appeared, he would just go about his day, letting his limb roam free like a stray animal, but with you, he attempts to rein in its wilderness more often.

“I’m so sorry…” You watch as Deuce repeatedly apologizes for his hands invasiveness. You’re not upset at him, but you can’t deny it’s horrifying to wake up to the feeling of a lone hand intertwining itself with your own fingers. Even in the midst of begging for forgiveness, that hand of his continues to run rampant. Jumping out his hold, landing on your palm, Deuce immediately looks up. The look on his face tells you he’s about to lecture his stray body part, but you stop him with a wave.

He watches with choked words, your hand placing itself on his shoulder and pushing him back into the cushioned chair behind him. He falls with a certain clumsiness, leaning back even further into the foam when you consume his personal space. “I’ll help you.” Your words are said monotonously, yet they seem so kind in the same breath. Deuce has to stop the hand he has full control of from holding you with pure admiration.

The needle in your fingers go through his skin seamlessly, as if his body was meant for your ministrations. He wonders if he was always meant to die in that case. If he is, he must’ve always been destined to meet you. He grieves over his death every day, but there’s a small part of him grateful for your meeting. It makes all those in his stomach worth the fight he fought.

He’s entranced at your diligence. You didn’t have to but you did. He wonders if you’re just an angel in disguise.

When you finish, you snap the thread poking his palm to make sure the limb is properly working. The way it holds your hand makes you question its current capabilities. The way Deuce smiles at you however tells you the limb’s back to its former state, so… why won’t it let go of your hand?

Why won’t Deuce let go?

“Deuce… With a grip that hard you might—!” Your sentence cuts off with a wince. At this point, he could take your hand and use it like it was always his. It takes a shove of his shoulder for him to break out of his enchantment, immediately letting go of you with panic. He opens his mouth to say his apologizes, but stops when your forehead falls onto his shoulder, whimpers of strained “it’s okay”’s leaving your mouth.

He feels horrible, but a small part of him, the same one that feels joy for being dead, is happy he got to see such a vulnerable side. He’ll try not to do anything like it again.

Riddle, who is always transparent and untouchable, is being punctured with steel, something that shouldn’t be possible. Yet, it’s only possible because it’s you who’s doing it. It’s one of the few rare instances where he uses his status as a great wonder to become temporarily human, he insists it’s not against any rules. Sorta.

Certain ethics come into play with monsters becoming human in their society. It’s generally looked down upon, with the consensus of “Why would you ever want to be a weak mortal?”, the 7 territories being especially regarded with this view as they’re considered the most influential. It’s quite funny, every low ranked beast praises the 7 for their power, but other than those in their group, no one else knows they abuse their power to take the temporary form of a human for a few hours.

He feels shameful at this utter lack of rule consideration, the others must be dutifully staying true to their form, unlike him. But there’s a part of him that feels grateful for it. Without it, you wouldn’t be caring for him like this would you? (He is yet to know all the other seven do the same thing, all because of you.)

“Riddle? You’re really silent…” of course he is…! How is he supposed to talk when you’re oh so close… Fingers continue to sew the gape in his larynx, deep inhales rushing through him at the feeling, not of the needle, but of your touch. When you snap the string, his hands flies up to stop the retracting of your hands. He only narrowly stops when he realizes how affectionate of an act that would be. It would be inappropriate, a scandal!

Though, was it not already improper when you practically consumed his personal space? Not only that… but, no one is around to see such rule breaking… He should behead himself at this point…! Thinking about such an obvious act of treason in a positive light. What have you done to him?

“Ah, forgive me. I assume we’re finished?” He’s pleasantly proven wrong when you trade him a smile, pointing at the giant hole in his chest. He should say no. He should refuse…! “… Try to be careful.” After you’ve finished your ministrations on him, he plans to plant himself on a guillotine and allow Trey to punish him for his transgressions.

Your hand traces down to his torso, the heart shape hole on his skin is beautiful, yet the grotesqueness tells you there’s much more behind it. He won’t ever ask you, but, he secretly wishes for your lips to breathe new air into him, let his skin flourish with opaque color, and his vacant chest boolm with a new heart.

“Riddle…? You’re staring really hard…”

Please forgive him, he doesn’t mean to become so naive with his thoughts.

