#he’s trying to be sensible about this sort of thing

[shigayokagayama]

mob warriors au redesigns and such, some i barely changed and others i pretty much started from scratch lol

full canvas and explanations under the cut, theres a bunch of other characters and stuff i didnt manage to fit or didnt have the energy to draw that ill probably get around to in the coming future

so by virtue of mob psycho kind of acting as a parody of a shonen in a lot of its characters and usage of tropes i felt like it was fitting that a warriors au sort of act as a parody of warriors.

basically, pretty much every major character is either a house cat of some sort, but they all see clan cats as these sort of cool aspirational things so they give themselves warrior names and know of general clan concepts (though, since the nearby clan left a long time ago due to twoleg construction on their territory, these concepts have sort of become distorted over time. istg i came up with this before warriorclan me and erin hunter just have some odd psychic link)

saltsplash (reigen) is a declawed kittypet who loves the taste of freshkill, so he has taken on the persona of a former medicine cat who came from far away on some sort of spiritual quest to help the cats in this area (in reality his owners just moved here) in order to get cats to catch prey for him in exchange for advice. flockpaw (mob) comes to him for advice, since he can see spirits and keeps getting dreams from starclan, and saltsplash agrees to take him as an apprentice

there is a pretty significant ghost problem in the area, the destruction of the moonstone equivalent (this isnt the setting of og warriors because i find switching what region/biome theyre in to be kind of part of the fun to making warriors aus so this is still japan. cats can now encounter monkeys.) has left a lot of souls trapped in the physical plane and unable to pass on. dimple (still going back and forth on his name) is one of these cats, he was a clan cat but so long ago that he's forgotten his original life and only remembers the goal of "bring back the clans with yourself as leader", which he initially tries to posses random cats to do before meeting flockpaw and settling on him as a good potential clan leader

the actual clans, meanwhile, have gone way downhill since they moved away. their numbers were dwindling pretty badly when hawkstar (toichiro) took over his clan, renamed it clawclan, conquered the other clans in the area and marked all his dissenters with scars, and has forged forward with the goal of reconquering their old territory in the twolegplace in the hopes that it will bring the clans back to their glory days. a lot of the more sensible cats, including his mate, have left the clan, so he's resorted to recruiting outsiders as well as kidnapping young cats with warrior potential in order to fill out their numbers

other stuff i dont want to write entire paragraphs for

-teru was someones outdoor cat but his owners moved :( he named himself starpaw and everyone who knows shit about the clans tries to tell him hes not allowed to do that but are too scared to argue further with him about it because he gets really pissed when you point it out

-the telepathy clubs goal is to meet lions, which everyone thinks arent real

-the awakening lab is mitsuura (curlystar maybe?)'s attempt to start his own clan

-the student council is a gang of young kittypets who have tasked themselves with enforcing "the warrior code" among the delinquents (rivals gangs of young alley cats). all the older cats see this as a game theyre playing and dont take it seriously

-flashpaw (mezato) was part of dimple's initial play to brainwash a bunch of cats into reforming a clan and worshiping "starclan" (him) and those group of cats have shifted to seeing flockpaw as starclans prophet, so she's trying to convince HIM to start a new clan

-rainshade (serizawa) was initially a kittypet who always hid in his cat carrier out of his fear of his starclan given powers, hawkstar found him on one of his recruiting missions because his mother was worried for him and was asking around for someone with experience with starclan

-mogami (crowflight maybe? maggotsomething?) was an actual former warrior who went to twolegplace to get help for his sick mother after starclan said there was nothing that could be done for her. kittypets offered to get her help in exchange for him helping them with spirit problems and got their owners to bring her to the cutter (vet) and when they did the vets put her down so he started killing cats about it seeing them all as selfish thugs beyond redemption before his own death and transformation into a vengeful spirit

-minori (still thinking of a name bc i dont have her design down) is someones very haughty purebred show cat who gets hella possessed.

-didnt anyone ever teach you feeding downed fledglings was bad manners?

-SunClan (the rising sun union) are a gang of random housecats, some of whom have actual StarClan connections and others are just opportunistic liars, who use extremely predatory means to help cats with their ghost problems (asking for a specific share of a cat's meals permanently rather than saltsplash's ask of like. one fresh songbird)

thats all the stuff i can think of off the top of my head but if you ask questions i can probably answer them bc ive been thinking about this since like. march 2022.

[simcardiac-arrested]

honestly the way i see it the more nwb and ns interact the worse they're making their relationship/ them as a whole. cause like they're fundamentally too different, communicating barely works because one or the others gonna be tweaking cause there's no other incentive that make them communicate at all, and the shit that's happened already is kinda stuff you cannot move past because it happened DUE to them being fundamentally different. its either one of them completely changes their identity so they're actually compatible or they gotta distance themselves

i think distance is something that wayback himself has thought about. he’s not stupid enough to not realize that this is just Not Working Out, no matter how much he wishes it would. he (naively) thought it would just get better with time, and yet it didn’t. he said it himself—they should just give up, the idea of them possibly making up and getting along was just wishful thinking. But—on the other hand we have sep. who WANTS to make it better. who WANTS to change. who’s never given up on a problem before, and if there really is “no answer” to this particular one… well. they sure as hell are determined to create one.

it’s true that they both definitely suck at communicating. they’re incapable of talking things out unless they’re yelling at each other or at their limit emotionally. and their relationship is more of a “one step forward two steps back” type of deal. it’s gonna get worse. it’s gonna get better. it’s gonna get eeeeven worse than before until it Actually gets better. But personally i do not consider their relationship hopeless. i mean, they’ve already both changed so much since their first “talking it out”. sep especially. It’s just gonna take a shit ton more of time and effort to actually start making a difference

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Part Six

Steve wakes with a start, yelping and then immediately panicking when the bed covers feel constricting – it passes almost immediately when he realizes where he is and what woke him.

“Hi Eddie,” Steve sighs, blinking the rest of the way awake. He rubs at his crusty eyes, the bedside clock glowing three forty seven at him. Great. “What’s up buddy?”

“Stee,” Eddie says quietly, like he somehow understands the sanctity of the middle of the night, “ow. Dead later,” and then he makes a noise like a fly buzzing. Or a bee. It’s a fair attempt at a gentle ‘bzzzz’ing noise.

Steve sighs, “okay buddy lets go.”

Eddie turns at the top of the stairs and goes down them on his butt, which Steve’s pretty sure he would find amusing if he wasn’t half asleep and half annoyed.

The ground outside is cold enough that Steve hisses when his bare foot hits it, and he does a silly hopping jog to follow Eddie onto the lawn. It is a bee, and it’s moving sluggish and confused on the grass. The weathers getting colder, the time of year plus...probably it’s old?

Steve knows fuck all about bees, but he’s pretty sure individual bees don’t live for that long, and that maybe they sort of hibernate in the winter? Or something? Isn’t that what all of that honey is for?

Maybe they could bring it into the warm and give it some sugar water or something, Steve’s pretty sure he’s heard that from someone, somewhere along the line, “okay little bee guy, here we go.” Steve uses a finger to encourage the fuzzy bee onto his hand.

Steve stands; there’s very faint, and probably first of the year, patches of frost on Eddie’s tent. It hasn’t formed anywhere else, so it’s probably not that bad yet, but still, it’s chilly enough that Steve hops back across the lawn with some urgency.

In the kitchen, Steve says, “here Eddie, you take him,” and transfers the bee into Eddie’s cupped hands. He mixes a tiny mount of sugar water in the bottom of a glass, with no idea at all if it’ll help or not. The bee should probably be asleep, right? Steve can’t remember ever seeing a bee at night, so he assumes they go to bed like sensible bees.

Steve drops a tiny bit of the sugary mixture onto Eddie’s palm, right in front of the bee’s face; he drinks it, so Steve does it again. “Okay, I think we should all try and get some sleep. Eddie, you want to sleep on the couch?”

“Sleep on the couch.”

“Yeah,” Steve rubs his arms, making ‘brrrr’ing noises and generally pretending he’s in arctic conditions. He points to the door, “cold outside. Warm here.”

Eddie cocks his head, but seems to get it, so Steve takes the bee, setting it dead center on a couch cushion, and goes back to bed.

Steve wakes again at a much more normal time; blinking at the nine thirty now on his clock and thinking that is way, way better. He wonders vaguely if the bee lived, but he doubts it. Eddie will probably be sad about it; like the bird.

If that was even sadness; if Eddie even understands the concept of death. Steve has no way to know what Eddie thinks about it.

He heads downstairs; vaguely planning his day. He needs a coffee and some breakfast, then get ready; they probably need some groceries. Working opposite shifts to Robin really sucks; he hasn’t seen her once yet this week. They talk on the phone though, and she swears she's working on Keith. He should check when he goes in later for a day they both have off so they can hang out; if such a thing even exists.

Maybe the kids will come over for a movie night; Steve does now have unfettered access to all the newest releases...and is it sad that Steve’s lonely enough that he wants to invite over that bunch of mongrels? Maybe, he’s not going to think to much about it.

Steve sets the coffee going then heads into the lounge; Eddie’s curled up into a tight ball, his spine bent at a really fucking weird angle and his tail wrapped around himself; Steve knows then that he’s never seen Eddie sleep before, because he’s definitely never seen whatever the hell is happening here. It’s like a cat. Or a snake, maybe. The way he’s all curled up tight on himself; makes Steve’s back hurt just looking at him.

At the other end of the couch is the sad, still, little body of the bee. Steve stares at it, listening to the faint noise from the kitchen; the coffee pot gurgles a little.

Eddie blinks awake, unwrapping himself.

“Morning Eddie.”

“Morning Stee,” Eddie blinks sadly at the bee, and then, very gently, leans over and nudges it with a claw tip, “dead?”

“Yeah buddy, I’m sorry. But at least he was comfortable, right? Warm and...sugared up.”

Eddie hums noncommittally, watching as Steve scoops up the bee and following him into the kitchen. Steve very nearly puts the bee in the trash can, but veers off at the last moment. It feels a little wrong, throwing the little dude out; he also doesn’t know what Eddie would thinks and feels vaguely like Eddie might...judge him.

Steve heads outside and deposits him in a plant pot instead. When he comes back in, Eddie’s raiding the fridge, “pear inied. Grapes inied. Celery inied.”

Steve sighs, “I know buddy, I’m sorry. I’ll go and get more, okay?” Steve goes out to the freezer in the garage and comes back with a whole bag of frozen peas, and that seems to completely make up for it. He pours Eddie a bowl of peas, and himself a bowl of cereal, sticking a spoon in both. He downs the coffee so he doesn’t have to make two trips.

“Couch, TV?”

Eddie nods, following Steve. Eddie turns on the TV since Steve’s hands are full, and they sit side by side on the couch, Eddie very carefully using his spoon.

“Called?”

“It’s a toothbrush.”

Eddie watches from his seat on the floor next to Steve; he’s high enough to easily lean his elbows on the counter top.

“Why?”

