#he just had some moments where he was WAY too into himself

[alchemistc]

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

[multipleoccupancy]

Knowing it wasn't up to them where it was she went, Theo would have much preferred she didn't travel at all but that too was out of his control. He just hoped that they would find a way to prevent Him from interfering with her. He would never have expected her to end up in the ward and he worried where else she might turn up and what else she might see that he couldn't comprehend yet. He'd have never imagined a world where everything was somehow the wild west just with monsters a well known part of life and everywhere.

"They're just people, sometimes people make stupid decisions and sometimes they go all out on them." He said of the other agents, not quite applying that logic to himself in that moment. Though he nodded along with the mission failures, "they just walk away, which is not something that should be done. The whole point is to stop the monsters." Theo ran another hand through his hair in thought, he would always say that agents were too valuable to lose but there were resources available to continue the fight. "There is a line of support where it's needed. Agents can call in some major help."

He softened as she explained she had been more worried than scared and missing that it was still a heavy guilt she was carrying about it. He wasn't feeling back to normal and in truth he wasn't sure he would now that he remembered what had happened to him but he was wise enough not to reveal that to Violet. At least not verbally. "Yeah, I am in a much better place than I was a few days ago." He managed a smile, though he still dreaded the nights as they came. "How are you feeling?"

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Whether Violet would see Evil Theo again or not was unfortunately up to the Horned One. She wasn't naive enough to think that He wouldn't send her back there eventually, but she couldn't help but hope anyway. He hadn't sent her to the cultist timeline in a while, after all. Who knew? Maybe He felt bad that his protegé had thrown her out the window. (Even as she thought it, Violet knew that could not possibly be the case.)

Civilian casualties? Agents attacking each other? Agents being inappropriate? "I didn't think agents would do things like that," admitted Violet, displaying her young age -though it was perhaps a good thing, that all the things she had seen had not jaded her yet. Between Davidson and her dad, she preferred to think most agents were like her dad. "Why wouldn't they complete a mission?" She frowned. If there was a monster, agents had to kill the monster. That sounded pretty straightforward to her. It didn't help that, at only 14, Violet had killed plenty of monsters.

She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault." It was hers. "And... you didn't scare me. I was just worried about you." It had rattled her, yes. Seeing her dad so broken. But the worst was the guilt. She hadn't managed to shake it yet, despite her dad and Samantha's reassurance. Maybe she never would. Guilt had a tendency to cling to her, like wet fabric. "I'm glad you seem to be feeling a little bit better," she said tentatively, carefully. Afraid that, now that she'd said it, the illusion would shatter.

[fireinmoonshot]

your fiyero | fiyero tigelaar x reader

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader Summary: Ever since Fiyero Tigelaar started at Shiz University, he found himself fascinated by you – the one student who didn't care about him. When he notices you starting to struggle with something, he'll do anything to make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of fainting, falling over, academic stress/burn out Word Count: 2.2k A/N: I've seen Wicked (the show) three times now with the amazing Australian cast that's currently touring and I fell totally head over heels with Fiyero, and then yesterday I saw the movie and fell even more in love with Fiyero and so I had to write for him. I do intend to write more for him, especially if other people want to read more! He's so fun to write for and definitely a challenge compared to some other characters I've written for in the past. I hope you all enjoy! 💗

It’s not difficult to sense the presence of Fiyero Tigelaar behind you as you leave Doctor Dillamond’s classroom, shoving your books into the bag over your shoulder. With the way the students heading into the classroom are staring at someone behind you, it’s quite obvious who they’re staring at. Everyone at Shiz University wants Fiyero Tigelaar. 

Everyone, that is, except you.

“Classes are over, you know?” Fiyero’s voice comes from behind you as you round the corner, heading down the staircase leading to the courtyard. “You don’t have to rush off.”

Irritatingly, the fact that you can’t particularly care less about wanting Fiyero Tigelaar makes himwant you. He usually isn’t the type. If someone doesn’t like him – something he’s actually yet to experience – he would just let it slide. Why waste his energy? But ever since he’d started at Shiz and met you, he’d found himself unable to leave you alone. 

“I know,” you glance back at him over your shoulder. “But some of us actually want to study and spend their time here learning, Tigelaar.”

Fiyero hurries his steps a little so he’s walking alongside you. “Did you miss the part where I said it was my job to corrupt my fellow students when I started here? It’s never too late, darling.” He flashes a grin your way.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him, right at the same time you almost miss a step and stumble a little. Fiyero is quick, catching your elbow to help steady you. You don’t look at him as you steady yourself, meaning you miss the look of worry in his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

You clear your throat and shake off his grip. “Consider me corrupted by your presence.” 

With that, you make a beeline away from him and you’re glad to notice that he doesn’t attempt to follow you. You highly doubt that he’s going to follow you all the way to the library. Fiyero and the library have never exactly gone hand in hand. 

~~

The next time Fiyero bothers you, you’re sat on one of the benches by the gardens. There’s a book in your hands and he can see you staring intently at it as he saunters over to you. It’s almost like he’s approaching a wild bird or something, he thinks. If he moves too quickly, he’ll frighten you and scare you away. It’s the last thing Fiyero wants to do.

He’s a few steps away from you when you look up from your book and meet his eyes. His face breaks into a smile as he moves the last few steps and takes the spot beside you on the bench. You turn to look at him, your eyebrows raised. 

“Now, don’t say I’m interrupting your study,” he begins. “That book is most definitely not in the curriculum. And yes, I did actually take the time to look the curriculum up after I saw you reading here the other day, if you can believe it.”

For a few moments, you only stare at him. Fiyero, for the first time probably ever, finds himself actually a little uncomfortable at your unwavering gaze. It surprises him. He’s never the type of person to feel uncomfortable. He’s confident in almost every situation.

You let out a sigh. “It may not be in the curriculum, but you’ve interrupted me nevertheless, Tigelaar.”

“Apologies,” he says, with a small smirk. “Am I corrupting you even more with my presence?”

“Something like that.” You close your book and sit it on the small space of bench beside you. You had actually just been reading the same page over and over for the last twenty minutes and trying to convince yourself to stop overthinking things. 

You had so much studying to do, so much to learn and so many assignments to do and so little time to do it all. It was probably a little counterproductive to be sitting outside, reading a book and doing none of those things, but if you didn’t try and have a break from them all, you were pretty sure you were going to burn yourself out, which was the last thing you needed. It would have helped if you’d actually been able to relax and enjoy your book, though.

“Is it any good? Your book. Not that I’d read it, of course,” Fiyero grins.

You try your best to conceal your amusement. “I’d offer to lend it to you but, as you said, you wouldn’t actually read it so… I’ll keep it safe with me. I doubt the Winkie Prince knows how to properly take care of books if he can’t read them.”

Fiyero gasps jokingly. “I’ll have you know I can read, I just choose not to. I prefer to fill my brain with much more useless things. That way, I don’t have to think. It’s a peaceful way to live, my darling.” 

You shake your head, this time unable to keep a smile off of your face. Fiyero likes the sight of it. It strangely makes his heart beat a little faster. He can’t actually remember the last time he saw you smiling… not that he’s been keeping track. 

“How about you join me?” He offers. “No more studying for the rest of the day and no more thinking? I’m positive I could find something we could do to fill the time.” 

The reminder of studying, however, brings you back to reality after you small moment of joking with Fiyero. You reach down and grab your book before standing up and turning to face Fiyero, who is looking at you with slight concern in his eyes at your sudden movement.

“I can’t,” you say simply. “I’ve been reading all morning and there is a lot I have to do. I’ll see you around, Tigelaar.”

He watches you with furrowed eyebrows as you walk away from him, clutching your book to your chest and heading in the direction of the library. Fiyero shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. He really thought today would be the day he’d win you over.

~~

A week goes by without Fiyero even getting to utter a word to you. He sees you, though, fairly often around the school. In the courtyard, in the library (where he definitely didn’t go specifically looking for you), in history class and in the dining hall. But every time he’s thought to approach you, you’ve disappeared before he could even make his move. It’s on the seventh day when he notices that something is different about you.

You’re coming out of the library, carrying several books and what looks like a stack of papers in your hands when you trip. Fiyero isn’t quick enough to cross the courtyard and get to you in time to stop your fall. He does, however, take off at a run to be by your side as you start collecting all of the scattered pieces of paper and books that had fallen out of your grasp.

“It’s all right, Tigelaar. You don’t have to help me,” you mutter, trying to shove books into your already overfilled bag. “It’s a Friday night. I’m sure you’ve got other places to be.”

Fiyero, truthfully, does have other places to be. He’s been invited to the Ozdust Ballroom by nine separate people today. But how can he leave you to just clean all this up by yourself? He can see just by the look on your face that you’re utterly exhausted.

“I do,” he says honestly. “But I’ll help you with this first.”

He’s surprised when you suddenly stop putting things in your bag and when he looks up, he finds you staring at him again. It makes him uncomfortable in the same way he felt last week when you’d looked at him in a similar way. 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

Your lack of energy in fighting him is the second thing to make Fiyero realise something is wrong.

After the two of you finish picking up all of the things you’d dropped, the both of you stand. Fiyero opens his mouth to say something when he notices you start to sway. He’s quicker this time, moving to catch you before you fall. His arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady, while his other hand takes the book bag off your shoulder and moves it straight onto his. He’s surprised by how heavy it is. 

“Woah, darling, what’s going on?” Fiyero looks down at you as you blink and push yourself away from him. “Hey, be careful, okay? I think you were just about to faint.”

You shake your head. “I just stood up too fast, that’s all.” You know the words are a lie, and you can tell that Fiyero knows that as well. First, he’d seen you trip coming out of the library, then he’d caught you when you’d almost fainted… you can’t hide it from him. That much becomes crystal clear immediately.

“Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down, okay?” Fiyero begins. “May I?” He gestures to you, asking silently if he can wrap an arm around you to support you incase you fall over again. 

You nod and allow him to guide you just around the corner into the small seating area off to the side of the library. It’s dark, the lanterns not being lit yet despite the fact that the sun had gone down over twenty minutes ago.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy,” you say sheepishly. “That’s twice you’ve stopped me from falling in the last two weeks… I suppose I should say thank you, Fiyero.”

Fiyero sits you down gently on the bench and sits your book bag down on the ground. He crouches down in front of you and reaches up to take your hands in his. He’s surprised when you don’t immediately pull away from him. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my first name before.”

“Oh,” you think on it for a second, trying to ignore the warm feeling of his hands and how comforting it is. “I guess I haven’t. Sorry, Tigelaar.”

“No, no,” Fiyero shakes his head. “Don’t go back to that. I like when you call me Fiyero.”

“Well, I suppose it is your name,” you offer a small smile.

“There’s that gorgeous smile,” Fiyero smiles back at you and squeezes your hands. “Now, are you gonna tell me why you almost just fainted on me and why you’re clumsier than you usually are, darling?”

You stay silent for a few moments and just when Fiyero begins to think that you might just brush him off and try to make a quick exit like you did last week, you start to speak.

“I haven’t really been sleeping well lately,” you admit quietly. “I’ve had so much work to do, I fell behind on my assignments and I took on some extra work from Doctor Dillamond and… despite my best efforts, I guess I let myself get a little burnt out.”

Fiyero looks at you with his eyes full of pity and you hate it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “that’s not important. Why would you care?”

Your attempt to make light of the situation fails spectacularly, judging by the look that Fiyero gives you afterwards. You’ve never seen him look that unimpressed before. 

“Of course I care,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why, though?” You can’t help but ask. “Why are you so fixated on me?”

Fiyero sighs and moves to sit beside you, letting go of your hands in the process. “If you’ll allow me to be honest with you for a moment,” he starts, “I suppose… you’re the only person at Shiz that doesn’t treat me like the perfect Winkie Prince that everyone thinks I am. You’re the only person that doesn’t think I’m perfect, and half the time you act like you can’t stand to be around me, and for some reason that only makes me want to be around you more.” 

“Are you not the perfect Winkie Prince?” You ask.

Fiyero grins. “Oh, not in the slightest, darling. But let’s keep that between us. I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. How does that sound?” 

You don’t even try to hide the smile that comes to your face at his words. “You promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened today?”

“I promise,” he nods. “But only on one condition: you tell Doctor Dillamond you can’t complete the extra work you signed up for and you take a break to make sure you get plenty of rest before diving into your other assignments. I’m sure I can sweet talk some of the Professors if you need help.” 

He smiles as you hit him with the same look as before, but for the first time, he doesn’t find himself feeling uncomfortable at the sight of it. Now, he finds it slightly amusing and incredibly endearing. He has always found you endearing, he supposes.

“Sweet talking my Professors will not be necessary,” you chuckle. “But okay. It’s a deal. And I’ll keep your secret too. You can continue to be the perfect Winkie Prince to everyone… except me.”

Fiyero laughs. “I’ll just be your Fiyero, then.”

“My Fiyero?” You repeat after him, eyebrows raised. 

He ignores the way his heart beats faster at the sound of those words coming out of your mouth. 

“Yes, your Fiyero,” he hums. 

“Everyone will think that you finally corrupted me after all this time,” you joke, voice teasing. “I’ll just be like everyone else at Shiz. Part of the Fiyero Tigelaar fan club.”

Fiyero fixes you with a look. “Oh, darling. You could never be like everyone else.” 

[loudclan-clangen]

Cut for Time - Moon 31

Hey guys! New things! Sometimes when we have long moons, there are scenes that I want to show you guys but I just don't have room to do so. With the suggestion of @snailstep-and-her-clan and the help of the loudclan discord I was able to bring some of these scenes to life in written and illustrated form! Enjoy, and go follow the talented artists if you don't already!

art by @mammoth-clangen

“I’m sorry.” Peakpatch tries to look down at his paws shamefully, but Jaggedtail places a paw under his chin, gently urging Peakpatch to look him in the eye.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“But it’s stupid-” tears prick at Peakpatch’s eyes.