Trey is the most regular reaction on here honestly. You stitch his hand and he lets you, all with a smile on his face. Your fingers will tighten the seams that were already embedded into his skin, meanwhile his tall figure doesm’t even wince at something that should be painful. It’s perfectly regular.

Until the events that come after.

You don’t want to assume, perhaps Trey is just clumsy! But the way he holds himself communicates that entirely differently… But ever since the first session, his limbs somehow always appear loose or fallen off. You swear… You tightened it well enough! Even put a secure bow with the string. While you’re fretting over how this could happen so often, Trey just shrugs it off with a light chuckle.

“Don’t laugh…” How could he not enjoy the domestic sight of you diligently fixing him up though? It’s a nice change of pace to the chaos of the hospital he has to deal with. It’s an exhausting rinse and repeat.

It makes you wonder if Trey is doing it on purpose…

… How silly he could never, he’s one of the last who would do something so clingy. Trey’s regular, the only thing that sets him apart is that green skin and height he bears.

Be careful, one day you’ll open the pantry to a pale bruised arm, picking it up with assumption of it being Treys. You’re quick to drop it when you walk in and he has all limbs intact and tightened for once.

Don’t worry! He’ll comfort you in your panic with firm hugs of consolation. The red on his fingers are from the strawberry’s he picked just for you, so come bake with him and let your fear wash away.

When you fall asleep after your fit, he brushes your face with stained fingers, crimson coating your cheek. The sweet fruit is wiped with with his thumb, his tongue darting out to lick its sweet contents.

He's sure the iron taste is drowned out by your sweet flavor intermingling with it.

[kimmie2me]

A Taste of Care

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!fem reader

.....

The invitation to the annual Pro Hero Gala lands with a quiet thud on your desk, and you nearly ignore it, honestly – it’s one of those events everyone expects top heroes to attend, but no one actually enjoys. You wonder how the organizers can still think it’s a good idea. You glance over at Bakugou, who rolls his eyes the second he catches you even looking at it. “Not a chance,” he grumbles, turning back to whatever report he’s pretending to focus on. “Hell’ll freeze over before I show up there.”

“Yeah, but…they invited us both.” You can’t help it—the thought of skipping nags at you, guilt bubbling up. You turn the envelope in your hands, debating. “I mean, if we don’t go, they’ll probably think we don’t care or something…”

“Good,” he mutters, "Because I do not care."

You make the decision then, mostly because you can’t imagine telling someone who went through the trouble of inviting you that you just… didn’t feel like going. “Fine,” you say, sighing. “I’ll go, then. You don’t have to worry about it.”

A heavy pause lingers, and then Bakugou’s gaze snaps up. “You what?”

“I’ll go. On your behalf. It’s fine,” you insist, smiling a little to soften it. But there’s something in his eyes, and you think he feels that tug of guilt too, though he’d never say it. Finally, he just sighs and mutters, “Fine, fine. I’m going. Don’t start whining about this later.”

And that’s how you end up at the Gala, arm in arm with one very reluctant Bakugou.

.....

You’ve barely been here for an hour, and though Bakugou’s already made three attempts to pull you towards the exit, you’re still here, being polite and nodding along as people pass by, each one taking a little energy from you with their relentless questions.

At some point, a waiter passes by with a tray of drinks, and you reach out, half-relieved for a distraction. The waiter places a delicate, glass thimble of juice in your hand, barely bigger than your thumb. You eye it, perplexed.

“One sip,” you murmur, taking a cautious taste. It’s sweet and refreshing—too good, actually, like someone figured out the perfect formula for juice. The flavor surprises you, so you hold it in your hands like you’re savoring a precious heirloom, taking tiny sips to make it last.

“Hey,” Bakugou says, turning back from where he’s been roped into some pointless conversation with another hero. His eyes narrow when he sees the minuscule cup in your hands. “You tryna torture yourself or somethin’? Why’re you drinkin’ it if you don’t even like it?”

You blink, mildly surprised by his assumption. “No, I do like it! It’s just... y’know... small. And I didn’t want to—um, ask for more.” You hesitate, aware of the ridiculousness of it all. “They might think I’m being greedy, you know?”

Bakugou makes a face, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re kiddin’ me.” He sounds genuinely irritated now, and it’s impossible not to feel embarrassed, though you give a nervous smile.