And ‘called?’ Steve can handle all day long, but ‘why?’ has rapidly become a tricky thing to navigate.

“To clean.” Steve grins big as he can, clicking his teeth together, “teeth.”

“Teeth,” Eddie snaps back, then turns to the mirror, clicking his teeth at himself. “Eddidie clean teeth?”

Steve snorts a laugh, and Eddie looks at him, tilting his head but smiling too. Steve figures that a solid ninety five percent of the time, Eddie’s just happy to be involved.

“Okay buddy I think I have…” Steve rummages in the cupboard under the sink, “ah ha!”

“Ah ha!”

“Here you go,” Steve unwraps the new toothbrush, really, really fucking glad it’s a different color to his own. “Steve’s is blue, Eddie’s is purple.”

“Purple.”

“You got it buddy,” Steve wets the bristles of both, and then puts the tiniest little dab of toothpaste on Eddie’s before putting the proper amount on his own.

“Here you go.” Steve hands it over, and then Starts brushing his teeth. Eddie holds his own brush, watching Steve closely in the mirror before attempting it himself. His movements are slow and cautious, be he definitely gets the idea.

Steve rinses his brush under the water, leaving it running as Eddie does the same. Eddie has no trouble dropping his toothbrush into the cup next to Steve’s.

Eddie explores the bath next; all this shit must have been here when Eddie spent a night in the tub, but Steve was beaten to hell and still a little fucking high on Russian truth serum when all that was going on, so he honestly doesn’t really remember much of those first couple of days. “Called?”

“Shampoo. It’s to clean hair,” Steve tugs on his hair to demonstrate, “hair.”

“Eddidie clean hair?”

“Uh. I mean, if you want to?”

Eddie gets the cap open, squeezing the bottle carefully and sniffing the hole, “good.”

Steve’s current shampoo smells like apples, and Steve realizes what’s going to happen just as it’s too late to stop Eddie from sticking his tongue out.

Eddie smacks his lips together, looking truly disgusted, “fucking gross.”

“Hey! Language!” Steve takes the bottle from a grinning Eddie. He looks so pleased with himself Steve can’t stay mad, “damn kids,” he sighs. Eddie definitely got that one from Max, the little reprobate. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, in the tub.”

Eddie points, “in?”

“Yup.”

Eddie manages it, hoisting himself up and the flicking his tail and sliding his ass over the edge, “Eddidie in tub.”

“You got it buddy,” Steve takes the shower head down, pointing it away from Eddie while it warms up, then moving it a little onto his tail, “feel okay?”

“Warm,” Eddie reaches out to feel the water, “good.”

“Okay, here we go then.”

Eddie sits patiently, head tilted back as Steve wets his hair down and then adds the shampoo. Eddie’s hair is thick, like, insanely thick, and it takes a bit for Steve to work the lather in. The individual strands are thick too, coarse and a little wiry. The back of Eddie’s scalp feels strange too, like his skull had ridges on it; lines that all join together right at the back of Eddie’s head. You’d never be able to see it through his hair.

Steve goes through half a bottle of conditioner on him, but Eddie sits patiently through all of it, flicking his fingers through the water, even when Steve combs it through and catches on snags, Eddie’s doesn’t complain at all. He tilts his head back easily when Steve directs him to, “okay, nearly finished.”

Once they’re done, Eddie climbs out of the bath and onto a towel, sitting on the floor while Steve dries his hair; he gets the idea and dries his arms and torso himself. Steve’s so used to looking at him that he doesn’t find the lack of belly button and nipples at all odd any more. Just looks normal. Looks like Eddie.

“Okay buddy, just let me grab a shower, and then you can help me write a grocery list,” Eddie follows Steve into the bedroom, watching as Steve grabs clothes before heading for his shower. Steve clicks the lock on just in case; Eddie’s not exactly worked out stuff like boundaries or personal space yet.

When Steve comes out, Eddie’s waiting patiently, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed, wearing his yellow sweater.

Part Eight

[sassysnowperson]

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

[pwinkprincess]

do u write for sukunaaaa

if so can we have cum denial wit him. like fingering n teasing reader till she’s crying n babbling 🐾 <3

sugarpie ୨ৎ

not getting sukuna’s attention has you acting out ୨ৎ

yeah probs mii first nd last time writing abt kuna ^.^ i really enjoyed doing dis for u tho ^_^

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ SUGARPIE ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ --->  rough fingering, pet names (baby, princess, mama), shameless use of the word daddy :P, begging, clit slapping, squirting, daddydom!kuna, lawyer!kuna, orgasm denial

“kuna.” you drag out his name as you climb onto his lap. it’s been hours since he’s given you any sort of attention, you understood that the paperwork he is working on is extremely important. he briefly explained to you days prior about taking on a big case that would bring in a lonesome amount of money once everything was said and done. which is fine, of course you’re gonna support your kuna in whatever he takes on. but what isn’t fine is his attention being diverted to papers instead of you.

he grumbles out while he leans to your side so that he could see what was displayed on his desk. you sit quietly on his lap for a few moments, your mind is racing with how you could get his attention back onto you. a deep rooted, responsible and sensible side of you reminds you that he’s working and he told you that he would be busy on it, you know you’re being selfish but you can’t find it in you to care. if anything it’s sukuna’s fault for spoiling you so much! 

“kuna.” you whine again. your head lays on his hard shoulder while your hands begin slithering against his waist. even through his shirt you could feel the hardened muscles, you loved just running your acrylic tips over his muscles and watching them tense every now and then. “daddy, are you ignoring me?” you ask with a frown that sukuna didn’t need to see, he could hear it in your voice.

“‘f course not, baby. ‘m just busy trying to sign these documents.” sukuna barely pays attention to the words coming out of his mouth as he jots down more and more onto the paper. 

“aren’t you tired?” you huff, “can’t you just take a little break?”

“not right now. i need to stay on top of this case ‘nd fill out as much as i can as fast as i can.” he suddenly leans down a little to grab a paper thats on the far end of his desk. you wrap your arms tighter around him, but you know sukuna would never let you fall. no matter how busy and out of it he seems.

you don’t like that response at all. you roll your eyes at his resistance and settle with resting your head on the crook of his neck. you breathe in his cologne. the colognes’ he wears pairs so well with his natural scent. they smell so warm but masculine in a way. you close your eyes, opting to lay there and enjoy the feeling of his heart thumping and his body movements each time he inhales and exhales. you use the sound of the pen sliding against the paper as white noise.

you hum softly against him. this is better than being in separate rooms, you suppose. you would prefer for his attention to be on you completely but you’ll take what’s given at the moment. usually, you’d be chattering away about minuscule things while sukuna works but he quickly shut that down weeks ago.

“my office is my sanctuary, princess. i don’t care if you come ‘n here but you have to stay quiet so daddy can focus.” the firmness in his tone left no room for debate, which is why you slowly nodded your head while looking up at him.

you were only able to sit still and quiet for a few minutes, you tried, you really did. but you couldn't contain yourself from letting out littles hums and shifting your hips every few minutes. your little thin panties would get snagged on the shape of his cock causing little whimpers to escape from your throat when it does happen. sukuna doesn’t comment on anything you do, only occasionally patting your thigh when he deems you are moving too much.

“kuna, please.” you whine out as you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him fully. you didn’t have to say what you wanted, he knew. he always does.

“‘m working, mama.” he reminds you. irritation is seeping through his usual tone. hearing the slowly growing firmness begin to take over his words causes little hairs to stand up on your body, you both loved and hated when he talked to you like this.

“i don’t care! i need you kuna!” you clutch at his shirt with your hands. the hairs continue to stand.. no way you just raised your voice at him. a twitch of fear settles in your stomach. 

“watch your tone.” he stops writing completely. 

“wouldn’t have gotten loud if you would’ve jus’ paid attention to me.” you mutter under your breath as you begin getting off of his lap.

“the fuck you just say?” 

୨୧

“kuna, i can’t! ‘s too much please!” you cry out as his thick fingers roughly pump into your fat pussy. the sounds of your arousal coating his digits filled the room, you were so fucking wet. he had already managed pull an almost orgasm out of you. he waited until you were breathing heavy and for your legs to be shaking desperately to pull away. 

he doesn’t respond to you, only forcing your legs further with one hand while adding another finger. you squeal and whine while clutching on his wrist. his fingers are so fucking thick inside your sensitive pussy. your clutch at his wrist does nothing to slow him down.

your poor pussy could do nothing but take his aggressive fingers, you thrashed around on his lap which only made him slink an arm around your waist to hold you in place.  fat tears ran down your cheeks as he continued holding your legs open so that he could continue to fill you.

everything about sukuna is thick. not just his fingers, but his cock (especially that), his muscles, his personality. those were just minor reasons that added up to why you loved him. 

hearing the humiliating squelch, squelch, squelch and just feeling your arousal dripping down from your everflowing pussy to his lap. if you weren’t getting fucked stupid by his fingers you would’ve been embarrassed from the growing wet spot that is forming on his slacks. 

“talkin’ t’me crazy.. have you lost your fucking mind?” he asks. with every word he’s hammering his fingers as deep as he possibly could, it’s almost to the point that it hurts. you whimper out a soft “daddy” and try to close your legs to prevent him from continuing to abuse your poor pussy.

you can’t find it in you to say a response, instead, you let out loud mewls and sobs. sukuna doesn’t take much appreciation to his words being met with silence, with a rough huff he pulls out the hand that’s fucking you to oblivion to give you three rough slaps against your right thigh.

a piercing sob breaks through your lips,“yes! daddy! ah! yes! i'm sorry daddy!” you didn’t even know what you were saying. loud sniffles mixed with the words you slobbered out. you were a complete mess, you loved when sukuna got you like this.

“‘s okay, though. don’t worry, baby. daddy’s going to make sure you remember your manners.” he plunges his fingers back into you with no warning prompting an unexpected orgasm to shoot from your sensitive pussy. he groans and begins slapping at your clit. squeals escape from deep in your throat. he remembers specifically telling you not to cum until he said so.

“daddy! oh! ah! ah! i’m sorry!” you try to crawl away from the intensity of your orgasm. sukuna clicks his teeth and roughly pushes you back up so that your back is aligned evenly to his chest. you’re fully sobbing now as a stream leaks out and sprays onto his fingers, lap, and parts of his paperwork. 

“no more, kuna, puhllleeaaa-ahhmygodd..” your sentence is broken when he powers his movements back up. you’re still leaking out your orgasm when he adds a third finger. “daddy! kuna! baby! pleaseee, no more!” drool leaks from the corners of your mouth as you are dumbly babbling out to him.

“tch.” he sighs. “cummin’ even when i told you not to. you must really not be my good girl now? hm?” you could hear the smirk in sukuna’s voice. usually when he finds your actions amusing, you’d pout at him. but you were so fucked out all you could do is continue to grip his wrist weakly.

“‘s too much, kuna. toooo muchhhh.” you groan. you try closing your legs around his hand once again and this time sukuna bites down on your shoulder making you squirm. he didn’t bite down hard, he made sure to only use enough force to make you stop moving.