“It’s not stupid. Don’t be sorry.” Jaggedtail’s voice is solid and comforting, Peakpatch fights the urge to melt into it. It feels wrong to seek comfort in his friend after rejecting him. It feels selfish.

“It is stupid. I like you, you like me, we should be mates! I just… I'm not ready…” Peakpatch’s tears begin to drip, and he doesn't have the will to fight it when Jaggedtail pulls him into his chest. 

“I understand, Peakpatch. You don’t have to explain it. It’s okay. I’m here as your friend for as long as you need me to be. And when you’re ready to become mates- if you’re ever ready, I’ll be here then too. I’m not going anywhere. I already promised you that.” Peakpatch let out a shaky breath. He couldn't imagine a life without Jaggedtail. If keeping him at paw's length is what Peakpatch needed to do to keep him alive, then he would be happy to. He could find a way to be happy to.

art by @lurking-in-windclan-camp

Hushed voices echo out of the healer's den, but with the majority of the clan at a gathering there's no one to notice two mischievous apprentices hidden in the shadows of the cave.

“Ah! Shoot!” Dancepaw recoils from one of the piles of herbs, cradling an injured paw, “This one stings!”

Erminepaw peeks over at Dancepaw’s pile. “Hm, that must be nettle, then,” He pauses for a moment, before reaching over and gingerly sweeping it into another pile “Songpaw said that fireweed cures stings, so we’ll put those together. Oo, and the stinkweed too, since they’re both ‘weeds’!”

"What about the berries? They all look the same, so how are we supposed to tell the difference? Taste?" Dancepaw hooks a berry with his claw, raising it to his mouth before a sharp smack from Ermine sends it flying into the dark recesses of the cave.

"No! You never eat a berry that you don't know the name of! Don't you pay attention at all when Songpaw talks?" Ermine's scolding earns him an offended glare.

"Well if you know so much then you do it!" Dancepaw sulks around to the other side of the ledge, shouldering Erminepaw over to the berries.

Erminepaw bristles at the shove, but after a deep breath he begins to hesitantly sort berries, too proud to admit that the task is a bit above his level as well. Besides, Erminepaw assures himself, he's watched his mother do this a thousand times, how hard could it be?

“Songpaw better be grateful that we’re helping him out like this.” Dancepaw grumbles.

“I’m sure he will be when he finds out!” Erminepaw pointedly chirps back, trying to push the creeping feeling of unease back down his spine. If he makes a mistake the healers will fix it. What's the worst that could happen?

Art by @featherfrond

“Hey! Wait up!” Rosehiptree trots up to Kingfur as he slips past the jagged rocks that mark the camp entrance, their pelts brushing as she squeezes through the narrow gap alongside him.

“Everything alright?” Kingfur questions, on edge at the unusual attention. Rosehiptree was his sister Sockeyepelt's friend, it wasn't often that she paid him any mind. Perhaps his prank had inspired the pair of them, the thought sent a shiver down Kingfur's spine. His sister didn't exactly know where the line was when it came to practical jokes. He swore that he still had thorns lodged under his skin from the time she decided he needed to go swimming in a pit of devil's club. It was in his best interest to deflect for now. “Sockeyepelt is sunning back in the camp if you were looking for her.”

“I know that. I’m not looking for her.” Great, Kingfur thought to himself, watching Rosehiptree glance around at their surroundings. Had Sockeyepelt slipped out of camp ahead of them when he wasn't paying attention?

Satisfied with her sweep of the area, Rosehiptree turned her attention back to Kingfur, a wide grin slowly taking hold as ice blue eyes sparkled with delight, “I’m looking for the genius who got Juneaucliff to walk around camp puffed up like a ptarmagin with all that junk smeared on his stupid face!”

Kingfur felt pride well in his chest, but quelled it, not about to let himself fall for such blatant flattery. "You didn't seem to find it all that genius from where I was standing. I didn't think you even payed enough attention to notice."

Rosehiptree rolled her eyes, playfully bumping shoulders with the tom. "That's just cause that's what I wanted you to think. I'm not blind!" Their gazes lock for a moment, before Kingfur glances away, his will power crumbling by the second. Had her eyes alway been that blue? Was that some kind of trick to make him let down his guard? Is there some kind of herb that makes your eyes bluer?

Kingfur takes an instinctive step away from the she-cat, and she hesitates, her gaze dropping as she continues dejectedly, "Juneau's a good guy, don't get me wrong, I'm sure he'd make a great mate, but we're just not on the same page, you know? He deserves someone who's gonna make him happy, and that's not me. It's never gonna be me. But, when I say 'never' he just hears 'not now'." Her eyes flick nervously between her paws as her voice trails off.

This isn't a prank. The realisation washes over him all to late, as Kingfur searches for something to say to her, but caught off guard he comes up empty. Rosehiptree clears her throat and flicks her tail, raising her head once again, and summoning a polite smile. "Well I just wanted to uh, say thanks for getting him off my back for a while." She steps to the side, turning back to camp, and Kingfur's stomach twists.

"Hey, uh-" Having her attention turned back to him once again made some childish part of Kingfur wish he had just let her walk away. But he steeled himself, plastering a confident grin on his face to make up for the fact that his stomach seemed to be trying to climb up out of his throat. "I'm glad I could help, and..." Kingfur's brain was working overtime to find something witty. He wanted to make her laugh again. "I'm glad that you were entertained. That'll make it worth it when he slits my throat in my sleep later tonight."

Rosehiptree grinned again, circling back to his side. "Well at least you'll have died for a worthy cause." Kingfur was going to die right here if she kept smiling at him like that. Would that count as a worthy cause? The tip of his tail flicked rapidly as she approached.

Bolstered by his reciprocated playfulness, Rosehiptree stepped in front of him, brushing the length of her body across his chest, "Of course, if you needed some protection I could always sleep in your nest tonight." Her tail flicked under his chin as she started back to camp once again.

Every fur on Kingfur's pelt stood on end. If he had any brain function at this moment he might worry over his resemblance to a porcupine, but even if he had the mind to do something about it, he couldn't have, as despite feeling like his blood was being heated over a flame, his muscles suddenly seemed to be made of unmovable stone. Perhaps this was a prank, intending to leave him frozen in the middle of this trail for a returning patrol to discover.

"Catch me something while you're out. A puffed up ptarmagin prefferably!" Rosehiptree called to him over her shoulder.

“Y-yeah.” Kingfur stuttered, praying to starclan that his lungs would remember how to work before he passed out. Or at least that he wouldn't topple over before Rosehiptree was out of sight. Mediator heirs weren't supposed to do that, but Kingfur figured that starclan would understand the extenuating circumstances and take pity on him.

That's all for today folks! If you enjoy this I'll do it more! It's a great way for all you background character loving freaks (affectionate) to get some more time with your poor forgotten gays. And it also lets me expand on some ideas that are hard to fit into the comic, like Rosehiptree's complicated feelings about Juneau, which is really fun for me! She's just a heart throb idk what to say. Every man of appropriate age is falling for her. (Except Cave he's too busy being poisoned)

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.5  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.7

p.6

AN: Have you eaten yet? this guys an angsy lil shit

warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

the talk

When Toji came home, Megumi’s protectiveness magnified tenfold.

His usual quiet demeanor gave way to something more intense, almost territorial. Without realizing it, he’d position himself between you and his father, his sharp eyes narrowing every time Toji stood too close or made an offhand remark. It was subtle at first, but it grew harder to ignore.

“Why’re you standing so close to her like that?” Megumi’s voice would cut through the air, low and firm, laced with thinly veiled disdain.

Toji, never one to miss an opportunity to provoke, smirked. “Relax, kid. She’s my wife, you know.”

That word—wife—hit Megumi like a sucker punch, sending something bitter and ugly twisting inside him. He hated it. Hated the way Toji said it with that smug tone, as if it were a brand.

Hated the way you responded so nonchalantly, as though it didn’t faze you at all. Toji calling you wife felt deliberate, like his father was staking a claim on something Megumi didn’t fully understand—but desperately wanted for himself.

It set his teeth on edge, made his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name—most definitely couldn’t ignore. The feeling so abstract, something that had been building up in the months spent at your side. Learning everything he could about you.

“It’s not like it’s real,” Megumi snapped suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides, his voice harsher than he intended. “She’s just your arranged wife. Stop acting like it’s anything more than that. She doesn’t even want you that close in the first place. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

The room went still, a suffocating tension settling between the three of you. Even you froze, caught off guard by the venom in Megumi’s tone. Toji’s smirk faltered slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied his son.

You braced yourself, worried another fight might erupt to completely sour the evening.

But then something shifted. Toji seemed to catch onto something—something even you hadn’t fully noticed. You've caught yourself a little lovesick puppy. His laugh came low and mocking. And his signature smirk returned, sharper than before, as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Man, you’re so protective,” he drawled, his tone dripping with condescension, every word a deliberate jab. “You do know I’m the reason she’s here in the first place, right? Gotta admit, it’s kinda weird, though—acting all territorial over your mom.’” He practically spat the word mom—a taunt rather than anything sincere. Megumi was sure to not bring it up around him. So why the hell was he hurling it like an insult?

And yet the jab had hit Megumi harder than he expected—not because it was wrong, but because of how wrong it felt coming from Toji.

So what if he had called you “Mom”. He'd always said it quietly, in moments where it felt safe, where he knew he wouldn’t be called out for it.

So what if he liked how you smiled when you heard it, the warmth in your voice when you responded, the way your gaze lingered on him like he was the most important person in the room. In the world. It had made him feel... secure, like you wouldn’t leave him no matter what.

But hearing it from Toji’s mouth, laced with mockery, made it feel almost...invasive. Like he was twisting it into some kind of fucked up joke.

It boiled under his skin, consuming and unbearable, a flame that refused to die out. Why did it piss him off so much? Why did it matter what Toji said? And why did it feel like Toji was seeing right through him—exposing the feelings that even Megumi himself didn’t fully understand? And right in front of you—

“Shut up! She’s not my mom,” Megumi hissed back, much sharper than he intended, unable to keep the vitriol out of his tone. He didn’t even know why he felt the need to clarify, why those words spilled out like a defense.

But the moment they left his lips, guilt crashed over him like a wave. His gaze darted to you instinctively, catching the flicker of hurt in your eyes before you quickly masked it—taking a deep breath. His chest tightened painfully, shame coiling in his gut.

He hated that he’d made you feel that way, hated that he’d let Toji push him into lashing out. He wanted to say something to fix it, to reassure you, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come.

You sighed, stepping in before the tension could spiral further out of control. Toji’s taunt had struck a nerve in you as well. His oh-so casual reminder of your arranged marriage—of why you were here, bound by duty more than choice—felt like a veiled warning, a way to keep you grounded in your place. It stirred something uncomfortable in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

This wasn’t about you.

Right now, it was about defusing the storm brewing in the room.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you said firmly, your gaze cutting to Toji with a sharpness that immediately silenced his smirk. Surprisingly, he left little fight for when you bothered to step into their fights.

“Toji, stop teasing him.” You turned to Megumi, your expression softening, your tone gentler but no less resolute.

“And Megumi…” You paused, a voice with such warmth you reserved for him. “Toji is my husband. It’d be weirder if he avoided me. But I’m here for both of you, okay? Not just him, not just you. Both of you. We’re family. So let’s try to get along, yeah?”

Megumi didn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor, his emotions a tangled mess he couldn’t even begin to unravel. 

Family. 

He despises that word, loathes the way it forced Toji into something that, in his mind, should have been just you and him.

The warmth in your voice, the way you said it with such sincerity, made his chest tighten painfully. It stirred something deeper than anger or frustration—something vulnerable and raw that he didn’t know how to name. Disgust. Jealousy. Delirium.

Before Megumi could even begin to piece together the scattered fragments cutting him mind, you gently shooed both of them out of the kitchen.

Your calm words was firm, your smile soft but unyielding as you set the boundary. Pushing him by his shoulders towards the doorway. “Go, Megumi. Relax for once, okay? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He wanted to argue—he always helped with dinner—but the way you smiled at him left him unable to make an excuse. He didn’t want to upset you. Didn’t want you to hate him.

Reluctantly, he left, the loss of your presence settling over him like an ache.

Toji, watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow, smirked as he pushed off the counter. “Got him trained already, huh?” he quipped, but his tone lacked its usual bite, almost as though he were trying to gauge your reaction. He had picked up on something. Something he didn’t exactly like.

You didn’t spare him a glance, your attention focused on the meal in front of you. “It’s called building trust,” you replied smoothly, your voice easygoing. But with a subtle edge. That warning telling him not to pester you.

Toji chuckled softly, a low, thoughtful sound, before turning and following Megumi out of the kitchen.

Outside the kitchen, Toji followed Megumi to the living room, leaning lazily against the wall, his smirk as irritating as ever.

It was the kind of expression that always set Megumi’s nerves on edge, a reminder of just how easily his father could get under his skin. They fought constantly these days. Even when Megumi tried to ignore him.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and loaded, before Toji finally spoke, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery.

“What’s got you so riled up lately, huh? Acting all high and mighty—like you’re the man of the house.”

Megumi stiffened, his jaw tightening as he shot his father a glare. “I’m not acting like anything,” he muttered, his voice taut. Ready for the fight. Itching to throw a punch if need be.

Toji snorted, pushing off the wall lazily, his smirk widening with amusement. Strolling closer to where Megumi sat on the couch. He always loved stirring the pot. Especially with his son.