“No, no! It’s fine, 'Suki, really.” You tug at his sleeve to keep him from storming over to whoever poured this pathetic excuse for a drink, though he stares at you, unamused, for a moment.

“Fine,” he relents, still looking unconvinced. But when you try to wave him off a second time, and a third, his patience visibly thins. “Alright, that’s it.” He grabs your now empty cup with a sense of purpose, muttering under his breath as he maneuvers through the crowd. You reach out, embarrassed to death that he’d take the trouble to do this.

“Katsuki, you don’t have to—please, it’s okay! Really, it’s fine!”

He gives you a brief, sideways glance, his expression somewhere between exasperation and begrudging affection. “For god’s sake, Cupcake, I’m doin’ it ‘cause I want to.”

The bartender hardly has time to react before Bakugou is right in front of him, holding up the empty cup like it’s some sort of evidence. “Listen up. This microscopic cup you handed out, where the hell d’ya even find one that small?” he demands, raising an eyebrow at the bartender, who looks both puzzled and terrified by Bakugou’s intensity.

The bartender stammers something about portion sizes, but Bakugou cuts him off, pointing to the counter like he’s about to place an order in a war zone. “Whatever you put in here, put it in a real glass this time, yeah? And don’t skimp. What is it, anyway?”

“Uh—it’s, um, a mix of, uh, passion fruit, lemon, and a hint of, uh… elderflower…”

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.” He watches as they pour the drink, nodding in satisfaction once they fill a glass you can actually hold with more than two fingers. When he finally returns, he looks triumphant, almost like he just completed some crucial, life-or-death mission.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass with that rare softness in his eyes that he only gets around you.

And as you take the first sip, savoring the full taste this time, you glance up at him, fighting a smile.

“Y’know,” he mutters, clearly aware of his over-the-top reaction, “I ain’t lettin’ you get ripped off on my watch. ‘Specially if it’s somethin’ you like.”

You savor every last drop of the drink, finally taking fuller sips now that it’s in an actual glass. The elderflower and passion fruit mix is refreshing, and it brings a soft smile to your lips every time you taste it. And when you finish the last drop, you look up at Bakugou, feeling a bit embarrassed but grateful.

He’s watching you intently, arms crossed with a proud little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “All done?” he asks, clearly pleased with himself.

You nod, setting the glass down. “Yeah. Thanks, 'Suki,” you murmur, hoping the slight blush on your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “We can go now.”

Bakugou’s face lights up in an almost imperceptible way. He clears his throat, looking around as if anyone might overhear, but the relief is clear in his expression. “’Bout damn time.”

A couple of weeks pass, and life returns to the usual pro hero routine—patrols, training, the occasional event, and repeat. After a long, grueling day of patrol, you return home exhausted and immediately head to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day’s aches and strains. The warmth is a balm for your sore muscles, and by the time you get out, you feel somewhat revived, if not a little sleepy.

You toss on a cozy set of clothes, ready to finally relax and start prepping dinner. You make your way to the kitchen, but as you open the fridge, you notice something unusual: a piece of paper stuck to one of the shelves. Curious, you pull it out and immediately recognize Bakugou’s handwriting, all sharp lines and bold strokes.

In the middle of the note is a hastily-drawn little doodle of himself, smirking with a thumbs-up, along with the words: “Surprise. You better not ration this either.”

You stare at the note, momentarily confused. What’s he talking about?

Then you glance down, and your eyes widen.

Sitting on the shelf, right next to the vegetables and leftovers, is a large glass pitcher filled to the brim with the juice from the gala—your favorite mix of passion fruit, lemon, and elderflower.

A laugh bubbles up from your throat, and you can’t help but shake your head in wonder. Of course he’d go through the trouble of making an entire pitcher for you. And not only that, but he left a note, reminding you not to hold back or ration it like some precious artifact.

You pour yourself a full glass, taking a long sip, and the familiar taste brings a warm, giddy feeling to your chest. For a moment, you just stand there in your quiet kitchen, holding your glass and staring at Bakugou’s note with a grin that won’t leave your face.

It’s just so… him. Thoughtful in the most roundabout way possible.

You take another sip, glancing at the time. He’ll still be on patrol for a bit, but you already can’t wait to tell him just how much his little surprise means to you.