“keep ignorin’ me.” he warns. “your second time now. even while getting punished, you’re still actin’ up.” he jeered. “maybe you’re not my good girl after all.” 

“‘m your good girl. promise. ‘m your good girl.” you sniffle, he was still rubbing his fingers against your walls filling you up jussttt right. your eyes glance down and you could see his hand sparkling with your arousal and to make matters more intense his fingers are etched with your cream. you could only whine at the sight.

he places soft kisses on the side of your neck and jaw. “watch me fuck my pussy.” he mumbles while placing a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. “gonna make sure my pussy gets all the attention it's been beggin’ for, and you better not fucking cum again until i say so.”

[moonstruckme]

can i request a doctor!remus fic where maybe reader comes into the er and is very panicked by doctors and hospitals and they call remus in to help because he’s like known for putting people at ease….this may or may not be based on when i freaked out over a needle and they had to bring in a special doctor :l please and thank you and i’m obsessed with your fics <3

Thank you sweetness <3

cw: hospital, needle

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your heart is in your throat. It’s pounding so hard you can feel its beating in your teeth, and no matter how you try you cannot get tears to stop leaking from your eyes. 

“Wait,” you say again, the word a wobbly, tight-voiced mantra. You keep thinking that if you can just calm yourself enough to seem credible, you can reason with these people. Convince them that you’re actually fine, so there’s no need to touch you, or poke you, or try to move your already agonizing shoulder. 

There are already three people in your tiny curtained-off room with you, so when the curtain pulls back and a fourth enters, you angle your hurt shoulder away from him unconsciously. 

“Hello,” the new doctor says. His voice is low and velveteen smooth, cutting through the thrumming panic in your brain like a warm knife through butter. The other doctor and the nurses who have been trying to pacify you fall quiet, seemingly relieved this other man is here. He glances quickly at a clipboard. “Y/n? I’m Remus.” 

“Hi.” You feel pathetic and a bit wild, tears still trudging down your face as you try to keep an eye on everyone in the room, especially the nurse with the needle. They’ve promised you several times now that they’re not going to do anything until you agree, and it’s not that you don’t trust that but you’re wary of anything happening without your notice. 

Remus walks over to you as though this scene is completely normal for him. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed and sets the clipboard down. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, looking as though he’d really like to know. His expression is kind and concerned. 

You give a little laugh, using your good hand to wipe under your eyes. It comes out sounding pitchy and stilted. “I’ve been better,” you admit. Remus’ lips curve in a small, sad smile. “I just, I’d really rather not be here.” 

“That’s understandable,” he replies patiently. He seems the least urgent of anyone you’ve interacted with since you’ve been here, and there’s a tranquility about him that’s contagious. You feel your tears slowing. “This isn’t really somewhere people end up when their day is going according to plan. What is it that’s making you nervous, sweetheart?” 

All of it, you want to say. The doctors and the nurses and the machines and the hair-raising sound of a baby crying a few rooms over. You hate hospitals and you always have. The idea of needing to be in more pain to relieve the one you’re already experiencing makes you feel like you’re trying to breathe through a straw. 

“I don’t like needles,” you say. Understatement of the year. 

Remus nods, seeming to mull this over. “Well, you have a dislocated shoulder,” he says, mouth pinching sympathetically. “The only way to fix that is to put the joint back into its proper place. It’s not the sort of thing that takes care of itself.” As he talks, his hand moves to rest on top of yours, forefinger stroking a slow back-and-forth across the back of your hand. “It can be fairly painful,” he tells you, “and if you move you could make things a lot harder for yourself. So, we’re going to give you medicine to help you calm down and alleviate the pain.” 

In his steady, dulcet voice, the thing that’s been explained to you twice over already sounds a lot more sensible. His thumb works over your hand, light brown eyes gently coaxing.

“The good thing about this procedure is, both parts are done with fairly quickly. And if you’d like me to, I can hold you while Dr. Michaels works, if that’ll help you at all.” 

The other three people in the room are moving again, somewhat slowly, but Remus doesn’t seem to notice. He holds your gaze. 

“Yes, please,” you say tightly. You know it’s an acquiescence. Even as you say it more tears are blurring your vision. 

“Alright, it’s alright.” Remus wastes no time in moving to your side, his hip pressed to yours while he wraps one arm around your middle and uses the other to turn your face into his shoulder. “You’re fine, sweetheart.” 

You feel childish and embarrassed, wetting his scrubs with your tears, but he only sweeps his thumb over your ribs, shushing you compassionately.  

“We’re going to give you the medicine now, try to stay relaxed.” 

You tense when you feel the cold wipe, and a quiet whimper slips past your lips at the bite of the needle. 

Remus’ hand tightens on your head. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. The needle slips out. 

“Breathe,” Remus instructs. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped. You let out a tremulous exhale, and he brushes some hairs away from your face, your forehead still resting on his shoulder. “That was good,” he assures you. “You’re halfway done now.” 

“Thank you,” you say, more than a little humiliated as you swipe the wetness from your cheeks, sniffling. 

Remus offers a small smile. It’s absurd how much it relaxes you. “Don’t mention it.” He looks to the other doctor. “How do you want her for this next part?” 

“Lying down, please.” 

He turns back to you. “Okay? You want help?” 

Your good hand has gone back to holding your shoulder, so he uses a hand on your back to help ease you horizontal on the bed. Once you’re settled he coaxes your hand away, taking it in his own. His skin is warm and scarred in some places, cruel lines that feel like a violation to touch. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

Remus gets you talking, about the fall that landed you in here, your day before that, your life in general. His responses are understanding and amused at times, seemingly genuinely invested in what you have to say. As you speak his thumb is moving over the side of your hand, down to your wrist and back again, slow and hypnotic. A few minutes later, your eyelids and limbs are heavy, the movement of Remus’ thumb the center of your focus as he tells you about one of the many scrapes his ostensibly reckless friends have gotten into over the years. 

“Seems like it’s working,” he says with a little smile. You blink, not having realized he’d finished his story. “How do you feel, love?” 

“Sleepy.” Your voice sounds stretched and lazy. “My arm still sorta hurts, though.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic tsking sound. “Unfortunately, we can’t make all the pain go away, but it will be a lot easier than it would have otherwise.” He trades hands, taking your hand in his other one and using the first to make sure your face is angled towards him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here with you.” 

Somehow, that makes everything seem a lot more manageable. 

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (you're here)/ Part Four

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?” 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 4.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, violence, beheading, blood

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first, y/n watches Katsuki pack by himself. Eventually, he starts barking orders at her that she doesn't get. He keeps pointing at things y/n starts moving his belongings toward his dragon. Katsuki binds the bags onto the saddle with some rope. When he's done, he shakes everything one more time to check if it's secure. Y/n stands next to him feeling a little bit lost. She feels insecure since she doesn't know what's going to happen next.

"Will he take me with him?", she wonders. If he does, what will it mean? She's not stupid. Y/n knows exactly who is standing in front of her. Bakugou Katsuki, leader of the dragonblood tribe, tamer of the biggest beast known to mankind, slaughter of man. The last thing she witnessed herself.

Clearly, she has heard enough stories about his clan. About their ruthlessness, their crimes. How ten of his men can take out an entire village. She shudders when she thinks about what the stories say they do to women. Y/n gnaws at her bottom lip in distress. So far, Katsuki hasn't shown any aggression or ill intentions towards her. She wonders if the stories are lies or at least exaggerations.

Then again, so far she's only seen Katsuki. He is rude and mean. Thinking back on how he laughed at her when she burned her mouth, he also likes seeing people in pain. Moreover, he easily could kill her if he wanted to. What would it be like if she was in a whole group of men like Katsuki? Group dynamics often develop a strange momentum.

The point is, does she want Katsuki to take her with him? If he takes her back to his home, she would have to live with these people she's heard so many terrible things about. She doesn't speak their language, she doesn't know anything about their culture. How would she even fit it? Y/n shakes her head trying to push the thoughts out of her head. She can't even be sure that that's Katsuki's plan. In addition, what other option does she have? She knows her chances alone out here are grim. Teaming up with the big scary men might just be a chance to survive.

Just when she decided that, as long as no other option opens up, she might as well go with the flow, Katsuki whistles at her sharply. Y/n is ripped out of her thoughts. He stares at her angrily and shouts instructions at her. When he gestures at her to come over, y/n walks closer to him.

When y/n stands next to him and the winged animal, Katsuki explains something speaking rather quickly and wildly gesturing. When y/n doesn't do what he wants her to do, he grabs her hips and lifts her up the dragon. Y/n throws a leg around the saddle and Katsuki pushes her up. Then Katsuki lifts himself up into the saddle. Sitting behind y/n, Katsuki grabs the reigns and gives the dragon a sign.

While y/n still feels anxious about being so high up in the air, she's not as scared as last time. She still clings onto the handle until her knuckles are all white. Katsuki's broad arms cage her in which gives her some sort of comfort. At least she can't fall off on either side.

After a while, she relaxes and suddenly becomes painfully aware of how close Katsuki is to her. She can feel his abs pressed against her back and his breath against her ear. She shivers even though Katsuki's body warmth keeps her comfortably warm.

Katsuki seems to have a plan for where they were going. They fly for about two hours before the dragon lands on the outskirts of the forest. Katsuki gets down first before he helps y/n get down. Y/n feels a bit unsteady on her legs. The inside of her thighs ache and y/n excuses herself behind a tree. Lifting up her skirt, she takes a look at the tender skin on the inside of her legs. They're red and sore. Y/n's surprised the skin hasn't grazed off to a point where she's bleeding. Her dress wasn't made for riding a horse or a dragon.

*~*~*

Katsuki watches y/n disappear behind the tree suspiciously. He noticed how she was still not comfortable with flying. He wonders whether she needs to piss or puke. Scoffing, he turns around and starts setting up camp. When y/n wobbles back, she starts helping him.

They were just about to undo the knots of the rope that secured the bags onto the saddle, when the dragon shifts and lets out a deep, threatening growl. Y/n shys away. "Woops, does he not like that?", she exclaims. Simultaneously, Katsuki swirls around watching the edge of the forest. His hand rest on the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly, the buzzing sound of an arrow fills the air. Katsuki grips y/n's arm and yanks her to he side just in time. Her injured shoulder almost gets pierced again. Next, a bunch or rough-looking men attack their little party with roars of war. "Bandits.", y/n thinks. Katuski yells something at her and gestures at the dragon.

The dragon moves quickly. One second he was behind them, the next he is in front of y/n biting a man's head off. Y/n ducks behind the beast. She hears Katsuki swearing and blades clashing against each other. Y/n rumbles through her back for her hunting knife.

Suddenly, a hand is pushed onto her mouth and an arm grabs her midsection. The person tries to drag her away. Y/n struggles against the man's grip. "Keep struggling and you only make it worse for yourself.", the man tells her.