“Sure, sure. That’s why you’re always hovering around her, huh? You like calling her ‘Mom,’ don’t you? But only when you think I’m not around to hear it, right?”

Megumi’s face burned, heat rushing to his cheeks as his entire body stiffened. “Shut up,”—a sentiment he always spat at least once when interacting with his father.

Toji’s grin only deepened, clearly feeding off his reaction. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

“What’s this, huh? Some kinda mommy fetish? You’re a weird kid, you know that? But don’t forget—she’s my wife. She needs this marriage a hell of a lot more than I do, so keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want word getting out that my boy’s been drooling all over her, yeah?”

“Shut up!” Megumi’s voice rose, striking two on the counter. He kept himself taunt, fully prepared to throw punches, no matter the outcome.

And if he’s honest—he didn’t care about the mocking tone, the smug smirk, the bait Toji was throwing.

No. All he cared about was you—the person Toji dared to talk about so casually, so possessively, like you belonged to him. Like he knew you. Like he deserved you.

Toji chuckled, shaking his head as he straightened up.

"Relax, Megs. I’m just messing with you," he said, though the sharpness in his tone made it clear there was more to it.

Then his voice dropped, the humor draining away, replaced by something colder. "But seriously, what’s with you lately?” Toji drawled, unable to keep out some amusement.

“Always stuck to her like glue, damn near biting my head off if I so much as breathe near her. What’s the deal? You think she needs you or somethin’?”

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he shot his father a glare. “What’s your point?” he muttered, barely masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He’d confirmed it. Megumi was an open book by this point. How you hadn’t even noticed it was astounding. Maybe too swept up in your role in their life’s. In being the perfect little housewife. But he couldn’t let this go. Not that he really cared whether Megumi liked you—no. That wasn’t the issue.

Toji watched—his sharp gaze piercing right through Megumi. “My point? You’re playing with fire, kid. You’re gettin’ too close to her, and you don’t even realize it. Her clan’s no joke—they’re a problem waiting to happen. And trust me, it won’t look good if someone thinks you’re trying to....I dunno, play house or somethin’.”

Megumi froze, his breath catching in his throat. Playing house with her? The insinuation made his stomach twist, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “What are you talking about?” he said sharply, not able to keep his confusion from bleeding into defensiveness. “She’s my...she’s family.”

Toji raised a brow, his smirk growing more condescending. “Family, huh? Is that what you’re telling yourself? That why you’re watching me like you’re ready to throttle me every time I get close to her?” He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something akin to a warning. “You’re a kid. You don’t even know what you’re feeling yet, so let me make it simple. Her clan’s trouble. Big trouble. And if they catch even a whiff of you trying to get closer to her—closer than you should—they won’t just make it your problem. They’ll make it hers, too."

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides, his glare unwavering. But he can’t deny it—Toji’s words hit like a bucket of ice water, freezing something deep inside him. His mind raced, still trying to process the implications of his words. Still reeling at the thoughts of playing house with you. Of what he was really feeling here.

Toji didn’t let up, his tone growing heavier with meaning. “You know they’ve got their eyes on you, right? Them and the Zenin clan? They’re not the kind of people you want to be messing with. You so much as breathe wrong, and they’ll have you tangled up in their bullshit before you even know what hit you.”

Her clan. His father’s clan. Megumi’s stomach twisted.

He’d known about their visits, their persistence, the weight they seemed to hold over you. But hearing Toji say it like this, with an edge of warning, unsettled him.

Were they really that dangerous? Were you in more trouble than you let on? What did they mean to you? You hadn’t ever hinted at the possibility that they could be a threat. His mind raced, questions colliding with emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. Just what was Toji implying? He felt crazy—not able to form a rationale sentiment.

His judgment clouded.

“I can handle it,” Megumi said stiffly, his voice cold, though his chest remained tight. Not fully believing his own words. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

Toji’s smirk widened, his sharp eyes boring into Megumi like he was dissecting him, pulling apart his defenses with ease. The kid never had much experience with the clan life either way. So how else was he gonna know what they were really after? Toji may not be a great father. But he did his job well. Megumi hadn’t any clue what this could mean for him.

There was no humor in Toji’s expression, only a bitter edge that made Megumi’s skin crawl. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” His tone almost pitying, the mockery cutting deep. “Like I said before—you’re a kid. You think you can protect her? Keep her safe from that world?” His voice dropping to a low murmur. “You can’t even tell how bad you’ve got it.”

He stayed silent, unwilling to give Toji the satisfaction of a reaction.

But Toji wasn’t finished. Wanting the warning to stick. Needing it to.

“The Zenin clan…” he drawled, his tone laced with bitterness, his gaze growing distant for a moment, as if dredging up something unpleasant.  “They’d love to get their hands on you. You’re already on their radar.”

Though his voice remained calm, the weight of his words settled heavily in the room, the faint clang of dishes sounding in the background.

A constant reminder of your presence.

“Y’know that’s why she’s here, right?” Toji stalled, looking back as if making sure you weren’t there. Nearly debating on if was worth telling him this. He didn’t like the idea of Megumi’s only decent relationship falling apart through him, but he solidified his stance knowing he didn’t like the alternative.

“Funny how they work—arranged marriages. The clan heads can decide whatever they want. They’ve got so much control, especially over people like her. Women, y’know. It’s just another move to pull you in. Sent her here to watch, to get information—on you, on me. See if you’re all talk.”

Megumi’s eyes dart to his father’s, surprise painting his features. And for all intents and purposes, Toji met his gaze—piercing and unreadable, pinning him in place. So shamelessly and casually like he was discussing the weather.

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t want to believe him. Didn’t want to think you could do that to him. But worst of all—his didn’t want your care to be fake.

And if it was true—because why would Toji lie here? What would he get out of this? He didn’t want to ask the question that burned at the back of his mind—didn’t want to hear his answer—not yet. But it slammed against his thoughts like stones pelting a wall. 

Why had Toji let someone like you into their lives in the first place?

“What do they want with me?” Megumi asked, avoiding the glaring question. His voice low and tense. The disbelief still strung across his face.

Toji’s smirk remained stretched across his face—humorless, a sharp edge to his words almost like it was obvious. “Your Ten Shadows Technique. That’s what they’re after. That’s the prize. They want to see if you’re worth the trouble. Investments and all that. And if you are, they’ll come for you.”  

His tone was almost mocking, like he was telling a scary bedtime story about an unimaginable boogeyman lurking in the shadows, waiting to snatch him up. It was comedic in a way.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he processed the weight of Toji’s words.

“She hasn’t even asked about that,” he shot back, defensive, his mind racing. He couldn't stand the pounding in his ears. The possibility that you might not be the person he thought you were. That you didn't actually care about him. Was this all a performance?

“She’s not stupid,” Toji replied smoothly, his tone unnervingly calm. Feeling somewhat sympathetic for whatever the fuck you two shared.

“She’s sharper than they give her credit for, playing their game better than most of them realize. But don’t fool yourself, kid—she’s still here for a reason. She might care about you, but don’t pretend she’s not tied to a leash.”

His mind was reeling. Turning. Spinning. The idea of you being under someone else’s control, in a way you couldn’t escape, twisted something inside him. The small voice in the back of his head told him there was a good chance you weren't faking it. His father’s voice was heavy with warning, but there was something else there, too—almost pity.

“Even she knows what’s at stake,” Toji added.

Megumi’s glare faltered, feeling drained. Confusion was a constant theses days. And it laced his tone as he pressed further, his voice dropping low so it wouldn’t carry over the sound of your soft humming from the kitchen. "If she’s not with them anymore, then why would she still be reporting to them? Why is she even talking to them at all?

Toji sighed, moving to lean back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “You think it’s that simple?” he said. “Clan heads don’t just let go of what they think is theirs. You don’t just walk away clean, kid. They’ve got ways to drag her back if they want to. Dissolve the marriage, make up some bullshit reason. Hell, if it’s anything like I remember, they don’t even need a reason. They’ll just take her.”

His father continued, ignoring Megumi’s face contorting.

“You think her life before this was sunshine and rainbows?” Toji went on, his voice dropping lower, not eager for you to pick up their conversation. “If it was anything like the shit I saw growing up, they probably beat the defiance out of her a long time ago. I got out lucky, but not everyone does. You don’t survive in a clan like that by fighting back too much."

Toji reiterated—quite mercifully if he might add, "She’s not reporting because she wants to. She’s doing it because she has to.”

The silence stretched. Megumi’s mind replaying every moment he’d seen you quietly brushing off the clan’s calls, every forced smile, every dismissive excuse. His unrelenting white hot anger surfacing at the thought of you enduring that kind of life. What else did he not know? The questions, the veiled threats, your nervousness—all of it had been happening right in front of him. The disgusting thought of someone beating you into submission.

“Let me be real clear, kid—I don’t want you getting dragged into this clan bullshit. I’ve spent years keeping you out of it for a reason. I don’t like where this is headed, not one damn bit. But if you keep acting like this, keep pushing the way you are, they’re gonna notice. And when they do...”

The silence heavy and foreboding, as though Toji himself didn’t want to say it outright. But the implications were clear. What could they do? Snatch you back? Use you as leverage? Dangle you over their heads like bait in their endless games of power and control? Force Megumi into a spot he didn’t want to be in? He was still a kid after all.

Toji leaned in slightly, his voice cold and clipped. “They’ll use her. They’ll use you. And trust me, they won’t give a shit about what either of you wants. They’ll make it messy, and they won’t think twice about it. This isn’t some game you can play without consequences, Megumi.”

For once, there was no mockery in his tone, no smirk playing at his lips. He was dead serious, his warning obvious.

Consequences. What consequences would he endure for you? Megumi swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. “I can handle it.”

Toji’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes narrowing, his presence heavy. He couldn’t change his mind, but Toji at least wanted him to know what he was signing himself up for. “You don’t have the luxury of playing the fool here, kid. If you’re serious about this—about her—then you better start thinking ahead. Because the way you are now? You’re weak. A burden at best. And weak doesn’t stand a chance against people like them.”

The words hit like a hammer, each syllable deliberate and cutting. It’s true.

“If this is the hill you wanna die on, then you better do something about it,” Toji fixed Megumi with a small glare of his own. Something Megumi surprisingly saw rarely. “You’re not gonna get anywhere sitting around, sulking like a brat. You want to step up? Fine. Do it. I don’t like it, but I’ll respect your decision. Just know what you’re getting yourself into. Do it for the right reason. And make sure you aren't dragging her behind you along the way.”

Once again bathed in silence, they stared at each other. Opposite ends of the spectrum yet so similar in so many ways.

With a shrug that seemed too casual for the tension he’d left behind, Toji retreated back to the kitchen, where your soft humming still drifting through the air. Oblivious to the fight that’d just take place. Fight? More like a warning. To Megumi, it sounded almost mocking now, a reminder of how close yet distant you were. That warmth you brought into their lives was there, just out of reach, and it only made the ache in his chest more unbearable.

Later that night, Megumi lay sprawled on his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his father’s taunting words played in his mind on an endless loop. Too weak. A burden. Danger. He grit his teeth, the weight of it settling like a stone in his chest.

Distance—that’s what he needed. He needed to put some space between you and him, for your sake.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his chest clenched painfully. The idea of pulling away, of losing the comfort of your presence, felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He hated this feeling.

Hated how much he relied on his father for protection, how Toji’s words exposed every insecurity he fought to ignore.

What made it worse was the truth behind them. If your clan really was as dangerous as Toji claimed, if they were determined to drag you back—or worse—what could he do to stop them?

Right now, he was nothing but a danger to your safety. The way his thoughts spiraled whenever he was around you, the way his heart twisted and burned with feelings he didn’t fully understand—it made him reckless. Possessive. Clouded. He'd act on impulse, clinging to you like his life depended on it. His feelings still so jumbled, he tried to sort them out.

Why did his chest tighten every time you smiled at him?

Why did it matter so much when you called him family?

Why did he feel this gnawing need to keep you close, to make sure no one—not his father, not your clan, not anyone—could take you away?

Why were these feelings still present when he knew they weren’t dedicated to a mother?

It was raw and confusing, tangled in ways he couldn’t yet unravel.

But one thing burned through the haze of uncertainty: whatever this was, whatever you’d become to him, he couldn’t let it go.

He wouldn’t let it go.

You were the most important person in his life—that was for sure—and you were trapped in a situation he couldn’t fix. Yet.

For so long, he’d stayed on the outskirts of jujutsu society, avoiding the weighty politics of clan life despite his development of the Ten Shadows technique.

But now he had to face the question he’d been dodging: 

What was he willing to do?

His jaw tightened, a spark of resolve cutting through the haze of doubt. He couldn’t let things stay like this. Couldn’t keep standing idly by while Toji spoke about you like you were just his possession—his wife. While his clan threw around your life like it meant nothing.

Megumi’s feelings for you ran deeper than even he wanted to admit.

You weren’t just his stepmother.

You weren’t just someone who cooked and cleaned and made his life softer in ways he hadn’t known he needed.

You were…something else.

Someone who mattered in a way he couldn’t put into words. Something beyond words.

And if he wanted to prove that—to protect you the way you deserved—he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He needed to change. To get stronger. To become someone capable of standing by your side, someone who could protect you without relying on his father. He needed to grow up.

And fast.

p.7

AN: Thank you for reading! This is my last one for today, i've gotta go to bed-- to be continued soon. please give a follow and reblog if you want to stay updated - or follow along on my ao3

[hoshifighting]

ok... so i've seen your amazing college fling works for seungcheol, jeonghan, and joshua.... but what about one for hoshi 👉👈

ONCE AGAIN I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

WARNINGS: freshmen!hoshi, late night practices, burn-out, shyness, sunbae!reader, fluff, a lil bit of angst.