The dragon blocks the view and y/n can't spot or yell at Katsuki. The man keeps pulling her backward. Instead of panicking, y/n suddenly feels very calm. Living on the road, the wandering folk teach all their children basic self-defense. The scenario of being grabbed from behind is something her elders have practiced her a hundred times.

She prepares to free herself out of the man's grip. She stomps onto his foot and bites his hand simultaneously. She bites so hard, she can taste the metallic flavor of blood. The man yells in distress and lets go of her in his surprise. Swiftly, y/n draws out her tiny knife. She goes straight for his liver. She should've gone for his Adam's apple, piercing his throat, as her elders taught her but somehow she's not courageous or fierce enough to do so. Instead, she stabs him in the liver. However, she's not sure if her tiny knife could even cut deep enough to harm the organ. Nevertheless, it's enough for the man to fall onto his back and clutch the wound in pain.

Y/n swirls around. The dragon is busy fending off some bandits. Somewhere behind it, Katsuki's fighting. Suddenly, Katsuki stumbles backwards and into y/n's view. There's a cut on his bicep and cheek. He holds a sword in his head that drips with blood. Three more bandits come into view, all three attacking the blonde at the same time.

"I've got to do something!", y/n thinks in a panic, "He can't fight them all on his own!". It's not a rational thought. Her elders always drilled into her head that the moment someone carries a knife or another kind of weapon, you do not try to fight them. Despite that, y/n finds herself rushing towards them. Without a real plan, she jumps onto on of the bandit's back. Her weight is enough to make the bandit stumble backwards. It also throws off the other two momentarily giving Katsuki enough time to swing his sword at one of them. He cuts open one of the bandit's throats similarly as he did to the man from y/n's village.

Meanwhile, y/n is still holding on tightly to the third guy's back who tries to shake her off. Y/n clings onto his throat for dear life and the bandit has trouble breathing. Luckily, bandits usually are not skilled swordsmen thus the man is too disoriented to get the idea that he could use his weapon against y/n. Unfortunately, he's still larger and stronger than y/n so he does manage to shake her off eventually.

Y/n falls onto her butt. An uncomfortable pain shoots up her injured shoulder. The man swirls around to her clutching his throat and raising his saber. His face is contorted in anger. "You little bitch!", he roars as he raises his weapon to strike.

Katsuki sees what is happening out of the corner of his eyes. He's still fighting the other bandit but upon noticing that y/n is about to get killed, he turns to the side in an attempt to rush to her aide. This gives the bandit an opening to strike. While Katsuki reacts quickly enough to stop the bandit from piercing him with his weapon completely, the bandit still manages to cut deeply into Katsuki's right leg.

Meanwhile, y/n is quick to roll over and the saber misses her by inches. Quickly she's on her feet again, crouching and holding her knife up in defense. The man takes another swing at her but before he can fulfill the action, his head is severed from the rest of his body.

While y/n wasn't looking, Katsuki killed the second bandit and went to her rescue. The bandit's head drops to the ground with a loud 'thup'. The rest of his body falls to the ground still twitching. Y/n stares at the sight in front of her with wide eyes. The sight doesn't seem to faze Katsuki at all but he is out of breath and his face in contorted in pain. He grabs y/n's injured arm and pulls her towards the dragon who is still fighting off some bandits. From the edge of the forest more cries of war are heard as reinforcements of the bandits run onto the open.

"Shit.", Katsuki curses. There are too many even for him. Where on earth were these assholes hiding? He should've been more observant. He shouldn't have been so distracted by this stupid woman. He pulls y/n towards the beast and pushes her up. Y/n is quick to react and pulls herself up into the saddle just as Katsuki does just seconds after her.

The dragon beats his wings and the force of the air sends a few bandits backwards. Some still try to climb the dragon in an attempt to get to Katsuki and y/n. When one manages to grab Katsuki's foot, y/n stabs her knife into the man's hand who immediately lets go.

As they rise into the air, more bandits lose hold and fall onto the ground. Arrows are shot at the three of them and Katsuki pushes y/n's head down in an attempt to stop her from getting shot in the face. Once they are high enough that the bandits can't reach them, Katsuki lets go of y/n's head.

Just when y/n thinks they're safe, Katsuki turns the dragon around and steers it back to the bandits. "Is he absolutely out of his mind?", y/n thinks as they descend again. However, they never touch land. Instead, the dragon lets out a rumbling sound and spits waves of never-ending fire. Suddenly, the world is burning and hot. Y/n hears the cries of the bandits and the heat licking at her legs.

Quickly they leave again and y/n watches the bandits and parts of the forest burn to the ground over her shoulder. Just when they are out of sight, she notices Katsuki's heavy breathing behind her. She also notices how his grip on her isn't as tight as it was before. That's when she feels a warm liquid drop down her leg. Katsuki rests his head on her shoulder.

Y/n lets go of the handle of the saddle and grabs his hands with both of hers stabilizing his hold on the reigns. The last thing she wants is for both of them to fall off the damn dragon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[number1jeonginstan]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a story in which hyunjin overstimulates y/n? And if you want, could you make y/n sensible and scared? Ty! I love your writing btw!

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to get this out, I’ve been kind of in a slump for writing and then I got the idea for what I should do because I was kinda struggling for a minute. I hope you liked it and I’m so thankful for the request! Thank you so much for your time and patience, I really appreciate it.

WC: 1.25k

Pairing: Hyunjin x (established relationship) afab!reader

Minors don't interact, 18+

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, some light slapping, good girl, baby, use of that stuff, idk what else tbh this was written at like 1 am

It was a lazy day between you and Hyunjin. Both still in your pajamas, you in silk shorts and one of his t-shirts, and him in his matching yellow and white checkered pajamas. You enjoyed this new mystery novel on his bed while he painted in his studio. It was the comfort of being next to one another that you had no idea what was yet to come. 

As you turned to the next page in your book, Hyunjin got up coming towards you. “Wanna have sex?” He asked, lying down next to you on the bed. You barely paid attention to him, too immersed in your book, simply humming. 

“Come on” he groaned lifting his head to you, “I need you baby” he huffed, still not eliciting a reaction from you. To try and get any reaction out of you, he began to run his fingers on your thighs. 

Ts when he ran his fingers along your thighs, placing wet kisses along your smooth thigh. “Jinnie, please” you whined “I want to finish this chapter, they are about to say who did it” 

“Wow, a book is more interesting than fucking your insanely hot boyfriend?” 

“Right now, yes!” you giggled, finishing reading the page you were on. Before you could even turn the page, he snatched the book out of your hand. “Don’t you dare fold the corner” you yelled, trying to snatch the book back. He giggled adding the bookmark he made you as a gift to mark the page. He got up and placed the book on his easel, far from your reach. 

“Fine” you groaned, falling back onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow. He walked back to the bed, crawling on top of you so his thighs locked yours in place. He placed a kiss on your lips, causing a giggle to leave your lips.

He moved to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the spot that drove you crazy. You could slowly feel yourself getting wetter. “Jinnie, please stop teasing” you whined, rubbing your thighs together to get any sort of stimulation. “I need you” 

“Be patient baby, we have all the time in the world”

He kissed your lips once again, trying to savor your taste. He began to move down your body, lifting your (his) shirt slightly to kiss your stomach, slowly moving down to your shorts. Without hesitation, he pulled down your shorts and underwear, throwing them somewhere in your shared room. 

“Fuck baby, this pussy is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” he ran his fingers across your folds, capturing your wetness and putting his finger in his mouth, licking it off his fingers. “And you taste even better” 

You moaned watching him, and before you could even say anything, he dove into your pussy. His plush lips kissed your clit as he slowly inserted one of his long fingers into your hole. You grabbed his hair in his hand, forcing him to eat you like a man starved, and he was happy to. 

He was licking every inch of your pussy, slowly inserting another finger to give you the extra stimulation you needed. His fingers were long, not as long as his cock, but longer than your own and he was skilled with them. It took him another minute for you to cum around his fingers, moaning his name as your walls clenched around them. 

He began to kiss down your thigh, his plush lips covered in your cum from eating you out. “Jinnie, please, need you” you whined.

“You are a greedy little girl aren’t you, just made you cum with my mouth and fingers, but you are still begging for my cock” 

He slapped your thigh lightly, moving so he was on top of you, in between your legs. “Fuck, you are such a slut” he groaned, pulling his already hard cock from the confines of his boxers. The tip was already red, pre-cum slowly dripping out of the tip.

“Who’s the slut now?” you giggled, trying to joke around, but it only made Hyunjin to tease you more. Before you could react, he grabbed your face, making you look directly into his eyes. “If you keep acting like this, I’m going to fuck you like the little whore you are” 

“Sure Hyunjin, you can try and do that” You rolled your eyes, knowing that your boyfriend would never “fuck” you. Whenever the two of you had sex, he always liked to describe it as making love. He was someone who believed that sex was something that should be cherished. 

“Don’t test me baby, tonight you are going to be my cocksleeve” Before you could even react, he thrust his cock inside of you, not even giving you a warning. “How can you be such a whore and have such a tight pussy” 

You just moaned you had never seen him this way, and you were a bit scared, and your face reflected it. “Aww, baby don’t be scared, you’ll get to cum, don’t worry”

He nibbled on your ear softly, his pillow lips wrapping around your lobe as he continued to thrust into you. He slowly began to lift your legs slightly, signaling you to wrap your legs around his back, allowing him to hit that one spot inside your cunt.

“Such a good girl, moaning for my cock. Is it just that good?” 

He continued to thrust into you, not faltering his pace as he continued to abuse that one spot inside of you. All you could do was moan out in response. You were too fucked out, getting fucked too well to even understand the words coming out of his mouth. 

He slapped your face slightly, causing you to look up straight into his eyes. “I asked you a question, is my cock that good” 

“Yes Jinnie, your cock is the best I’ve ever had” you moaned out loud. He kissed your lips, muttering “good girl” on them, and with him thrusting into that one spot that made you whine, it was all you needed to cum. 

“Fuck baby, I can feel your walls clenching around me, but just because you came, doesn’t mean we are done” You whined, feeling overstimulated as he continued to abuse your pussy like there is no tomorrow. 

It all felt too much, him continuing to thrust into you even though you had just cum. You thrashed around slightly, not being able to take it. Just as you thought you were going to break, like the world around you was going to go black, he came inside of you, kissing your lips. 

You were still out of it as he quickly got up, getting a cloth to clean the cum that was spilling you out of with as well as a glass of water. “Baby, I need you to drink this” 

You just nodded, slowly drinking the glass of water that your boyfriend was holding in front of you. 

“Sorry if I was too rough, I just overheard you say that you wanted me to fuck you more often, I hope it was okay” 

He looked like a hurt puppy so you pulled him close to you, kissing his lips gently. “It was amazing Jinnie, but next time, give me some warning because I was scared shitless” 

He just giggled as he wrapped his arms around you as you both fell asleep together. Maybe not knowing the end of the book is worth it. 