WC: 2.8k of this... judge me 🗣needed to divide this into parts...

part 1 / part 2

college fling!hoshi that you clocked that he was a freshman by the very moment he stepped into the dance practice room. it started with the smell, honestly. freshman reek—like nervous sweat and too much axe body spray, paired with the faintest whiff of fear. baggy-ass hoodie that practically swallowed his arms, hands shoved deep in his pockets like they’d get fined if they came out, sneakers so new they squeaked against the gym floor. he looked young. not in a bad way, just in that “i’m not used to being left unsupervised” way.

he stood in the doorway like he didn’t know what to do with himself. everyone else was stretching, pulling their limbs into shapes human joints probably weren’t meant for, and there he was, swaying on the balls of his feet like a kid waiting to ask if they could borrow a crayon.

“you lost?” you called out, not even looking up from where you were sitting, tying your shoelaces.

“huh? n-no, i’m, uh—this is intro to hip-hop?”

the way he said it like a question had you biting back a grin. “yeah, you’re in the right place. c’mon in before the instructor roasts your ass for lurking.”

he shuffled in, taking a spot in the back corner like he was hoping no one would notice him. “i'm invisible if i stand still enough”, he thinks. but of course, everyone noticed him. new kid energy was impossible to ignore, and to top it off, he had that awkwardly cute thing going on. messy bangs falling into his eyes, face pink like he was one awkward comment away from combusting. his eyes, wide and curious, darting around like he was mentally cataloging every single thing in the room.

“you got a name, freshman?” you asked, leaning back on your hands as you watched him.

he blinked, like he didn’t realize you were still talking to him. “oh, uh, hoshi. i mean, soonyoung. but people call me hoshi.”

“cool. you dance before, hoshi?”

“alright, new guy!” the prof clapped his hands, dragging everyone’s attention. “show us a little freestyle! don't be shy...”

college fling!hoshi who freezes mid-blink, still thinking about your question. clutching his backpack straps so hard you thought they might snap. he turned to you, wide-eyed and panicked, like you could save him from the impending doom.

“relax,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “you do this and sunbae’s buying you dinner. whatever you want. ramen, fried chicken, you name it.”

he blinked, like the concept of being spoiled by you was enough to short-circuit his brain, but there was something there. a spark. like maybe he didn’t wanna flop in front of you.

“okay,” he mumbled, and you gave him a grin that could probably power a small city.

“attaboy,” you said, patting his shoulder as you turned back to the class.

by the end of the first class, he’d loosened up a bit—mostly because the instructor made everyone run through improv drills, and there was no room for shyness when you were flailing around to some experimental old-school rap track. you caught him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

college fling!hoshi who finally zipped up his backpack after what felt like an eternity, stood up, and immediately knocked over a water bottle with his foot. he muttered a quick, shy “sorry,” barely glancing at the offended plastic, and shuffled toward you. his shoulders were stiff, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack like they were the only things tethering him to this earth. you gave him a once-over, your phone in one hand, and a smirk playing at your lips. “you survived,” you said casually, and his grin was so tiny you almost missed it.

college fling!hoshi who started walking alongside you, a little too close like he didn’t know how to pace himself yet. every few steps, his elbow brushed yours, and he’d shift just enough to make it obvious he noticed. you didn’t say anything—just side-eyed him with a teasing smile that had his ears turning red.

college fling!hoshi who paused outside the building with you, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve as he asked, “so, uh… what do you like to eat?” his voice was barely louder than the passing breeze. you raised an eyebrow at him, tucking your phone into your pocket. “you’re really gonna let me pick, huh?” he nodded, determined, even as he shuffled his feet. “you said you’d spoil me,” he countered, and for the first time, there was a flicker of sass in his tone. you liked it.

college fling!hoshi who almost tripped on his untied shoelace when you said you’d pick a place, his backpack slipping off one shoulder as he bent down to fix it. he was mumbling something about bad luck when you crouched beside him, yanking the lace from his hands and tying it with a quick knot. “you’re gonna kill yourself before dinner at this rate,” you said, and the way he stared at you—wide-eyed, lips parted—made it feel like you’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom.

college fling!hoshi who sat across from you at the tiny chicken shop, looking at the menu like it was a math test. “it’s just chicken, dude,” you teased, propping your chin in your hand. he fumbled with the laminated page, finally blurting, “but what if I pick something too spicy?” you laughed, shaking your head. “okay, rookie, let me help you out.” you ended up ordering for both of you, and when the dish came, his eyes lit up.

college fling!hoshi who distractly puts too much sauce on his chicken wing and doesn’t notice because he was too busy grinning at your stories. “wait, wait—so you fell during a performance?” he asked, the sauce at the corner of his mouth. you groaned, throwing a napkin at him. “it wasn’t just a fall, okay? it was a crash,” you admitted, and his laugh was so loud the couple at the next table glanced over. “stop making fun of me or I’ll make you pay,” you threatened, and his face instantly sobered. “wait, what?”

college fling!hoshi who insisted on paying despite your earlier threats. he pulled out his wallet like it was some grand declaration of independence, only to hesitate when he realized he didn’t have enough cash. “um…” he started, cheeks burning. you rolled your eyes and handed your card to the cashier before he could protest. “rookie rule number one,” you said smugly, “always check your wallet before acting like a big shot.” he muttered something about repaying you, and you just laughed, nudging him toward the door.

college fling!hoshi who got lost again on the way back to his dorm, despite the fact that he’d been living there for a week. “are you serious right now?” you asked, watching him squint at the campus map on his phone. he scratched the back of his head, mumbling, “it all kinda looks the same at night.” sighing, you grabbed his phone, pulled up the map yourself, and started walking. “come on, hoshi-ya you’re hopeless.”

college fling!hoshi who walked beside you, hands in his pockets, quietly humming a tune you didn’t recognize. “what’s that?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. his eyes widened like he’d been caught. “oh, uh, just something I made up,” he admittedquietly. you stopped in your tracks, turning to him with a grin. “wait, you write music?” he shrugged, suddenly bashful. “a little… it’s not a big deal.” you nudged him with your shoulder. “nah, that’s cool as hell. show me sometime?”

college fling!hoshi who hesitated outside his dorm door, hand hovering over the handle. “thanks for… you know, today,” he said, glancing at you shyly. “and dinner.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you earned it, rookie. but next time, you’re paying.” his smile stretched wide, and for a moment, he just stood there, like he didn’t want to go in. finally, he nodded, fumbling with the key. “goodnight, sunbae,” he said softly, and you had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair as you turned to leave.

college fling!hoshi who always trails behind you, holding onto the strap of your backpack like a lost puppy. “you’re gonna rip it, you know,” you tell him, but he just grins and tightens his grip. “you’re my sunbae. gotta make sure I don’t lose you.” it’s so dumb and cheesy that you flick his forehead, but your chest feels warmer anyway.

college fling!hoshi who managed to charm his way into your friend group like he’d been there all along. one of your music department friends spotted him loitering outside your lecture hall and asked, “is that the guy you’ve been dragging around campus?” you rolled your eyes, but hoshi smiled like he’d just won an award. “that’s me!” he said proudly, and somehow by the end of the conversation, they were swapping playlist recommendations.

college fling!hoshi who shows up at your dorm one night with a bruised knee and a sheepish smile. “i tripped during practice,” he admits, wincing as you drag him inside. “tripped or collapsed?” you demand, pointing at the ice pack in his hands. he shrugs, trying to play it off, but you’re already crouched in front of him, scolding him as you press the ice to his knee. “you should stop, sunbae its worried about you.” you mutter, and when he mumbles, “i’ll be fine,” you glare at him until he mutters an apology instead.

college fling!hoshi who gets into his first real argument with you after you find him practicing in an empty studio way past midnight. “what the hell are you doing?” you snap, flipping on the lights to find him mid-spin, sweat dripping down his face. “just a bit more,” he protests, breathless. “i need to get this routine perfect.” but you’re not having it. “perfect doesn’t matter if you’re too dead to perform, hoshi!” he flinches, wide-eyed, but you don’t stop. “you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. stop before you break something.” he looks at you, frustrated, and finally, he slumps onto the floor, whispering, “sorry, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who randomly shows up with snacks between your classes. “figured you’d be hungry,” he says, handing you a convenience store bag. you peek inside—your favorite drink and a pack of cookies. “didn’t know you were trying to bribe me,” you tease, taking a bite. “is it working?” he asks, grinning, and when you give him a thumbs-up, he beams like a kid on christmas morning.

college fling!hoshi who ends up crashing at your dorm after a long night of studying. he’s sprawled on your bed, one arm thrown over his face, while you sit cross-legged on the floor, typing away at your laptop. “you’re gonna fail if you don’t actually read the material,” you say, glancing up. he groans, rolling onto his side. “then i’ll just ask you to tutor me again,” he says, smirking, and you chuck a pillow at his head.

college fling!hoshi who catches you off-guard one day by slipping his jacket over your shoulders during a chilly walk across campus. “you looked cold,” he says simply, his voice softer than usual. you pull the fabric tighter around you, the faint scent of him lingering on it, and when you glance at him, he’s pretending to be super interested in a tree. “thanks,” you say quietly, and he shrugs, his ears turning pink as he mutters, “anytime, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who came back one day to the practice room after a late practice, two cans of soda in hand, humming to himself. “sunbae, I got—” his voice cut off when he saw you slouched on the floor, one hand clutching your forehead. “y/n?” he rushed over, dropping the sodas with a dull clunk. crouching in front of you, his voice softened. “what’s wrong? are you okay?” you waved him off weakly. “just tired. it’s nothing.” but he didn’t buy it for a second.

college fling!hoshi who gently pried your hand away from your forehead, his fingers brushing against yours. “you’re burning up,” he said, his brow furrowing. “why didn’t you say anything?” you tried to sit up straighter, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “it’s fine, really. just pushed too hard today.” his expression tightened. “this isn’t fine, y/n. you shouldn’t have kept going if you felt like this.”

college fling!hoshi who helped you lean back against the mirror. “stay still, okay?” he murmured, crouching next to you. you gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “you’re acting like I’m dying, hoshi.” he didn’t laugh, his lips pressing into a thin line. “don’t joke about that,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of improvement.

college fling!hoshi who let you rest your head against his shoulder when you slumped forward again. “here, like this,” he said softly, adjusting so you were cradled in his arms. his hands were steady, one supporting your back and the other brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just relax. you’re safe.” he started gently blowing on your face, the cool air soothing your heated skin. “better?” he whispered, his voice close enough to send a strange flutter through your chest.

college fling!hoshi who stayed with you until you could sit up on your own again, his arm still lingering behind your back just in case. “you scared me,” he admitted, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “i thought… what if something happened and I wasn’t here?” you blinked up at him, guilt bubbling in your stomach. “sorry,” you muttered. his hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “just don’t do it again, okay? i mean it, you always scold me for practicing too late...”

college fling!hoshi who refused to let you walk home by yourself, no matter how many times you insisted you were fine. “nope, not happening,” he said firmly, slipping your bag over his shoulder along with his own. “if you collapse halfway there, what am I supposed to do? carry you like a princess?” you snorted, but the teasing tone in his voice couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“you know, I could really get used to you carrying me around,” you said, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh, really?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah,” you said, deadpan, “I mean, who wouldn’t want a cute guy carrying them everywhere?”

college fling!hoshi who, despite the teasing tone in your voice, caught that little glint in your eye. “alright, then,” he said, voice suddenly serious, as he paused in front of you. “come here.” without waiting for a response, he slid his arms under your knees and around your back. you yelped in surprise, but before you could protest, he had you lifted off the ground like you were weightless. “you wanted it, right?” he said with a grin, carrying you like it was nothing. “not a word out of you until we get to your dorm.”

“you’re a natural at this,” you teased, your chin resting on his shoulder as you looked up at him. “yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from passing out on me,” he muttered, but his cheeks were flushed, and his hands felt like they were holding you just a bit too tightly. “this isn’t bad,” you added with a smirk, “maybe I’ll start making demands. like, no more walking for me from now on.”

he blushed at your joke but didn’t miss a beat. “you sure about that?” he asked, glancing down at you with a sly smile. you nodded, playing along. “definitely. I’m a princess now. I’ll need snacks, water, a blanket... and don’t forget the back rubs.” hoshi shook his head, clearly trying to hide his amusement. “I’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too far, but okay,” he said, adjusting his grip on you. “I can do all that...”

“deal. but only if you don’t drop me halfway there,” you teased. hoshi’s grip tightened, his voice lowering a little. “I’ll never drop you, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who made it to your dorm room, still carrying you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I should’ve known you’d enjoy this,” he said, shaking his head as he set you down on your bed. “enjoy what?” you asked innocently, grinning up at him. “this whole ‘being carried around’ thing,” he said, still laughing a little. you shrugged dramatically.

college fling!hoshi who would come up to you after class, always fussing over you—was your shoulder okay? did you stretch enough? how was your lunch? you’d always brush it off, sulking a little at the way he took care of you like it was his full-time job.

[seradyn]

A Beast of Greed Who Fell in Love

In honor of the Sylus myth dropping, I got possessed by writing demons and wrote this in one sitting. At 7am (I work swing shift lmao) 🫠🫠

Sylus pov as he thinks about how he fell in love with you, and reader absolutely spoiling him with love and affection. Tooth rotting fluff, slightly suggestive at the end 😇

Not gender neutral, but no description of reader is given, just some pronoun usage. No use of y/n

Word count: 2190

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sylus could say, with utter certainty, that he had never felt such contentment before.