[beenbaanbuun]

meet me in the woods w/ Mingi

words - 3.5k

genre - fluff, friends to lovers, college!au

warnings - emo!mingi, drummer!mingi, pink!mingi, fangirl!reader, kissing, mentions of seasonal depression, mentions of a broken ankle, reader is down bad, so is mingi, they’re both idiots in love, kind of groping but not really sexual

————————————————

there’s still a chill in the air as the seasons flip from winter to spring. it shows in the way the air around you fogs up with every breath you exhale and the way the skin of your exposed thighs pricks up in little bumps. realistically you should’ve worn a pair of jeans rather than a skirt, but that would defeat the point of this whole thing you had going on. a sort of good-riddance-to-winter protest, in which you try to ignore the fact that winter was very much still in play.

although you have to admit you may have been a little too eager. you claim to have your reasons to pretend that winter is already over, but even those reasons seem a little obsolete as you sit on the picnic table awning, shivering every few seconds. perhaps your way of saying goodbye to your particularly bad bout of seasonal depression will have to be shoved to the back of your closet for a few more weeks. just until you're sure you won’t get frostbite.

you shuffle back a few inches, just enough to give yourself room to swing your legs back onto the awning. you have to go down the way you came up; that was a lesson you’d learned the hard way. a broken ankle and a particularly long lecture from your mother about making ‘sensible decisions’ was not something you care to repeat. she, of course, would blow a fuse if she knew you still frequent this spot years later, but what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. besides, you’re well trained in how to get up and down from your favourite thinking spot, now.

you already have one leg up when you hear a creek coming from behind you. your neck twists in time to see a hand slam itself down on the wooden surface, fingers splayed as they work their hardest to pull the attached body higher up. you recognise the rings like the back of your hand and as you watch mingi struggle, you can’t help but sigh.

“how many times have i told you how to get up here?” you grumble, loud enough for him to hear over his own strained grunts. the single hand that you can see moves until you can see a middle finger pointed in your direction, and you have to laugh, “you seriously can’t remember? right hand on the roof, left foot on the fence, and push yourself up.”

even without seeing his face you can tell he’s rolling his eyes at you. he’s heard this lecture from you a bajillion times before, and yet he never learns. it’s always right hand, right foot and pull with him - almost the exact opposite of how you instruct him.

“have you considered that i’m, like, twice the size of you?” he says as he corrects his form and finally manages to raise himself up. he swings his right knee onto the platform and rolls his gangly form onto it. you’ve seen more grace from a new-born horse, but you keep that to yourself as you watch him sit himself up and shuffle closer.

“if anything that would make it easier for you, y’know, since you don’t have to jump to reach the roof.”

you turn your body back to how it was, dropping your legs again so you can swing them over the ledge. the platform looks out over nothing but forest, and you quickly find a particular branch to focus your eyes on as the giant sits in his spot next to you. your hands subconsciously brush over the pair of initials that have been scratched into the wood when you were both teenagers. a small, neat set done with a whittling knife stolen from your father, sitting just beneath a much larger, much messier SMG that mingi had done with the biggest kitchen knife he could find. his mother never did discover how her carving knife missing for a few hours only to return to the knife block covered in moss and dirt.

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters as he drops his legs down to swing them at the side of yours. your pink sneakers look a little out of place besides his platform doc martin’s that he always wears, despite not needing the extra height, but somehow the contrast feels natural to you, “i thought i’d find you up here. went to your dorm to search for you but your roommate said you were out.”

“and you assumed i was here?” he nods, not bothering to look at you. he too has found a distant branch to focus on.

“where else would you be?” he nudges you with an elbow, “god knows you don’t go to your lectures…”

he’s right about that. you’d given up on college very early into freshman year, and yet you’re somehow still passing. not well, you have to admit, but enough to get a degree at the end of the year.

“my classes suck, mingi,” you clarify as you rip your focus away from that one specific branch. looking at the same thing was getting kind of boring, you realise, so instead you lay down on the dirty wood and stare up at the canopy. the february sun only just pokes through the fir-canopy, dousing you in just enough light to make your skin a little warmer. there was that heat you were hoping for earlier, “why would i go to them when clearly i can pass without?”

“fair point.”

you close your eyes, basking in the light that bathes you. there’s still a slight breeze that makes the fir needles rustle above you, a few of them raining down whenever a particularly strong gust comes along. one lands on your thigh, but it’s quickly brushed off and replaced by mingi’s warm hand. he must’ve been keeping it in the pocket of his oversized korn hoodie, you think to yourself as he squeezes your thigh.

the hoodie is an old favourite of yours. you’d bought it for him a couple of years ago, and it had soon joined what you like to call ‘the elites’ - the small collection of about three hoodies that he had in permanent rotation. it fit him better now than when you first bought it for him. he’d bulked up a lot, after all.

you still couldn’t get the sweet image of him opening the gift with a wide grin on his face out of your head.

he kissed your cheek on that day.

you always seem to blush at the memory.

“why did you come searching for me, anyway?” you say after a few moments of silence. his hand remains firm on your thigh, fingers drumming a rhythm against your leg gently, “don’t you have cooler people to be hanging out with?”

he hums, “all the cool people i know are busy today,” you swing your foot to the side to kick his shin. he lets out a laugh at the little tap - he knows you can kick harder than that - before giving your thigh a gentle tap in return, “besides, maybe i want to hear about all your little kpop groups.”

you scoff at him.

“no, you don’t.”

“no,” mingi agrees, “i don’t. but i do want to spend time with my favourite little fangirl.”

you giggle at him, opening your eyes just in time to see him turn to you with a wonky grin on his face. it seems he’s bored of staring at his branch too since his gaze doesn’t go back to it after a few seconds. it remains on you, boba-pearl pupils staring into your own as the rays of sun make them glisten.

he looks cute like this, you think to yourself. his short pink hair rustles as the wind blows it about. for a man who made so much fuss about the colour when you first dyed it, it has taken him a long time for him to go back to the bleach blonde that he loves so much. part of you likes to think it’s so he can match your own pastel pink hair - that’s a normal thing for best friends to do, right? - but you also know that he’s fiercely protective over his hair and definitely wouldn’t keep it just for your sake.

it needs a trim, you think to yourself as you watch it brush against his eyebrows. you wonder if he’ll let you do it again. he hated it the last time, so you assume the answer will be no. then again, there’s no harm in asking, right? you make a mental note to do so later, wanting nothing more than to see the same cute pout he wore last time you butchered his hair. it’s an expression that he only ever wears around you, much like that sweet smile he’d had moments prior. it’s a softness that he keeps close to his chest, a far cry from the cool exterior he tries to keep when he’s around everyone else. not that you mind the tougher side of him - it’s hot… really hot - but the sweet giggles and adorable nose scrunches will always be your favourite things about him.

“you said everyone else was busy?” you mutter, not bothering to break eye contact to go back to sunbathing. he takes the hint, and brings his legs fully onto the platform so he can face you fully. it’s much better, you think, this way you can see him more clearly, “what are they doing?”

he shrugs.

“i don’t know,” he begins to rub your thigh up and down subconsciously. he does it a lot when he’s talking. if it’s not your thigh - which it usually always is - then it’s his own, or the arm of a chair. it’s just something to keep his hands busy, you suppose, “i think some of the guys wanted to go over melodies, which they don’t need me for. jongho was saying he thinks it’d be cool if there’s a section where his voice and san’s guitar are kind of in sync? i don’t know, it sounds cool in theory but i don’t know if san’s guitar style necessarily matches jongho’s vocal style well enough to do that.”

you watch as his face lights up, just like it always does when he talks about music, or his band. he could talk about their newest ideas for hours, and most of the time you let him. you like to listen to the way his voice rises an octave when he gets excited, and watching his facial expressions never gets old. you love the way he talks with one hand, all while keeping the other firmly on your thigh; or his, or the arm of a chair. it’s nice to see him still so passionate about all the same things he was as a teenager. sometimes you’re even sure you can feel his excitement for him.

it feels an awful lot like butterflies in your stomach.

“and i mean, i know i’m just the drummer but,” you quirk your eyebrow at him and he stops himself talking. a pink flush rises over his face as he realises his slip up, “i didn’t mean just the drummer, i just meant that as the drummer, i don’t know as much about the music theory side as the guitarists do… i hit things, y’know?”

“you hit things very well, though,” you tease, using a manicured finger to poke at his knee. he catches it with the hand that isn’t occupied by your thigh and just holds onto it. its another thing he does a lot; not quite holding your hand, but definitely toeing the line, “and that’s coming from me!”

he rolls his eyes at you, and you were sure that if both his hands weren’t occupied with some other part of your body, he’d make the effort to lean forwards and place a finger over your lips to shush you. again, touching your lips like that it’s just something he does with you, just like almost holding your hands, and playing with your thighs. it’s all completely normal best friend stuff…

except you weren’t this touchy with any other guy. the last time you let a man get this close to you was when wooyoung tried to teach you guitar by moving your fingers into the correct positions for you. there was barely any contact between the two of you, and yet mingi sulked for days. part of you wanted to call it strange, but when you spotted him giving a pretty emo girl his drumsticks after a show, you gave him much of the same attitude.

you wouldn’t call it jealousy, per se, although maybe there was a little bit. mingi was your best friend after all. you have something special with him. something different that you have with no one else and you feel a way that you feel with no one else and-

oh.

oh.

suddenly the hand on your thigh felt very heavy, and you noticed the way his fingertips gently dip under the hem. had they been doing that the whole time? and you couldn’t help but feel like the way his thumb rubbed against the tip of your finger so softly had some type of further meaning behind it. not to mention the neutral yet unbelievably gentle look that took over his features, making him look even more pretty than usual in the scattered rays of light.

his lips were parted every so slightly, revealing that single wonky tooth that you found oh-so adorable. for a second you wondered what they would feel like against your skin, but you soon shunned the thought away as you remembered, oh yeah, the korn sweater. you’d felt them before. you know just how soft and gentle they are. it’s something that often plays on your mind and every time it does, you feel that same burst of excitement built up in your stomach. the one you get when mingi speaks about his passions. the one that feels like butterflies.

it is butterflies. fuck, it’s the whole damn zoo! a stampede of elephants charging though your body each and every time he does something that you find even mildly endearing. it just so happens that you find damn near everything he does endearing. you’d think those elephants would be tired of running by now…

“mingi,” you sigh, breath coming out in a plume of mist. you’d forgotten how cold it was in his presence. being around him just seemed to warm you up, “mingi, come here.”

he furrows his brow, but shuffles a tad closer. you almost groan in disappointment as he takes his hand away from your thigh, the skin immediately growing cold at the lost contact.

“what’s up, sunshine?” you feel em your eyes go wide at the nickname. you don’t know why; he uses it for you all the time.

“mingi, i’m confused… and a little scared,” you admit, although you didn’t know whether it was necessarily the truth. it was probably the closest word to describe how you were feeling though. with the way your heart was threatening to beat through your chest, and the way your stomach churned with nerves and the way your stupid brain had only just managed to catch up with how you had felt all along. it hurt, and it was painful and confusing and yeah, scared was probably a pretty good description.