What more could an infernal creature desire, he wondered, than to have his most beloved treasure nestled into his chest, resting with him as he lay in that meadow of maroon flowers, swaying in the temperate breeze that blew across the grass? How could he fight the satisfied smirk that spread across his face as he looked down at her, his tail wound possessively around her leg, his arms cradling her fragile form as his clawed thumbs rubbed tiny circles into her skin. His heart beat, as he gazed at her, and he could hear it chant mine, mine, mine, a symphony of his most exquisite desires. And she, too, had a blissful smile on her face, eyes closed as she battled the temptation to nap. To let yourself be vulnerable and, in turn, fall prey to this most monstrous being, who held you so gently.

But you were already his, weren’t you?

He could see it, in the way your eyes lit up whenever you saw him, how you didn’t try to hide your love for him even slightly. He could feel it, when you both embraced, your hearts so close, he could feel them beating as one. He could taste it, when you were close enough to share a breath, when you leaned forward expectantly, like he hung the moon and stars just for you, like he was the reason there were bright summer days filled with laughter and silly dares, or that he caused the warm, cozy fires you huddled against in the cold, brewed the cup of hot tea in your hands, whose taste reminded you of cinnamon and family gatherings.

Like he was your world. And fuck, if he didn’t feel like it, with the way you looked at him.

Gods, he wanted that. To be your world. Forever he wanted that. To be your world until the stars went out, until the planets collapsed, until the universe winked out of existence, and he was plunged into darkness again.

Because you were his world, too.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, when you became more than a means to an end. Perhaps it was when he gripped you in his talons, ready to easily snuff out the life of another helpless interloper, and instead of seeing your eyes clouded with fear, instead of the begging for your measly life he expected, he saw them harden with defiance. Or, perhaps, it was the first time he brought you here, to this very field, where you held his hands so tenderly, kissed his claws as you profused how much you cared for him, how much he meant to you. Or, maybe, it was even today, when he took you flying again, how you laughed as the wind whipped your hair, and you reached out to run your hands through the passing clouds. Those raw, natural and alive moments where he could swear he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Either way, he realized it didn’t truly matter. Because regardless of when you went from being some hopeless, hapless girl, and became the very reason for his continued existence, he was utterly consumed by reverence for you. If you asked him to raze the world, asked him to carve out his heart for you, he’d ask how thoroughly you wanted the earth to be scorched, how you would like his heart presented to you.

You were his. And he, yours.

His nose twitched, and he let out a soft sigh. He could scent you on the wind. This perfect, perfect creature. He wanted to consume it, gulp down your essence like one who only knew dry sand and crumbling earth feeling the lapping of ocean waves for the very first time. He wanted to submerge himself in it, drown himself in this warmth, this scent, this feeling that felt like how home was always supposed to feel.

Although, he was wise enough to know not to drink the salty brine, despite its temptations. If he allowed her sweet nectar to touch his tongue, he may not know how to stop. May not be able too until there was nothing of you left, trying desperately to feed an insatiable maw. He was a greedy thing, he was well aware, and knew if you permitted him a taste, you may never see the light of day again. His primal urges that demanded he sequester you deep in his cave of treasures, where you belonged, to hoard you like the most precious being that you were, would be too strong to fight. His urge to fucking lick you, clean you and cover you in his own scent, like the great wyrms did to court each other, as he was sure his own parents once did, would take over, and you would see the truth of the beast you laid with.

Perhaps, though, he didn’t do as well of a job hiding them as he thought. His beloved stirred, sitting up to look at him with what he could only describe as pure, unfiltered adoration. Your eyes - they sparkled brighter than any gem or coin in his collection. Like someone had flown high enough to chase the stars, managed to catch one in their rapacious claws, just so they could dust your eyes with its light. Your smile - bright enough to rival the sun, and warm enough that it felt better than basking on the smoothest, sun-kissed rocks. Your hair softly danced on the breeze, the mid evening sky an orange-gold crown on your head, and Sylus thinks he understood why mortals go to church so often; for a chance to see something half as divine as you.

Absentmindedly, you began to trace the red cracks along his chest with your fingers, watching as it is guided to the red jewel encrusted on his chest. He manages to suppress a delighted shudder, but allows himself the pleased growl that rumbles in his chest, much like a purr, as the soft pads glide across the shattered glass of his pearlescent skin. He watches in unconcealed fascination as your hand is led to his faintly glowing heart, before starting anew on a different line, further down. He lets his eyes close, leaning his head back as you map out his body, of how his scales turn to pillowy flesh and back again. He can feel when you finished on his left side, where you started, and move to the right, leaving no part of him un-lavished by your affections.

When you finish there too, he looks down at you again, curiosity scampering across his expression. You flash him a look briefly, a spark of mischief igniting in your eyes, before you abruptly lean forward and begin to pepper the edges of his ruby heart with kisses. He sucked in a breath through his pointed teeth, his eyes slightly wide as you surprise him again by utterly spoiling him. Pressure built in his chest, just below your sweet lips, and he let out a shaky breath, trying to find relief before those unfamiliar emotions became too much. His tail squeezed your leg as you rounded the arrow shaped emblem over his heart, not stopping until you covered the entire outline of it with your decadent touch. When you arrived back where you started, you paused to leave a long, drawn out peck directly on his crystalline heart. His eyes almost rolled back in his head in sheer ecstasy, his tail lightly thumping against your rear in pure delight.

You laughed as you pulled away, the sound like a swell of music that made him feel like he was floating. He couldn’t help but chuckle as you patted his tail to get it to settle, scooching forward so your face was right above his. He saw the intent in your eyes, that mixture of fire and wine that made him feel intoxicated, made him want to kneel at your feet, obey your every command.

When your lips touched his, it felt like he was in heaven. That magical place that mortals coveted more than anything. He had no doubt it was a fallacy made to comfort the dead and dying; a place of endless pleasure and devoid of suffering was naive to even dream about. But when your mouth moved against his, when he gently swiped your bottom lip with his forked tongue, and you opened your mouth to let him taste you, breathe you in…he thinks he may have just found it.

And it is his. You are his.

He hummed into your mouth, chasing your lips as you tried to gulp down air. It was a long moment before you parted, but you eventually leaned away from him. He had to fight the snarl that bubbled in his throat, his tail tightening around your leg just so, and a clawed, beastial hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. He pulled you back down, your lips reuniting, and he held your cheek with his other hand as he was returned to bliss.

You let out a surprised squeak as he did this, before letting out a giggle into his mouth. It took all of his willpower not to beat his wings against the cold dirt and lash his tail in complete euphoria at the sound. He nipped at her lips instead, thinking of how he would carve out the eardrums of anyone who dared to hear your angelic laugh. He was a greedy creature, and your sounds were his, for him alone. Your smiles would be directed at him alone, your laugh his to cherish alone. He must be a monster, he thinks, to steal the world's most precious flower and hide it away so none but him are permitted to admire its immaculate beauty.

But he is fine with that. He’ll happily play the monster, if it means he gets to keep you all to himself.

Slowly, you eased off his lips, yet you continued to kiss him, trailing a path up to the tendrils of scales that adorn his cheeks. He returned the favor, groaning quietly in appreciation as he pressed his greedy mouth into your neck, running his tongue along your pulse as you peppered his face with kisses. Although, because you simply must always do what he doesn’t expect, he finds himself frozen as you smoothly glide your hands up, grasping both his horns in your doughy palms and stroking them up and down, your nails scraping against his scalp as you reach the base of them. His head falls back again, a sound escaping his lips somewhere between a hiss and a purr. Gods, why did that feel so good? You must be an enchantress, a witch who has hexed him, to make him feel so many things he never even thought possible. He held you impossibly tighter, his claws nearly digging grooves into your back.

You chuckled from your place between his brows - he made it no secret he was putty in your hands. And it was because you cradled him so gently, allowed him to shape himself as he saw fit, that he permitted you to know such things. Would trust you, out of everyone, not to shape him in your own image, as you could if you chose. No, instead, he felt your hot breath roll across his ear as you leaned down to whisper to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a bated breath at that, pulling you away to look you in the eyes. He once anguished over this, thought himself undeserving. You are his most precious gem, the apple of his eye, his dearly beloved, deserving of being draped in only the finest from his hoard, bathed in the softest silks from faraway lands, cherished and worshiped above all else. Where does a creature such as himself find the audacity to ask for your hand as he walks into oblivion, he wondered?

But, now, he only smirks. “I’ll hold you to that,” he purred, winding his tail further up your leg in promise.

You nodded once, satisfied. “You better,” you say, taking his hand, pecking the back of it. “Because you’re the love of my life.”

Sylus smiles. A real, genuine smile, while his heart hurts with how full it feels, like it might burst from his chest and soar into the clouds, where he can laugh while he chases it down. He wondered if he were to throw himself from the highest cliffs, let the wind whistle past him, if these feelings, this lightness he now felt, would carry him into the sky, and he wouldn’t even need to lift his wings to fly.

He tilts your chin up with a single talon, rising to rest his forehead against yours. “And you are mine,” he whispered, prayed, revered. Declared it to all who would listen, could listen. “My beloved.”

Because now that he had you, secure in the knowledge that you were his, he was never letting you go.

You were his. Are his. Forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First Sylus (and LNDS) fic 🙌🙌 I have so many in the works and on the brain, including a huge long fic, but we’ll see what happens/what I post. One thing at a time 😌

Also it’s been like a year since my last fic lmaoooooo

[2amriize]

.ᐟ long distance relationship with RIIZE ༉‧₊˚.

req: Requesting a long distance relationship with RIIZE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ...

pairing: bf!riize x reader — masterlist

⭑.ᐟ shotaro

Shotaro would have a really hard time. He loves you too much, and knowing he can't be by your side during your happy moments or when you're enjoying life would hurt him deeply. Even so, he’d send you lots of gifts, like flowers or chocolates, whenever he could, as he says, to be "by your side in some way."

⭑.ᐟ eunseok

It wouldn’t be too hard because the days you’re apart would go by quickly. Every night, you’d play games together on Discord or watch a movie, and you’d spend practically the whole day talking. Still, you’d make sure to see each other at least once a month.

⭑.ᐟ sungchan

Sungchan is way too impatient for a long-distance relationship. He can’t go even a week without seeing or touching you. He’d visit you whenever he could, squeezing it into any small gap in his schedule. Eventually, you’d decide to move in together or live closer to one another.

⭑.ᐟ wonbin

Wonbin would always say he’s handling it well, but you both know he’s just fooling himself. Even though you’d always be talking and sharing everything over the phone, sometimes you’d crave physical contact; a hug, a kiss, or simply the feel of his hand on your cheek.

⭑.ᐟ seunghan

He’d always be attentive to your messages, replying instantly or as soon as he could, just like you. Honestly, it would be really tough for both of you, and you wouldn’t be able to stop crying whenever you had to say goodbye after spending a few days together.

⭑.ᐟ sohee

Sometimes it would be challenging since neither of you is great at texting regularly. However, you’d make a habit of calling each other whenever you needed support. Weekly check-ins would be a must, where you’d call to talk about how your week went.

⭑.ᐟ anton

It wouldn’t be too difficult for either of you. You’d always text and send each other photos and videos of what you’re up to. Plus, you’d FaceTime every night, chatting until you both fell asleep. Anton would visit whenever he could, making sure to spend at least one weekend a month with you.

masterlist // taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori @enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123 @sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries @synkjellies @ramyeonzprincess

[tswkento]

a.n.: kento has a hard time getting it up.

“kento? is something wrong?”

“no, i– i just need to– give me a second, love.”

nanami didn’t know what else did he need to get hard.

there was a beautiful woman laying right under him, his woman, the love of his life, fire of his loins — you. that alone should be enough, but you were also wearing nothing, laying on your tummy with your legs crossed and your head turned to the side so you could watch him. your body was literally the most perfect thing he’s ever seen in his life, every part of it a sight for his sore eyes and every touch of it a soothing pressure he never wanted to not feel.

it’s also fucking sexy because it belonged to you; all pliant and needy, patiently waiting for him to fuck you stupid. and the thought of it always made him so hard it physically hurt to be in any kind of clothing, without your touch to accompany his aching cock, but right now he was as soft as he was at a work meeting and nanami had no idea what was wrong with him.

at first he didn’t even notice he wasn’t hard because his mind was so clouded, the familiar fog settling behind his gaze as he licked and sucked on your pussy lips, took his time thoroughly swirling his tongue over your clit and playing with your cute little hole. he was so focused on your pleasure, he always is, that he didn’t even think about any possibility of this thing happening.

he guessed that yeah, maybe he could’ve noticed the issue when he was pressing his mouth against yours, adamant on swallowing every wanton, languid moan your let out, enjoying the feeling of your tongue gliding against his while your eager hand stroked him over the thick fabric of his slacks. the weight of your soft hand always worked easily if it was meant to make him go crazy, so the thought of being anything other than hard didn’t even cross his mind.

about 10 seconds ago you had that sultry expression that always made him want to stuff you full, but now you looked more concerned than anything. and nanami kind of panicked.

he sat back on his knees, thighs spread as he stared down at his crotch, and his rapid breaths began to drop, mind fully catching up to the reality where he couldn’t get it up.

soon you appeared in his line of sight, knees directly touching his as your palms settled on the meat of his thighs. you ducked your head to find his gaze and blinked at him patiently while he loudly exhaled air through his nose, trying not to look at you. ashamed.

“nanami? are you alright? talk to me.”

kento gave you an unsure glance whilst desperately trying to keep his face blank.