“scared?” his voice grows serious as his eyes scan you up and down. once he sees that you’re fine physically, they return to your face. he looks just as confused as you feel, “what are you scared about? are you okay? hurt?”

you shake your head, taking in a deep, shaky breath. you let it out in yet another cloud of fog and watch at it floats away into nothing. you wish your butterflies, elephants, would do the same. it would make this whole thing so much easier.

“i’m fine, mingi,” you say, “just scared.”

“can you tell me why?” you nod, although it takes everything in you to do so.

“i want to kiss you,” you admit.

“kiss… me?”

you nod again, feeling a familiar heat rise to your face. the same one you get whenever mingi compliments you, or touches you. you can't believe it’s taken this long to finally figure it all out. it all feels so obvious now.

“i mean… yeah?” he stutters, “kiss me, yeah… yeah that sounds okay- i mean good! it sounds good… kissing, that is.”

if you weren’t feeling completely and utterly out of your depth, you’d have giggled at him. cutie pie you think to yourself before the heat in your body immediately gets more intense, and the elephants not only increase in number but in size too.

it’s now or never. before you can talk yourself out of it, you need to kiss him. because talking yourself out of it could be so easy. you could hop off of the awning, run back to your car and drive back to your dorm. sure, it would hurt when you would inevitably have to lock yourself away in embarrassment and never see mingi again, but time heals all wounds, right? and by the time you’re 50, the pain and embarrassment will have definitely almost healed over…

“so?” he mutters, pulling you back from the fantasy your brain had created, “are you going to do it?”

“i, uh…”

“i mean, i can if you want me to,” he shrugs, trying his hardest to play it cool as if he hadn’t been stuttering seconds prior. as if his face wasn’t just as pink as the mop of hair that sat atop it.

there is nothing cool about this man, you think to yourself as you push yourself into a sitting position. maybe that’s why you’re so attracted to him. his nerdy tendencies had tugged you in, and he’d worked his dorky little ways on you until you were hook line and sinker for him.

down bad, as the kids say. down so horrifically bad…

“i can do it,” you whisper as you look up at him with wide eyes. your lips are mere inches from his own, and his hot breath fans across your cold face. his eyes are on yours just briefly before they flicker down to your lips. they rested there for a second before making their way back up to yours, “i can kiss you,” you whisper.

“you can,” he mutters back, bringing his own face close enough to yours that you’re not even sure a sheet of paper would slip between the two of you. his tongue darts out to wet his own lips, gently brushing against yours too. your breath hitches as your last sliver of resolve vanishes. that’s it, you tell yourself, you can’t hold back anymore.

the tiny gap is closed as you press forwards, slamming your lips against his. your fingers shoot up to lace themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, and his find a home on your waist. his eyelashes flutter against your face as he shuts his eyes, and you follow his lead, doing the same. it’s nice, you realise, the darkness letting you focus on how his lips feel moving slowly against your own. they fit perfectly, like they were always meant to be there.

he deepens the kiss briefly, tilting his head ever so slightly to get a better angle. it’s a little rougher at this angle, but you can’t find it in you to mind as he takes control. the desperation you feel from him as he moves his lips harshly against your own was something you feel yourself, so you let him take what he needs, taking just as much in return.

and by the time he pulls away, you’re both panting. rapid and hard and together. his lips have barely left your own as he catches his breath, but you don’t pull back either.

“fuck,” he mumbles against your lips, “that was… nice?”

“yeah,” you agree. ‘nice’ seems the best way to describe it, although it was so much more than just that, “it was nice, wasn’t it?”

“so nice, sunshine,” he says. a few beats of a silence pass before he presses his lips against yours again, this time for a much shorter, much more innocent peck. you can’t help but giggle as he pulls away. there’s a grin on his face too, “wish we’d done it sooner, though.”

you nod, “yeah, me too.”

“but we have all the time in the world, right?”

he pecks you again. this one lasts a few milliseconds longer than the last, not that you’re counting. when he pulls away, you chase it. another peck, this time led by you, but equally as brief as the other two. it’s his turn to chuckle.

“cute,” he grins, “you’re so cute.”

you get shy under his words and pull back just a tad. the grip he has on your waist refuses to let you go too far from him. you don’t mind; not at all. the fact he wants you so close actually sends the elephants feral. you feel them reach up to your heart to work their magic on that too. it probably isn’t healthy for it to beat at the speed that it is, but you really can’t help it. the elephants seem to respond to mingi and mingi alone. you don’t mind that either.

not at all.

[imaginesforeons]

Hii since requests are open May I ask if you could write something for yan! Nanami with very scared reader who's just straight up terrified of him and the situation they're in they always hide when they hear him come home shake and shiver whenever he touches then and even vomit from all that stress and fear? If no that's completely okay and feel free to ignore this, thanks a bunch and have a great night/day I love your writing!<33

Sure!! I wrote this, hope it's ok! Also, I will get to the other requests as well, but I had eye surgery a few days ago so it's slow-going. Don't worry though, no-one will be forgotten.

Yandere!Nanami x TouchAvoidant!Reader

~Nanami comes home. You aren't happy~

CW: Past kidnapping. Yandere Nanami. Forced contact but nothing NSFW.

WC: 934

REQS are open. At the top of my page you can see who/what I write for. The more specific your requests the better! :)

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

The room that he put you in when he had to leave could only be described as scared to impose. Soft cream walls stared at you from every angle, and an impossibly plush carpet rested beneath your socked feet. Baby blues and minty greens made up the few colors, and they were things like pillows and blankets all of impossible quality. Minky couture and goose down pillows had become your new normal, strewn across the ground and whatever sparse furniture there was, yet nothing else decorated the space. There were no lamps, no paintings, no furniture that wasn’t carefully and thoroughly bolted down; nothing could be used as a weapon. Even the window was welded shut, made of polycarbonate that was impossible to break. You would know, as you’d tried multiple times.

It was a room carefully constructed, a room not meant to impose on the delicate sensibilities of the one in it. It held the same air as a therapist’s office. Or a padded cell.

You shifted, sinking deeper into your chair. Idly you thumbed through your book, but nothing in it caught your interest. You had finished reading it hours ago, but you were too shy to ask him for another, and instead simply left your finished reads on his table to show that you were done. The light shining through your window was turning a burnished gold. It was getting late, which meant soon he would be home. You felt a churning in your stomach at the thought, and gripped your book tighter in your hands, listening to the pages crinkle.

You jumped when you heard the rumble of a car’s engine pull into the drive, then the damning sound of a door opening and closing. Forgotten, the book fell from your hands, hitting the floor. You grabbed a pillow, soft and fluffy, and held it to your chest, trying to create some sort of barrier between you and what was coming.

All too soon, he was there. From across the room you locked eyes, yet before you could say anything he started moving towards you. Your muscles jumped, and it took all you had not to run. It wouldn’t work, you’d already tried.

“How was your day?” Nanami asked as he loosened his tie.

“Fine,” you murmured, casting your eyes down and staring at his feet. When a hand touched your shoulder, you winced, jerking back into the chair as if you tried hard enough you’d bury yourself into it and disappear.

Above you, Nanami sighed. Slowly, he knelt before you, placing himself between your legs and staring up at you in a way that made your skin itch. A large hand wrapped around your calf, unyielding. It didn’t hurt, but you knew it would be impossible to break out of his hold.

“We’ve talked about this,” he murmured. A calloused thumb stroked over the skin of your leg.

You shifted restlessly. “I know.” When his other hand wrapped around your calf, it took all you had not to scream. To anyone else it probably would have felt nice, witht the way he had started to massage it, but it was all you could do to hold in a scream. Instead you brought your legs in, folding them criss-cross beneath your body.

“Most people would love a massage after a long day,” Nanami said.

“Most people aren’t kidnappers,” you snapped back. 

Nanami hummed. “I suppose our circumstances are unique.” And then he ran his knuckles across your cheek.

Your skin went electric and you flinched, flailing and trying to jump from the chair. Before you could touch the carpet, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You froze, and your expression could have been enough to bring any onlookers to tears. The arms shifted, lifting you, squeezing you to his chest.

“Please, Nanami,” you whispered. “Please let me go.”

“Shh,” the man murmured, pressing a kiss against your brow. To you, it felt like a brand.

“Let me go,” you pleaded.

You started to struggle, and though you knew it was a fruitless action, there was nothing left for you to do. Twisting, you writhed in his arms like a snake, but it only made things worse. He held you closer to him, enough that you could feel it when he breathed, and when your shirt rode up your torso from struggling, his large, calloused hand found its way to your naked skin, fingers trailing across it. He made his way to the bed, sitting on its edge with you still in his hold.

“Stop it!” you shouted, pounding your fists against his chest. “I said stop!”

“Listen to me,” Nanami said. He was raising his voice, not out of anger, but in an effort to make himself heard. He wrapped one arm around your torso, holding your arms down, while the other went to your face, turning you to look in his eyes. “Listen to me, dear. The only reason I do this is out of my love for you. Can’t you see that?”

“This isn’t love,” you snarled, angry tears building in your eyes. “You’re delusional!”

“Shh,” Nanami crooned. He pressed his lips to your temple. “I know you don’t like it, but we’re going to stay here until you calm down. One day you’ll understand.”

You kicked uselessly at him, but it only made Nanami hook a leg over yours, pinning you. You sniffled, and felt the first tears coursing down your face. Nanami only held you closer, and started rocking back and forth, a motion that would have been soothing in any other context.

[merakiui]

AHH THE BOYS FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO ‘REPOPULATE’ WITH YOU FIRST 💖💖💖 SO YUMMYYY

They all try to prove to you that they’re the better candidate by doing all sorts of things for you. Trying to show you that he’s the strongest or more capable than the others. Showing you just how good of a protector and provider he is, ensuring you’re always safe and comfortable while stuck on the island with him. Surely this is enough to help you decide that he’s the one who gets to knock you up first.

Tests of strength and wit and courage—they all hope to have moments to shine just a bit brighter than the rest so that you’ll ultimately choose him in the end. Although there’s also sneaky bribery and reasonable hypotheticals. If you let Riddle knock you up, he’s the most sensible and will know just how to handle this, as he’s read up on pregnancy before and knows all about it. If you let Lilia knock you up, he’ll be more than prepared as he’s raised a child before! If you let Floyd knock you up, you’ll never want for anything. The same goes for Azul; after all, how could you possibly say no to someone who only ever has your best interests in mind? Jack is a sweetheart; he’s loyal and will love you even more fiercely when you’re round with his child. He could never not love you. Ace is…Ace. He has good qualities; just give him a chance!

It doesn’t matter who you choose because in the end you’re still getting bred. :)

[shalotttower]

To Make a Home Out of Bones

Title: To Make a Home Out of Bones

Fandom: BTD2 (Boyfriend to Death 2)

Characters: Ren Hana x Reader (female)

Summary: You were free. Free for real, and you couldn't believe that, staring at the open door. And then, by some twisted scenario, decided to keep him. It's tragic, really.