“i can’t, ” he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud. “i’m not– well.”

your eyes travelled down where he was so stubborn on staring and you pulled back slightly, taken aback by the realisation. you brought a hand to your lips, teeth digging into your nails — an action nanami was too familiar with to not understand that you were getting nervous, the thoughts of not being enough invading your beautiful mind. thankfully, kento could actually get a grip and think about you for a moment as he quickly cupped your face to make you look at him.

“don’t even think about that.” nanami muttered, the sternness of his tone enough to pull your out of your head. “you are fucking amazing.”

“i can suck you off or– or maybe if i touch you more–”

nanami’s mind was crowded with thoughts of how precious you looked just now, stupidly thinking that there was an issue with you when the real problem lied within him. glossy eyes staring up at him, a desire to help burning in your irises as you tried to inch your hands closer to his crotch once again, a blind attempt to bring some fucking life into his member that decided to be inconveniently dead tonight.

it was in no way your fault and he needed you to know that, to understand that, because there is no way you’re going to be fine with that overthinking mind of yours, so nanami just quietly shushed you and gently removed your hands from himself, getting off the bed to take off his clothes. his underwear understandably stayed on.

he crawled back onto the bed, tugging you higher along with himself, and wrapped his arms around you after sensing your mood going down. you still kept a wary look on your face, ready to do anything to make him feel better and nanami really appreciated that, more than you could ever know.

“i’m sorry.” he said, voice barely audible in the silence of your shared bedroom, but his next words came out clearer. “for making you think that you’re not enough.”

you inhaled sharply before sliding out of his grip to move a little higher than him, gently bringing his head to rest on your chest as you pressed light kisses on his forehead.

after rolling over to situate you on your back whilst he was still comfortably settled on your torso, the sigh of relief that nanami let out was hard to conceal because he was right where he was meant to be: holding you impossibly close, with his body between your legs and his face on your pillowy chest.

and he wanted to forget what happened a few minutes ago like a fucking nightmare yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. was there some kind of nerve damage? was there something wrong with his brain, did it not register anything that was going on? your lips on his pulse point, your teasing fingers on the tip of his cock, your whines and cries that were his favourite sounds in the whole world. there’s no way his brain didn’t catch onto any of that.

your fingers threaded through his soft tresses, lightly scratching his scalp as he involuntarily groaned, thoughts turning into mush in an instant.

“do you think we should schedule you an appointment at the clinic, kento?” you tilted his head up and he nodded, a little dumbly, before frowning and lifting his head up.

“do you think it’s necessary?”

“i wanna know that everything is okay in here,” you tapped your index finger against his temple before grinning shyly, “and down there too.”

nanami chuckled, pressing a kiss against your chin, “okay, my darling.”

and then you started talking about an article you read about erectile disfunction, impressing him with the amount of detailed information you managed to grasp from it despite the fact that it was very much useless for you. it turned into you scolding him because stress is one of the reasons and work stresses him out and “maybe you can finally take a lengthy break, ‘namii” and nanami thought that yes, he could in fact be civil and get a paper from the clinic that could make his boss get off his back for at least a week and spent that free time on making up for what he couldn’t do tonight.

[rainyrambles-overcod]

Wiping away cheek kisses from the 141 as a joke? Overall, not recommended 💀

‘M tired y’all, don’t judge. It’s just a little something different than usual, via my notes app, from my time w/o internet

With Price, come on. You really thought that was a good idea for a joke, sweet? 🤨 That wasn’t very nice. 0/10. Could probably go one of two ways, depending on his mood. Good mood: to teach you a lesson by withholding future kisses from you. How long that lasts is up to you, doll 🤷‍♂️ Bad mood? Oh, he needs you to accept his kisses. Can’t have his heart broken by the one person who brings him peace, after all. So, the prick pulls you right back to smother you with so many kisses that it’d be impossible to wipe them all away. You brought this upon yourself, doll 😌

With Simon…no. Not a good joke. -100/10. Might have a little moment of serious thought once he sees that hand come up to wipe away his kiss—wondering if he’d somehow missed one of your tells that you’d been upset with him about something. He swore he’d taken out the trash like you’d asked, swore he’d mopped the mud from his boots in the foyer—oh. Oh that was a joke? Not a very good one, luvie. Don’t scare him like that, yeah? Had a moment there where he almost thought that you were just losing interest in him, or something, but wouldn’t admit that. Can’t lose his favourite person, not now or ever. Doesn’t think he could stomach such a thought. Reassures himself at your cost, and crowds your space until you accept his fawkin’ kisses.

Kyle would most certainly pout. Ever attentive, he may gently try and ask if there was something wrong, at first. Had he done something to upset you? Was it that annoying coworker again? Was that obnoxious neighbour still bugging you? No? What is it then, luv? Some slight internal panic, but he masks it by trying to figure out what happened. Will use his skills in psychological warfare to ease the truth out of you—for your own good, he swears!—only to figure out that it was just a prank. Nearly had his heart beatin’ outta his chest, luv! 😮‍💨Don’t toy with him like that, yeah? Now give him a right proper kiss to apologise—

Trying this on Johnny will backfire. Be prepared for whiplash. Wipe away his kiss, and he’ll stand there for a moment, confused x100. Tries again—maybe you just had an itch? He’ll shave a lil for you later. But when you wipe that one away too, he knows what he saw. Frowns, and may or may not just pick you right up, and march you over to the couch/bed. What’s all this for, eh? Wipin’ away his kiss like that, bon? Relentless when he discovers it was only a joke. Welp! Looks like your stuck wherever he’s managed to pin you 😚 Just maybe save this prank until after he’s showered, next time, else risk smelling like his workout all day 🤷‍♂️

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Oops, my hand slipped.

Even at his absolute lowest, the points in his life where he could barely meet his own eyes in the mirror, the days when he thought he would choke on the self-loathing that enveloped him…he'd never actually believed God hated him. He wasn't sure he believed in God at all, honestly, ‘no atheists in a foxhole’ jokes aside. But if there was a God, he didn't believe that He was wasting time hating on Thomas Kinard for liking dick, no matter what hellfire rhetoric his father and grandmother spewed at him before disowning him. 

Looking at the person the incident commander, in their infinite wisdom, directed him to pair up with on scene, he decided that, no. No. There was a God. 

And he fucking hated Tommy Kinard. 

Evan–Buck. Buck was not supposed to be on shift tonight. He'd requested the time off months ago, had made elaborate plans with his sister to host a Thanksgiving feast at the Buckley-Han house for everyone at the 118 who could swing the holiday. There had been color coded charts in his kitchen, menus, recipe cards, and schedules that were more complex than some war plans Tommy had seen in his day. It was going to be a goddamn Michelin star experience. Even if it somehow wasn't, it would have been amazing.

It would have been the first big holiday gathering they'd attended together. Their first big family holiday as a couple. 

“Tommy!” Evan–Buck. Buck, damn it. He'd done this, he'd made the choice, he had to live with it. He didn't have the right to call him Evan anymore. Buck looks startled. 

Then for just a moment, just a moment he lit up. The bright, open happiness that Tommy had been stupid enough to get used to, stupid enough to get addicted to, stupid enough to start wondering if he might get to keep, washed through Buck's face. His eyes, still as blue as the clearest summer skies Tommy had ever flown through, sparkled, his lips quirked into the sunshine-bright grin that always made Tommy want to kiss him, feel that warmth against his mouth. For just a moment, he looked as happy as he always did to see Tommy. 

Then it was over. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, the happiness disappeared like the sun vanishing behind a cloud. A cold, professional mask slammed down over Buck's face. His eyes went flat and hard as ice, and his whole posture seemed to…change. Without moving an inch, Buck withdrew completely from him. It was what he was expecting. What he wanted, he reminded himself. It fucking hurt. 

“I thought you were off tonight,” Buck said, his voice completely neutral. Completely polite. Completely professional. 

Tommy hated it. 

“Uh…thought you were too,” he said lamely. 

The mask slipped, and for just an instant, Tommy was treated to a Buck who just looked…sad. Weighed down by the kind of sadness that made minutes feel like hours, and hours feel like years. The kind of sadness that pulled at you, always dragging you down, down, down, made you feel heavy and tired, no matter how much you slept, how much you rested. Tommy was familiar with the look. It stared back at him from his mirror every day. 

“Danziger’s mom went into hospice last week. Probably isn’t going to make it to Christmas…Bobby put out a call for anyone willing to trade him shifts so he can get as much time with the family as possible.” Buck shrugged. “And I wasn’t really in the mood to–” His mouth shut with an audible click, and the cold, professional mask wobbled a little. “Anyway.” 

Tommy could guess the rest of the sentence well enough. The sickeningly familiar mixture of guilt and want washed through him. Guilt because he’d done this. He’d made this sweet, incredible man feel like being around his family for Thanksgiving would hurt so much that he’d gone looking for extra shifts. Want because it was supposed to be different. 

He should’ve spent the day watching Ev–Buck run around his kitchen like a madman, stepping in to distract him in the best ways possible when it looked like he was starting to take the flakiness of the pie crust too seriously. He should’ve been cracking jokes about his contribution being the wine and the eye candy, should’ve been exchanging knowing looks with Howie over the heads of their respective Buckleys when they inevitably started arguing about the placement of napkins or the height of the centerpieces or something, should’ve been watching Ev–Buck demonstrate how completely his little niece had him wrapped around her finger, should’ve been sitting down to the kind of family dinner that he’d been sure was only ever going to exist for him in hazy memories of the time before his mom died, surrounded by people he’d thought were starting to become more than just casual friends he used to work with and a beautiful man he could so easily fall in love with, should’ve, should’ve, should’ve…

The wanting was the problem. 

The wanting was always the problem. 

It was dangerous to want those things when he knew just how fucking fragile they really were…especially in his hands. 

It hurt now, but Evan Buckley wasn’t going to be lonely for long. He wasn’t made to be lonely for long. In the long run, he’d understand that Tommy really had had his best interests at heart. Had had both their best interests at heart. Better a little heartache now than a huge one later, when he inevitably realized how much better he could do. 

“That’s–that’s good of you,” he said. 

Buck didn’t reply, just hefted the medical kit he was carrying a little higher. “Captain Nichols sent you to me, I take it?” 

Straight to business, then. Probably for the best. 

“Yeah. Assess and assist. The 57 has the heavy rescue, we’re just tagging anyone who needs paramedics.” 

“All right. Well. Let’s get to work.” 

He turned away and started walking towards the scene, back ramrod straight, wearing the professionalism like armor. Tommy watched him go, the ache that hadn’t left the space behind his ribs since he walked out of the loft for the last time pulsing dully. For the best, he told himself for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time. It was all for the best. 

If he kept saying it, maybe he’d eventually be able to believe it. 

buck and tommy both wanting to not spend thanksgiving without the other because they were supposed to be together at the buckley-hans', so they each take an extra shift to distract themselves and wind up working the same scene. send tweet.

[ghcstao3]

AU where ghost is a relatively famous voice actor—by name, anyway. he’s never shown his face in those ‘behind-the-scenes’ videos, doesn’t do red carpets for the bigger productions, always leaves the press junkets to his colleagues. he loves his job, don’t get him wrong, it’s fun and creative and he’s met some really great people, he just… has never wanted to be in the limelight. that’s not for him.

and it’s easy to get away with, because all of the voices he uses are not really his. there’s elements of him, sure, but nothing someone in person could necessarily place, unless they really listened close and were some kind of super fan. in real life, ghost is soft spoken, and maybe his voice is a little rough from the years before he learned how to properly take care of his vocal cords, but it’s still completely separate from all his characters. that was a rule he stuck with throughout his career—no using his real voice.

soap likes to consider himself a fan of simon riley.

(of his work, obviously. just his work. he definitely isn’t intrigued or anything by the mystery that is the voice actor. nuh uh. not at all.)

he’s seen just about every film and show that features one of the actor’s many voices, knows what little trivia is known of him, and, ultimately, he really respects the guy. his younger sister had finally landed herself a sizeable role in voice acting pretty recently after years of odds and ends, and soap knows how difficult it is to make it in the industry. so what if he may also have a little bit of a crush on the unknown man’s talent?

and so what if that little crush has presently brought him to a bookstore, because soap had heard simon would be voicing a character in some adaptation and soap wanted to get himself caught up? it’s fine. it’s normal. totally normal.

it’s in search of the book when soap accidentally stumbles into an absolute brick-wall of a man as he rounds the corner. soap mutters out apologies, goes to move past him, but then looks up and melts, just a little. because it’s then that soap discovers the prettiest set of brown eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. and when his gaze briefly flicks down—he sees that the man is holding the book he’d been looking for.

soap grins, does his best to look charming in spite of the fact that he’d just run into this poor, beautiful bastard. “was lookin’ for that one, too.”

the man’s brow furrows in confusion before he realizes what soap had been referring to. his eyes fall almost self-consciously to the book.

“oh, yeah. it’s a good book. gave my nephew my other copy, so i’m just…” the man lifts the book in some helpless gesture.

“hm.” soap nods. he can’t help but notice how soothing the man’s voice is, low and rough around the edges, but completely soft in the middle. “y’hear they’re making a movie?”

the man perks up, and for a moment soap wonders if that’s panic he sees flash in his eyes. he clears his throat. “yes, that’s actually why i’m, well. i owned it before, but because i’m doing the—because of the movie, i had to…” the man sighs, shoulders slumping. it’s endearing, the way he’s gotten so easily flustered, like he isn’t used to small talk. “never mind. i’ll let you… i hope you enjoy it. the book. and movie too, i guess.”

soap laughs, not unkindly. “the book, we’ll see. favourite actor’s in the movie, so i’ll probably like it either way.”

“yeah?” the man cocks his head, curious. “who’s that?”

unashamedly, soap replies, “simon riley.”

it’s not unnoticeable, the way the man’s face blossoms a faint pink before he coughs and ducks his head. “he’s, uh. heard he’s good,” he says. “so others say.”

for a moment, it looks like the man is preparing to bolt, so soap sticks out his hand as a last-minute resort to keep him around just a little longer. “i’m john. friends call me soap. long story, but if you maybe let me take you out for some coffee, i could tell you?”

apprehension lines the man’s posture, but he eventually tucks the book under one arm and shakes soap’s hand. “friends call me ghost. and i’d like that.”

ghost’s hand is warm, his grip firm. soap tries not to let himself linger in the touch.

“sounds like a date.” soap smiles up at ghost. “did you want to do that today, or…?”

ghost shakes his head. “can’t today. but i can give you my number?”

soap agrees, but as he reaches for his phone he’s met with an empty pocket and the realization that he’d left it on the counter at home. he sighs, feeling disheartened, readying an excuse when he gets an idea. “d’you have a pen?”

ghost does, in fact, have a pen, though soap supposes he could’ve just gone and bought one from the bookstore just as well. soap tells him to stay put a minute, goes to retrieve his own copy of the book, and comes back with it opened to the first page.

“i’m buying it, anyway,” soap says. and it’s commemorative, he doesn’t add, of the day and reason we met. because he’s hopeful this may actually go somewhere.

ghost writes his phone number inside, deliberately hands the book back to soap with the cover pressed closed by his thumb, and they head to the register together.

it’s only when soap gets home and finally goes to type ghost’s number into his phone that he sees, above the digits, a small simon :) inscribed on the paper.

[thememestrider]

40k Sfw Alphabet - Sanguinius

Thanks for all the love my first one of these has been getting! It's now, like, my second most liked/reblogged post. So, again, thank you guys so much!!

By popular demand, my next primary is the glorious hawk boy himself, Sanguinius.

Please enjoy (and watch out for errors cause this is unedited)

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sanguinius is VERY affectionate, both physically and verbally. In public, in private, doesn't matter. Wherever you two are, he's whispering sweet nothings in your ear or ensuring he's got a hand on you. Part of it is to be a tease, but most of it is for his own comfort. He always wants to know you're close. Always wants you to know how important you are to him. If he's in particular need of this reassurance, he might drape a wing over your shoulder or around your waist, just for that extra bit of physical touch.

B - Best friend (What are they like as a friend? How would the friendship start?)

Aside from Vulkan, Sangy is about the easiest person to be friends with. He's charismatic, he's well-adjusted and he's genuinely a really sweet dude. But to be best friends with him, that might take more time. See, Sangy is used to people befriending him because of what he is- the Great Angel, the perfect primarch- and not necessarily because of who he is. So, even with friends, he maintains his angelic mask, and he will be resistant to letting it slip. Given enough time, however, I can see him feeling comfortable enough around you that he feels he can be himself, and maybe even share some of the darker things he deals with.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Sanguinius-cuddles are about the only thing that rival Vulkan-cuddles, if not exceeds them. If he could swallow you up with his arms alone, he would. At times, you might have to ask him to let up a little, lest you suffocate from his grip.

Sanguinius absolutely makes use of his wings with cuddles, too. Like a pair of enormous downy blankets, he will encase you in them, humming contentedly as he feels you stir against their feathers.

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Sanguinius is definately the type to want to settle down. He wishes a life where he doesn't have to live up to the expectations of the Emperor and mankind as a whole. A life where he can just... live.

And doing so with the person he loves most? That's just about the perfect dream.

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If Sangy is breaking up with you, he's letting you down gently. He's explaining how he feels and trying to keep you from blaming yourself. Trying to remain friends would be too painful for him, though, and I believe once you two parted ways, you wouldn't see much of each other again.

Now, if you broke up with him, it's a slightly different story. Others have already head canoned that beneath the surface, Sanguinius has a possessiveness streak, and I believe that a break up he did not want would absolutely trigger that streak. He'd never hurt you, nor intentionally do anything to cause you distress or torment. But you're never leaving his sight, whether you know he's there or not. And Emperor help any man who tries to touch you- consensually or otherwise.

F - Fiancé (How to they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

With his powers of foresight, Sanguinius probably knew you'd be the one he'd marry the moment he laid eyes on you. So, with that in mind, he would want to rush things at all. He knows how this is going to end, so he's going to enjoy every moment of it: from the awkward first dates right up until he buys your ring.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they? Both physically and emotionally?)

Only primarch more gentle in both regards is Vulkan.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it and what is it like?)

Much the same as cuddling. Super crushing, super loving, and making good use of those big beautiful wings.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take a while, I think, purely because before he were to say it, Sanguinius would need to realise that he doesn't have to maintain the facade of perfection when he's with you. I see that taking a long time. But once he does realise this... Oh boy, you're getting the confession and the proposal all in the same say.

J - Jealous (How jealous do they get? What are they like when they're jealous?)

Sanguinius trusts you with every ounce of his soul. He knows you are his and that he is yours, and he knows that he will never have to worry about you betraying him.

However...

As mentioned back in E, I am part of the group that head canons that Sanguinius has a secret, buried possessive streak. He is aware of it, he strives to keep it under control, and nine times out of ten he is successful. But he is not always successful. And when he is not successful, the most common way his possessiveness shows itself is jealousy. Are you being particularly friendly with one of his brothers? He may intervene. One of your male friends embrace you for just a little too long? Sanguinius will be glaring daggers at him, might even bare his fangs. This behaviour is worse when he's feeling particularly insecure, or if the stress and grief of war is getting to him. But as I said before, he's aware of this, and he will communicate with you exactly how he's feeling and what he needs from you in terms of support.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Depending on the mood and what both your desires are, Sanguinius kisses range from gentle and sweet all the way up to intense, getting-your-lip-bitten, can't-breathe-cause-he-won't-let-you-go passion. With Sangy, you get the best of both worlds.

L - Little Ones (How are they around children?)

Only primarch better around children than Sangy is Vulkan. Enough said.

M - Mornings (How are morning spent with them?)

Sleepy, I think. One, because Sanguinius loves nothing more than lying in bed and holding you close to him like a teddy bear; and two, because sleeping while wrapped in his wings is so damn comfy, why would you ever wanna get up?

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Depending on the mood, ranging from cuddle sessions that lead to you both falling asleep in each other's arms, to make-out seshs that led to said cuddling sessions, all the way up to... well, this isn't the nsfw alphabet, so I'll let you guys... you know...

O - Openess (When will they start revealing things about themselves? Do they reveal things slowly over time or all at once?)

At first, getting Sanguinius to open up is like trying to pry open a steel crate with your bare hands: fucking difficult. He's the Great Angel, after all; perfection doesn't even begin to describe the expectations he has to live up to, let alone those that he holds himself to personally. So getting him to divulge how he really feels or that, under the surface, he's struggling under all that weight? Yeah, I don't see that being easy. However, when Sanguinius DOES finally trust you and he realises he loves you, it'll be like opening the proverbial floodgates. For the first time in his long life, Sanguinius has someone he can admit his flaws to and they will love him all the same: he's going to make use of that and he's going to cherish that. Right up until his last, dying breath.

P - Patience (How easily are they angered?)

Sanguinius has all the patience in the world for you. However, if he's particularly stressed or the Red Thirst is gnawing at his mind, I can see it suddenly becoming very thin. He would deeply regret anything hurtful he ever said in these moments, though, and would go above and beyond to make it up to you.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail or do they forget the minor things?)

Every little detail he has committed to memory. How you look, what you like, all the memories you've made together. You can bet your bottom dollar that, when he lay dying at Horus' feet, he was flashing back to every single second he spent with you.

R - Remember (What's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

The moment he realised he could be himself with you, Red Thirst and all. It's the moment he realised why he'd forsee you to be his soul mate- because you love him for him. All of him. Every perfect curve and jagged edge. For both the angel and the beast.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Part one isn't even a question. The mere possibility of you coming to harm is enough to get his Red Thirst raging. And if something actually DID happen to you? Emperor help whoever or whatever was responsible.

Much like all of the primarchs honestly, the kind of protection Sanguinius needs from you is the emotional kind. He needs someone with whom he does not have to maintain the facade of the Great Angel. He needs someone who sees him for what he is: a man. A man with demons that he needs help in fighting. He's not an "I fix can him" type beat like some of his brothers (cough cough, Konrad, cough, cough). More "he can fix himself with your support."

T - Try (How much effort do they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts and everyday tasks?)

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He's putting in the whe nine yards: whatever that means for you, Sanguinius is doing it. Even if he's distracted by war, taking care of you is his number one priority.

Aforementioned possessiveness. Another could be emotional guardedness, at least in the beginning of your relationship.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Only in terms of wanting to impress you or make you happy. I could also see Sanguinius having a real thing about his wings: constantly preening them, always wanting to ensure his feathers are all nicely aligned and smoothed down. Couldn't tell you why I think this, just feels right to me idk.

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely.

X - Xtra (A random head cannon for them)

In the wake of Sanguinius' death, the Blood Angels see you as his successor. In their eyes, you are their Primarch now, in all ways other than literally. They revere you the way they do their father. They hold your word above any commander or high lord, even on matters that, by rights, you should have no say in. They'd also see you as their matriarch. Their mother. And as such, many of their warriors would confide in you the same way one would with a trusted maternal figure. I can see you becoming an emotional rock for a lot of them- not just collectively, but individually, as well. So much so, I could even see your presence and/or intervention being a kind of soother of The Black Rage. After all, the only thing strong enough to pull a Blood Angel free from the grief of his father's death is the love of his mother.

As mentioned above, Sanguinius' death was a loss so devastating to the Blood Angels' collective psyche that it spawned a literal curse of madness within the legion. So you can bet everything that the Blood Angels aren't letting you out of their sight. If you thought the Salamanders were protective... you ain't seen nothing yet.

You go nowhere without an entire Astartes squad by your side; as well as snipers lining your route/location and an entire strike cruiser in orbit over the planet you're currently on. They'd probably give you your own set of armour, too, designed by the Blood Angels' own artists before being crafted by their own weaponsmiths.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like in a partner, or in general?)

In general, a lack of empathy and arrogance. I could also see him really not liking someone who does not or cannot recognise their own flaws and shortcomings, what with how massive of a focus self-improvement and self-awareness is to the culture he fosters within the Blood Angels.

Z - Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of theirs?)

You're getting wrapped in the wings. Even if it's sweltering hot outside, Sanguinius is cuddling you right up under his wings like a mama bird with her chick. He'll stop if you ask, of course, but you WILL have to ask.

Tags: @solspina @beckyninja

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ law, luffy & foreplay

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤtrafalgar d. law, monkey d. luffy

tag(s)&warning(s). gn! reader, description of the body remains neutral, slightly suggestive, subtle body worship, reader refers to their heart with "she/her" in law's, law does some real freak shit (take reader's heart), reader reciprocates his freak, luffy is a different kind of freak

from vyon. this is not about lust, this is about love 😝

law knows the human body as well as any other doctor out there— maybe even more so, when he knows something, he knows it to its very end after all. basic human anatomy has always been easy— skin, epidermis, dermis, hypodermis, flesh, muscle, sinew, bones, tendons, whatever— all methodically connected so that when you feel a burn at your fingertips, your entire arm knows to jerk back from the harm. 

but this wasn't law regarding your body in its physicality as a doctor, no, this was him playing worship. his knuckles running over your side where no one (not even yourself) has made a habit of touching just to see an earthquake rumble through your stomach, thunder deep in your flesh where you lay— underneath law, who was still standing by the bed, thighs pressed into the edge of the mattress. an impressive faraway look painted over the hull of his face, like he’d broken away the part of your body that made it yours and was assessing his own handiwork under a suspecting eye. lighting a motion of fire over a stitch of skin, undeniably immobile.

“so,” you begin, your voice light as your ribs shiver away from his touch. “good enough for a textbook?” you called out, suddenly whipping him back into the absurd moment with just your voice, airy and light in its teasing.

there’s some tired amusement on his face, exchanging the awkward hovering over you for settling his knee in between your thighs and then— leaning his weight forward when you shift back, taking your movement as a subtle invitation. “no,” he breathed. “better,” he admits before he sees spluttering faux heartbreak turn over your features.

pleasantly embarrassed, you turn your head up to look at him, eyes wide; everything you do is beckoning at the point, a narcotic transmitter that makes his muscles lurch in preparation for lucid piety.

his hands press over your cheeks, eyes burnt with ichor trace your features slowly. his thumbs brushed over the fat under your eyes, the rest of his fingers spread out, his pinky at the side of your neck, middle finger on your ear, and everything else in–between. your hair is uncomfortably pressed against the side of your face with the way he's holding you but it's not in you to complain when law leans down.

then he turns his lips onto you like he just wants them there, a light barrage of nudges and nips, no more than that despite your attempts. when you part your lips, law turns his attention elsewhere and you open your eyes to glare at him.

law, however, has his head lowered. it forces your neck to crane down awkwardly, your chin just about touching his hair as you furrow your eyebrows to really look at law. he bends his head down and presses a kiss over the fabric of your shirt where your sternum is. suddenly, it's strange. you realise it's the angle. law's never lowered himself to you consciously; you've never been allowed to see this kind of weakness in your captain.

you can see the hardened furrow of his eyebrows, the curl of his lashes, the cupid's bow of his mean lips as he pressed his thumb over where they've just kissed, the curve of his bow, the shoulders that you're so used to seeing pulled back curled in towards you. it's all too unusual, seeing law folded over like this, a nagging haunt in his bones and every move he makes like desperation's hypnic jerk. he continues dragging his hand over the stretch of your skin, the shirt you had on pushed all the way up to lay across your collarbones as he unearthed the flood; a man reserved to quiet loving— that’s what you can see in law.

he’s no stranger to love, but it can’t quite behave on his tongue. a language that’s grown old and foreign to him, translated as best it could be into a stilly retelling; it’s all his hands now, best spoken through firm gesticulation and motions. that’s what makes him the best at this. his hand over your heart, “room,” you hear. and then, “shambles.”

by the time you're up to speed, you realise that it's your heart in his palm. you watch, two parts in morbid curiosity and a final part in pure interest, as law's eyes turned back to you, unwavering, and then how he brings the boxed heart up to his face. his tongue pressed against the humming blue barrier your heart is locked into, it's obscene and dirty and still, you can't look away. his tongue held against one edge, dragging upwards until it finishes the length of the side, then he gently places a kiss over the top.