Word count: 2300+

Notes: yandere!Ren Hana, captivity (past Reader and finally in present not Reader :D) Reader is sensible though and there's nothing crazy going on on her part apart from the captivity scenario, mostly tired vibes/attempts to process what happened, unhealthy coping mechanisms, past torture, past manipulation, possessiveness, past dubious consent, past non-con, Reader doesn't know about Strade.

You don't talk. You never talk nowadays and it feels almost liberating, not having to converse. Ren doesn't look as intimidating as he used to. Maybe it's because of the collar, or maybe it's because he doesn't wear that damned jacket anymore, the one which seems to change his whole being into something unhinged and cheerfully vicious whenever he puts it on.

Is this what he felt, watching you tied to a pole?

No, hardly.

There was a very tangible sense of power in your captivity.

You, however, don't feel powerful at all.

You feel like an old tree: splinters, rotten wood, and bark waiting for the storm to come and snap the trunk in the middle.

Freedom is strangely anticlimactic.

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You don't know how long you've been here, stopped checking a wile ago because it didn't matter ─ to be dragged back from the basement on Wednesday or on Saturday. Days became a sequence of events, not dates, once you realized Ren planned to keep you indefinitely.

Have breakfast, tell him it was good. Do the laundry. Watch TV, let Ren cuddle up to you, ignore the presence of another in the same room. Smile every time he says something nice and expects to hear it back. Let your eyes glaze over during sex, try to remember what it felt like to have someone touch you without making you bleed. Wake up to a sleepy fox curled up on top of you. When Ren dreams his ears twitch.

It takes approximately five minutes for him to settle for sleep, tangled limbs and pointy nose buried in the crook of your neck, and he's surprisingly light for a grown man. With how tough Ren seems (or wants to), there's some sort of innate clinginess about him that contrasts so much with the image in your head: smiling through bloodied teeth while nailing your leg. At first you thought being nice was a way out of this, but kindness is a double-edged sword here: soon you realized how utterly you misjudged him ─ and how truly screwed you were.

Because Ren, while cooking you tasty meals for "being good" and letting you watch TV, likes kisses and hand-holding, and cute things. But Ren also likes the way you sob no less, and that's where the miscalculation happened. Being nice only guaranteed with some unsteady sense of security that he wouldn't kill you yet. That was all. He's sweet, snuggly, affectionate until he isn't, and no amount of good behavior or praise will stop him from breaking your fingers if he feels like it.

Your routine had been simple for months. Easy. Unbearable.

And now all the world which was limited to one single house for god knows how long expands again, but you don't really feel it, even after reaching the small front gate.

You could leave him there, you think. In the basement, and no one would ever know. Lose the key, never come back, just-

Not go back. And all of this will be behind you. You'll never have to see him again, never have to smile for him, never have to hear that shaky sound he makes when he cums, or witness his face turn from carefree to confused, and then to understanding, then to annoyed.

A death like this seems fitting for him. Cold concrete and silence; starvation is an awful, terrifying way to go. You noticed that Ren doesn't really like to be alone, and there's almost poetic justice in leaving him in the basement to slowly rot away.

Your fingers curl around the iron handle and with something akin to astonishment let go of it, then fall limply to your side. You're free, yet you stay rooted to the spot, because frankly speaking where does one go from here? Your rent must be long overdue, and your face is probably everywhere, plastered on missing person posters.

'Hey guys, I'm not missing anymore', you imagine saying to your co-workers, 'sorry for disappearing, I guess. Do you still need that Excel sheet done?'

Your employment contract had probably been terminated. The bank account should be fine, Ren took you right before the paycheck, and there's mom's house to crash at until everything goes back to normal, but that surely means cops getting involved, and lawyers, and media. Just the thought is exhausting.

'How did Mr Hana treat you? Were you intimate? Yes or no? Please, tell us more, miss. How do you feel? What about Mr Oleander, did you know him?'

The wind picks up, blowing leaves and ruffling your hair.

Ren will go to jail. Obviously — kidnapping and killing people equals prison time. The problem is that it doesn't bring you any kind of satisfaction. You don't want Ren here, but you also don't want him peacefully living his sentence while you pick up the pieces of your old life. There's no closure in that, but again...can there be any?

You sit down on the porch; cold wooden boards creak under your weight. Ren has a nice little suburban house.

What now? You have no fucking idea, just vague notions of an unclear future, and nothing substantial.

What now indeed.

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He fed you regularly, that's true; you stand at the basement door and watch him eat.

Ren allowed you free roaming within the house premises, an access to TV, books, hygiene products. Reading manga together felt almost domestic, yet...you keep him there. In the basement.

It's strange, seeing him like this, but he doesn't look surprised at the new turn of events, he looks almost resigned. A mirror of yourself in a sense, you think with a finger hovering over the button. Ren's ears are flattened, tail tucked between his legs, a submissive, harmless thing. You could let him out, allow him roam the house freely just the way he did. But you don't.

It sounds straight off foolish, and what's more important ─ scary. There're so many possibilities. That the remote won't work, that you'll be too slow to react, that he'll sneak into your room at night. Ren can be very quiet when he wants to. So you keep him there, and avoid him like plague unless necessary — feeding duty twice per day plus bathroom visits.

No chatter, minimal contact overall, but Ren starts talking anyways.

"You look tired," he says cautiously in between the bites.

He does it a lot, tries to gauge where you two stand every day or what's on your mind, and you suspect it's the result of past experiences, something that's hard to unlearn. Something connected with that body in the freezer. Upon finding it you initially assumed (not without a reason) that the corpse was his doing, but when Ren undressed before you for the first time, realized that it might not be entirely true.

The cuts, the burns, the marks and deep, jagged lines formed a familiar pattern. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into giving him those.

"I could make coffee. Or tea."

And that's another thing. He doesn't fight you, or attempt to lash out. Instead he makes those little offers here and there whenever you come down the stairs — dinner, help cleaning the dishes, washing clothes. He has been compliant and eager to please to the point of it being almost unnerving.

You don't reply, and that seems to bother him, judging by his expression. Understandable: silence is normally a bad omen, especially in situations such as this one.

"Are you going to-" he starts again, but you cut him off.

"Push the tray over."

Ren's ears twitch at the command and you briefly wonder if he expected something different to happen. The tray makes a metallic screech over the concrete floor, stopping right in front of your feet.

"Thank you," he says.

'Thank you for breakfast, thank you for lunch, thank you for dessert.' 'Thank you for the nail gun, thank you for holding my hand while I screamed, thank you for fucking me after.' You hate the words now, the way they used to roll off your tongue (thank you, Ren, thank you), because they never meant gratitude at all and felt bitter, like a moldy fruit.

Ren's eyes are trained on your face. There it is again: the strange uneasiness which settles in your chest whenever he stares with focus sharp enough to burn holes through flesh itself. His gaze travels lower to your arms exposed by rolled up hoodie sleeves. You had no clothes here except for cutsey underwear and pajamas which Ren insisted you wear, but those are long thrown away somewhere in the trash, so the only things available are his. There's also...other stuff you found in the locked bedroom on the second floor: cargo pants, combat boots, tank tops, all neatly folded. Far too big for you both.

"Is it mine?" Ren asks and leans forward.

"Is there a problem?" you ask back, then regret it.

Questions mean opening a door to unwanted dialogue. His cheeks turn a little pink.

"No. It looks good on you."

Your stomach churns in discomfort at the compliment and the carefully concealed delight Ren won't voice out loud, but drops indirectly from time to time. Not only this, but the familiarity, the implied "you're used to wearing my things by now" which, in essence, is true. It's either that or walking around naked. Ren must notice your reaction, because he quickly averts his eyes to the floor. Silence settles over the basement like a thick, heavy blanket of snow.

Stop feeding me with submissive bullshit, you want to say. I know what you'd do if not for the collar, I've seen it from the first row. Stop pretending to be harmless when we both know you aren't.

Ren fiddles with the hem of his shirt. The change is so drastic. He was a little scary at first when you met, then downright terrifying, and now...now he's just a whole another person.

You pick up the tray without a word and leave. Ren's ears droop once he realizes the conversation for today ended before it even started. But there will be tomorrow. And the next one after, and the next one, and the next one. He'll keep trying to talk, and you'll keep ignoring him until he finally stops.

You don't know what to do with him. You don't know what to do with yourself either.

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There's no distance wide or far enough to allow you proper sleep. You toss and turn under the covers despite exhaustion pulling at your eyelids and eventually settle for a late night movie or two. Ren's DVD collection is...well, to put it bluntly, weird for someone like him. Cheesy and romantic movies take around thirty percent of his library, while the remaining seventy is filled with horror flicks and anime. You go through the titles: Sailor Moon, Cardcaptor Sakura, Tokyo Mew Mew. Some of those you watched together, curled up on the sofa, others Ren had recommended enthusiastically whenever he caught your glances.

'It's really good! I think you'd like it.'

'This is my favorite.'

He remembered the details about each series, all the names, plot twists. A die-hard fan to the point you wondered why didn't he try cosplaying himself instead of dressing you up. He'd pass as some sort of a fox/cat character easily. Maybe he did cosplay before, who knows? It wouldn't surprise you.

The clock ticks 2 AM. Your mind goes back to the basement door and what lays behind it.

Ren knows that you sleep terribly. You know he does too ─ that's one more trait you two share except for the scars.

You click on the first episode of "Arcane Moon Whispers". The opening plays through the old speakers — happy, cheerful music; you wonder if he can hear it downstairs. The basement is soundproofed, but Ren has sharp hearing. It became clear early on, in the way his ears would twitch towards the noise of your footsteps when you still wore the collar.

The plot unfolds in front of your eyes: a magical team fighting evil with the power of friendship, love, and hope.

'They have an entire arc dedicated to time travel,' Ren explained while showing you the box sets, 'it gets a bit confusing halfway through but it's fun!'

It's been three weeks now. Three weeks since your freedom began and yet Ren lingers in your head as strongly as ever, like a ghost haunting your dreams and waking hours alike. It's frustrating to say the least: having him locked away yet seeing him everywhere — in the kitchen cabinets full of sweets he likes, in the bookshelf full of manga he read out loud sometimes until you couldn't bear it anymore and had to tune his voice out, and in the drawer you pull open every morning.

Ren is like a stain.

It makes you sick, actually. It makes your chest ache with something that feels dangerously close to guilt but can't be it. You're not guilty for what you've done, keeping him there is reasonable, understandable, and Ren...he deserves everything after what he put you through first.

You tried so hard to be nice to him.

You were nice.

But nice isn't enough when someone wants you hurt. Isn't enough to stop a knife. Nice is a useless commodity.

A few more episodes later you're still wide awake.

[sunny-mercya]

Sensitive Heart

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

Sidney had become quick to learn, that you're a rather sensible—if not even overstimulated sensitive—boy.

Most things; be it a large crowd, people accidentally bumping into you or someone saying something you had difficulty to understand—hell, even the most mundane compliment; you look really good today—brought you to tears.