“oh,” a sort of strangled gasp leaves you. there’s really nothing else to say, nothing else that needs to be said because your heart starts speeding up in his palm. you point a finger at the heart, “can i have her back?” you ask, like it wasn’t yours to begin with. “she’s embarrassing me.”

law’s lips turned upwards, his teeth peeking through chapped lips. “she’s doing great.” he dismisses easily, stroking his thumb over the heart; you wonder if sensations still carry through to when law uses his devil fruit. you can feel the itch like a phantom limb, a dizzying sensation that feels like the callous on his fingers are turning over your skin.

he doesn’t listen to you— doesn’t have to— his room eases down, blue spluttering over your vision and he leaves your heart beside your head. like a hesitant worshipper that's finally being indoctrinated, his god for the taking, ready to forgive. his hands are first to feel the tender raw of forgiveness, brushing up your side and his lips fall onto your stomach as your shirt shifts. you can only watch, entranced. your stomach shivers inwards at the heat of his mouth, his nose bruising a desire path underneath your ribs— this was the kind of worship that would have urged god to open again the gates of eden.

you're wholly disturbed at the sight but your heart— your damn heart that's still sitting beside your head, ripe and raw, is only speeding up, banging on impossibly loud beside your head like a mantra. for reasons unbeknownst to yourself, instead of watching law touch you, you stare at your heart, kicking and burning alive to an ember with every turn of his wrist, every curve of his nails, every path he carves with his touch first before he turns down his lips to the ripe fruit underneath the skin he'd peeled back.

never patient enough for it and usually not so interested, you're just lucky that luffy likes to see the state he leaves you during foreplay. when he's in one of his moods, he just about brushes over the basic points of foreplay quick as he can— it's not to say he doesn't care about your pleasure, sometimes he's just so wound up that he needs immediate gratification and dragging on foreplay only makes it worse. it was like in drum island when, only after looking at the clothes he was wearing, he realised that he was actually cold. anyway, he's never one to savour, he takes what he pleases and if it isn't enough, he'll demand more and to blame a pirate for being a pirate— well, you've never been so petty.

in harsh truth, luffy's servitude is sometimes hard to remove from vulgarity, his kindness soaked in a criminal selfishness. his hands run over your skin in a ritualistic manner, he uses his palm to touch rather than his fingers, pressing against an expanse of skin with the butt of his hand and then dragging his fingers down across the skin he's seared.

strikingly slow and detailed for someone like luffy— he adds some weight as they press over the canyons of your ribs, just under your breast like he might be able to smooth it down to keep it as a roof over his head, create a home out of your flesh and burrow there come winter. then, he smacks his lips like there's the haunting taste of you on his tongue— catches his tongue between his teeth, furrows his eyebrows and then comes to the realisation that he hasn't kissed you yet. it's your fault, apparently, based on the way he's glaring at you.

"what now?" you sigh, exasperated because only a few seconds ago, you had squirmed away from his touch and he'd made a fuss over that too. your hands are tucked into the ends of his denim shorts, idly brushing back and forth as he's straddling your lap.

he pushes his hands down to your waist and squeezes the fat there, "you distracted me!"

you're buried under his every heavy action, no memory of ever doing so, but you defer. "uh huh, sorry captain, what'd i distract you from?"

"kissing!" he jerks forward, his hammock swinging abruptly from his move and whatever scold you have on your lips is devoured whole by luffy. teeth, tongue, spit— it's like he eats; slurping up the skin that crawls from you, hands on your shoulders and holding you down like you're the enemy. it's erratic, just as you think you're catching up to luffy, he changes the tempo; he does as he likes and you only follow as best you can. he searches through your mouth like if he’d stayed there long enough, he’d be rewarded and pull away with a pearl. when he finally does so, he stares at your lips for a second, watching them glisten in the dark lights; he turns his head, places his tongue over your mouth and licks from one corner to the other like a dog and smacks his lips again like he's wine tasting.

at that point, you can’t stop yourself from asking even though you know the answer will undoubtedly make you cringe. “lufs,” he hummed, “did you brush your teeth this morning?”

he stops moving, his face buried in the dip of your stomach and near your bellybutton— his eyes look up at you, wide before his lips pulled together and he resolutely looks away. "yeah, uh–huh, i did."

that's a no, you sigh. "and last night?"

"totally, brushed 'em so hard!" a whistle in his tone with his lips puckered from the lies. "anyways, shush!"

it's a childish command but a command nonetheless so you suck it up and your head falls back down. turning away the thoughts of luffy's very concerning personal hygiene should not be as easy as it is; for a man who finds his intentions after his body's already moving, he touches like it's been a life–long plan of his to do so. your skin squelches when luffy's teeth scrape over the jumps of your ribs, a sickly sweet that only comes from rotting fruit under his tongue; he hums, happy and content.

his touch burns, sticky like the sun is melting down into your skin; you know it's going to scar, there's going to be a part of your flesh that's going to run a little lighter than the rest. he opens windows in your body, turning it into a haunted house that his love will forever lurk in; his tongue drags a new colour onto walls, nails tearing down at the wallpapers, pushing around furniture— doing as he liked.

never quiet about it either, always murmuring things to your skin like he's talking to it with the intention of keeping you ignorant— some kind of praise that makes your head weigh heavy; a flawed movement full of unbridled freedom as his mouth opens over your side and he leaves the markings of his teeth wherever he can.

[seasprincess]

Stiles Stilinski x female reader

a chemistry project with a lot of chemistry

a/n: (that was a funny one thanks)

warnings: none just fluff!!

Stiles Stilinski is the biggest worrier in the world. All his friends know it.

However Stiles, well he has no clue just how much he worries. He can’t see it. It’s normal to him.

But it’s evident now as he scouts his room, making sure it’s all clean. Plumping up the pillows on his bed. He wants this to be perfect. He wants you to think the best of him.

God you’re only coming for the chemistry project. He’s acting like it’s an army inspection. That he’s going to get flamed if there is a spot of dust on his desk.

What if you think bad of him? What if you’re not comfortable? What if. What if. What if.

The doorbell signals your arrival and gives him a heart attack. He’s having to mentally prepare himself for this for the past day. You sprung on the question of doing the project at his house. He got excited and said yes a little bit too fast. Now he’s rather regretting it.

He’s had many people over to his house. And by many people he means Scott thousands of times.

Never has he had a girl over, especially not in his room.

“I got some chocolate if you want some?” Stiles says as he looks at you. Making sure you’re okay.

For the past couple hours Stiles has been checking in on you. And as sweet as it is. It is a lot.

“Or I can get you s-“

“Stiles.” As you say his name he shuts up, for the first time ever Stiles is quiet. Not that it will last. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

You smile at him and all he can do is melt. He thinks you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He’s never felt this way about someone, not even Lydia. And that was bad.

From the moment you joined the school he knew he liked you. The way you’d crack jokes, be sarcastic and get anxious at a lot of things.

You were so similar to him it made him connect with you instantly.

“Just let me know if you need anything.”

Gosh is he the sweetest. He’s been so kind to you since that day in chemistry where he invited you to sit with him. Joking between each other which eventually led you here. To his room.

On his bed.

“You’ve never watched Star Wars?!” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up as he looks at you, sitting up a bit taller at your confession. God he is shocked out of his mind. “You’ve never watched Star Wars?!” He repeats again in utter disbelief. He feels he’s been stabbed in the heart. The girl he likes has bever seen his favourite franchise.

“I’m sorry!” You say as you hold your hands up in mock surrender. Smiling away as you look at him. You’ve noticed the posters of Star Wars in his room, the multiple shirts that are Star Wars themed that he owns.

You’ve just committed an act of treason in this house. “It’s just not my thing.”

“But it’s one of the greatest franchises in the history of cinema. I mean the whole concept of another-”

Stiles continues to ramble on about it. Not even pausing for a breath as he just keeps talking. That’s one thing you have noticed about him. He never shuts up.

Ever.

So you decide to take things into your own hands. Literally.

Your hands cup his cheeks as you look at him. His mouth closing and eyes looking onto you. Staring at you as he freezes up.

You smile at him before he leans in and kisses you. One way to shut him up.

For at least a couple of seconds.

“Shit I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” He says as he pulls away, panicking like he’s late for something. He’s just fucked everything up. He thought it was going well too. Good job Stiles.

“You’re okay. It’s fine.” You say softly to calm the anxious boy down.

Unknown to him he didn’t fuck it up. Not at all. You’ve been wanting him to kiss you ever since you first laid eyes on him. Embarrassingly you’ve imagined it. Not that he’ll ever know.

You grab his cheek again before pressing your lips to his, slowly kissing the boy that’s been in your mind for the past month.

After a couple moments you pull back smiling. Stiles smile beaming on his face before he opens his mouth.

“Still can’t believe you haven’t seen Star Wars.”

a/n: i love stiles

divider- @tsunami-of-tears

tags- @mayfieldss @inlovewithdob

[iz-star]

About Zayne's nightmares...

The most unrealistic thing about Zayne is that he's a functional working adult that seemingly has put his life together at 27 not because he's young or a prodigy but because he's said to have nightmares since he was 12?? Like... I feel like this theme might be a bit overlooked but just think about it deeply, having constant nightmares fucks your mind like really REALLY bad, I can genuinely say this by experience and also as someone who has had trouble to have a healthy sleeping schedule since I was at highschool (like, for example, right now, I should be sleeping instead of writing this...).

There was a time I would have nightmares almost everytime I went to sleep during a really hard time in my life. Of course, the topic about those nightmares was almost always the same, not like the nightmares repeated themselves but they always revolved about the same things that I was actually working in therapy at the moment. Back then I was jobless and medicated most part of the time, I was pretty dysfunctional.

I suppose that's why when I listened to "Fragmented Dreams" for the first time it was the time I said "Yeah, this is my man". I love how he's always nagging MC about sleeping early because I know by experience that not sleeping properly can mess up with your mind pretty bad, and probably he knows it too. It truly is a showcase of love how he worries about her sleep like that and it also showcases how strong minded he is for enduring too much stress and remind kind constantly.

I love how healthy he is. I like to think that he's overcome all the stressful stuff he's gone thru bc of his discipline and healthy life style, but realistically it would take him some more to deal with all of that.

Yes, all of the guys have been through some very rough stuff and they all need therapy, but my point with Zayne comes with the fact that not having a good sleeping schedule and on top of that having constant nightmares can mess up with your perception of reality and induce you a bad depression or other mental health issues. Everytime I remember Zayne's main story branch when they're trapped in Zayne's dream and MC leaves him alone and he starts listening to Willian, Georgie and his Mom so he has to remind himself "It's not real, it's not real" I deeply feel that and I just want to hug him so bad :(

I think I'd like to see a card where they explore the consecuences of their past in their psyche more deeply. I can't help remembering this post which was one of the first posts you unlock with Zayne:

It was there when I just knew that even if he looked quiet, he had a lot to say but didn't know how to express.

Another thing I'd like to highlight about this is that actually I love the emotional maturity that Zayne displays about dealing with such issues like nightmares, traumatic experiences and literally being exposed to see people dying 24/7 while being someone that feels a lot yet says little. He's dealt with this the best way he can, no wonder why he came to be quite serious and inexpressive or sarcastic. Not allowing himself to express other emotions than seriousness or sarcasm was like keeping himself in check so he wouldn't spill everything he feels and considering how stressing is his job already, it just makes sense, but that didn't mean Zayne didn't feel because he feels too much and too deeply and worries sick about ppl and especially about MC.

Of course, bottling up his emotions wasn't the best way to deal with them but he never used any unhealthy coping mechanism neither, like alcohol, for example (My teetotaler King ❤️) etc. Yeah, his workaholism isn't exactly healthy but not something toxic to his mind and relationships, and I've always had a feeling that he's a big foodie and addicted to sweets to give himself that boost of serotonine he needs so bad.

That's why he compares MC with sweets, being her his favorite dessert, bc she's brought all that serotonine to his life naturally and has helped him let go little by little. When he opened to her about losing Dulcie, I had a feeling that Zayne always wanted someone to listen to him but he didn't know how to ask for it and ppl around him was too afraid to even dare to suggest it. I think even in one of his anecdotes, it is said that sometimes Dr Noah wanted to tell him something but at the end ended up saying nothing.

The fact that Zayne bottled up his emotions didn't mean that he wouldn't willingly share them, he wanted to but wasn't used to it. With MC, he's slowy started to let it go and enjoy life more, allowing himself to be sad in front of her, to express his fears (about losing her) or to express his childish tantrums and indulge in his softest side. That's why also she's not only his favorite dessert but also his best painkiller ❤️

And just to finish, I've always thought this quote by Kafka fits him so well:

"Remember, you should sleep more than other people, for I sleep less than most. And I can’t think of a better place to store my unused share of universal sleep than in your beloved eyes."