And on some days, wether if they are bad or good ones, you would cry for an eternality of hours—exhausting yourself with a sore throat sobbing.

Throughout the school years, you had spend more time in the nursery office thanks to this—whatever and however it's called, Sidney doesn't bother to remember—than being actually injured.

Tatum, who had heard from Stacy—and she had it being told from Mackenzie, who had gotten told it from Helena—the nurses daughter—told Sidney once, that your over sensitivity of personality has been coming from your mother.

Your mother who had pampered you into a suffocating and constant anxious panic. She was a kind soul, with her off shrugging absently affectionate, but treating you well still.

Although, when you were at the age of ten—having been in the hospital again, because of your mother—your father had enough, filled a divorce and complete custody over you and told his ex-wife to leave.

So now, Sidney had to endure your tears filled stuttering jumble of words while accompanying you, yet again, to the nurse office.

Please god, she thought, end me. Holding back a groan, simply nodding along to what you're trying to say. If she's telling you to shut up, you would probably cry a flood then.

~~~

The cold wet washcloth always felt good over your burning irritated eyes. Cooling them off and bringing a sort of pain relief to them.

Mrs. Westbrock had left the office, after assessing you down onto the bed and giving you a glass of water and headache-pills. Nothing new, a normal occurrence for you to be alone—till school hours ended—in the nurse office, when you had another rather server breakdown episode. Then again, every episode brought you to the office.

»Aww, at this point you should ask the Director to let you live rent-free here« Stu did his best to lower his voice, when stepping in. Knowing well how headache prone you would get and he also knows how loud his voice can be.

It must be lunch break or a free period or study all, otherwise Billy and Stu wouldn't be able to visit you. Then again, you wouldn't put it pass them to just skip a lesson or two—and you knew they had done already more than once.

»What was it this time babe?« asked Billy, sitting down onto the chair. Someone would say his tone, when asking you this question, is coming off as annoyed, rude and tutting. It wasn't. It was Billys way of asking you how you are and what the cause was.

You shrugged at him, rubbing your eyes and sitting up a bit—letting Stu prep kisses onto your face.

»I.....don't really remember anymore.«

Billy hummed, knowing well it was lie of you, watching you and Stu, the both of you conserving now over some Cartoon.

»Did Jules brought you here?«

»Nu-uh, it was Sydney,«

Billy nodded, they all were somewhat friends with Sidney, though somehow she always seemed to be irritated annoyed by your mere presence—not that you took notice if it, always busy to greet everyone happily, even when it was hard to do for you.

»[Name]. Tell us, what made you cry.« a bit demanding harsh he sounded, but how would he know if Billy didn't use a dominant force to bring you to speak.

»It, it–it was, someone talked about–about how killing is, is–is something and I got upset over it, because they talked so causally about it, but killing is–is–is bad and taking–taking a humans life is cruel«

You broke into another, new, round of tears. Sobbing into Stu's arms, who cooed at you lovely and giving you sloppy kisses on the cheeks again.

Oh, how innocent sweet you are. Thinking so naively and thoughtful about the world. Aren't you adorable?

~~~

It was weeks after, when Sidney came to the conclusion that the ominous masked—dubbed as Ghostface—killer, who tried to killer her, is Billy Loomis.

Sidney, when she got the chance, pulled you into an empty classroom, cornering you. Doing her best to look as threatening as she could, to make you confess.

She always found it strange how Billy (and Stu) could love someone like you—someone who's a crybaby, skittish and meek in personality. Too Sensitive for a boy to be.

But then she thought, you're the perfect alibi for Billy or perhaps even someone who knows that Billy is the murder.

»You know Billy is the killer, don't you [Name]?«

»What? What are you talking about Syd?«

»It's Sidney. Billy is the killer and you're either good at pretending to play clueless dumb, which you are though, or you're his partner. There aren't any other options.«

Sidney hated it how you pronounced her name so dumbly wrong. It's a simple name, how hard could it be to say it right? Apparently hard enough for you.

»Accusing someone, a friend even, of something so horrific is a cruel thing to do.«

»Oh? I didn't knew you could speak english without stuttering in sobbing.«

Your lips begun to wobble, biting softly onto them to stop the starting trembling—which would soon racked through your whole body. Eyes getting wet, tears ready to spill.

Sidney had no rights to accuse Billy like this and neither had she the right to be this mean to you. You hadn't done anything to make her upset, so why does she say such things?

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, gripping your arm tight when you were about to bold off.

»We both know I'm right. Whether you like it or not.«

You freed yourself from her, jerking your arm out of her grasp and bolting out of the room. At some point colliding with Jules, who was looking for you, scrambling up again and running even faster away.

A lie. It's a complete conspiracy bullshitting lie, what Sidney had said to you. It wasn't true, Billy isn't a killer.

~~~

»I'm home!« greeted Billy once he had open the front door and stepped in, closing if afterwards. Getting out of his jacket and hanging it up on, he made his way towards the kitchen.

Leaning against the frame of the kitchen-door, Billy watched you, smiling at the sight of you cooking today's lunch—dancing slightly to the music which the radio plays.

»You need help, darling?« he admits, spooking you up like this was—the way how you jerked together into surprise—always a fun thing to do.

»Oh, Billy! How was work? Sure sure, you can set the table and please get Stu« you pecked his lips, when he leaned down, snatching a piece of bacon from the cutting board.

»Where is he?«

»Upstairs, doing the laundry.« you had long returned to the cooking, resuming with what you had stopped.

Billy passed through the living room, stopping at the commode in the hallway, next to the stairs.

Photo frames over photos frames filled the commode, telling their own stories—from their graduation, first house, to marriage, to their honeymoon and then to their Kids and their first kindergarten and school day to the here and now.

There was one photo in particular, which both Stu and him are very found of. It still confuses the kids, who couldn't figure out why a photo of you crying was a found memory to keep and share.

To the kids they had told a story of how they always found it adorable, just how bunny like you were and wanted to capture the moment.

In truth though, it was the moment when the broke you—your spirit of will—and had you forever to love.

It was after Sidney had inflicted your pure heart with self-doubt and questionable unbelief towards Billy. You confronted him, breaking out in hysterical when Billy bluntly admits it with a shrug and when you were about to call the police—Stu stepped in, holding you tight in his arms as you trashed in his hold and shouting words at them you never wished to say again.

They had to break a few of your bones, scaring and threatening you completely in submissive—because if they don't, you wouldn't be able to continue with going to school with them and enjoy life, if they didn't had done it this way—they had to kill you and that would be a shame. After all you're their precious little darling.

It took a few years—after framing someone else for their killings and making Sidney an implausible witness in the polices eyes—to shape you into what your are now; a good submissive husband, who showers them in unconditionally love.

»[Name]'s adorable, isn't he Bills?« Stu trotted down the stairs, flashing a grin at Billy.

»You're right, he really is. I was just about to get you, laundry-boy«

»Funny, man. Urgh, my back hurts. I never do laundry again«

After lunch, when the kids had retired into their rooms or going out to spend time with friends. You and your husbands sat on the couch, cuddling against another and watching another round of romance movies.

Even after all these years, you couldn't stop your sensitivity and the spilling tears from your eyes.

Billy and Stu wouldn't have it any other way. They adored you how you are, in their eyes you're perfect.

»Have I told you, just how–how much I love–love you two?« you asked them in between sobs, romantic movies always made you so moody.

»You do plenty of times, precious. We love you just as much in return.«

Both Billy and Stu pressed a kiss against your lips, tasting your salty tears.

You're their little bunny.

[grison-in-space]

Currently rereading Eric Flint's 1632 and reflecting on just how influential Flint was to me and my approach to both praxis and politics as a teenager. I found Flint when I was about thirteen or fourteen, around the time I found Pratchett I think, and he's left an equally wide thumbprint on my soul. Isn't that the most wonderful thing about stories, that people you've never met can help shape our adult selves? Mother of Demons I often recommend for its SFF worldbuilding--Flint built a species with at least four genders, only some of which are reproductive, and associated "normal" sexual orientations, and then proceeded to write in a textually intersex character and queer the hell out of it.

1632, though, is the one where a little West Virginia town in 2000 gets picked up and dropped in the middle of Thuringia, Germany in the eponymous year--right in the middle of the Thirty Years War. The local United Mine Workers of America chapter plays a major role, particularly its head.

As I write this I'm listening to the scene where the little town of Grantville, having admitted after a few days that they are probably not ever going home, is crowded into the high school gymnasium listening to the mayor lay that reality out and suggesting an interim council to help the town set out a sort of constitutional convention so they can work out what on earth they're going to do moving forward--especially since there's a bunch of displaced refugees collecting in the forests nearby. Sensible of them, really; the Americans murdered the shit out of the local soldiers that displaced them, on account of how the shaken mine workers that went out to figure out WTF happened not being super down with suddenly running into a bunch of fuckheads raping the locals and torturing people to find out where their valuables might be. After that, said Americans proceeded to retreat into the town boundaries and gibber quietly to themselves. I would go lurk in their woods, too.

Anyway, the mayor sets up this proposal, everyone agrees, and a CEO who was visiting for his son's wedding at the time steps forward and says: look. I know how to lead, and I'm probably the most qualified person here. I lead a major industry corporation effectively and I did that after my time as a Navy officer. I put myself forward because I'm qualified. Now, we're going to need to circle the wagons to get through the winter, tighten our belts, but we can get through this. We can't support all these refugees, though; we'll have to seal the border so they can't bring disease--they're a drain on our resources we can't afford--

and the UMWA guy, he gets really mad listening to this. There's this Sephardic refugee woman he's real taken with who got swept up in the town first thing, and she's sitting in and listening; he's thinking about throwing her out, thinking about how much she knows about the place they're found in, and he's furious. But he gets a good grip on his anger and he marches up and he says, look. This dude has been here two days and he's already talking about downsizing?! You're going to listen to this CEO talking about cuts, cuts, cuts? Nah. Trying to circle the wagons is probably impossible, it's stupid, and if you think my men and I are going to enforce that, you can fuck off. That proposal is inside out and bass ackwards. We've got about a six mile diameter of Grantville here; how much food do YOU think we're going to grow? How about the soldiers wandering around, do you think we're going to be able to fight armies off on our lonesome? Look at the few refugees we already have in the room, they'll tell you how those armies will treat you! We could do it for a while, the amount of gun nuts here, but so what? We don't have enough people to shoot them! Not if we're going to do anything else to keep us going! We have about six months of stockpiled coal to keep going, and without another source or getting the coal mines working, we're screwed. We have technical strength but we don't have the supplies or resources we would need to maintain it. Those refugees? They're resources. We need people to do the work we will need to keep ourselves. The hell with downsizing; let's grow outwards! Bring people in, give them safety, see what they can bring to the table once they've had a moment! He invokes: send us your tired, your poor!, and the CEO yells in frustration: this isn't America! so he yells back "it will be!"

And of course everyone cheers. I love Flint for many reasons but he is unapologetic about affection for the America of ideals--ideals, he freely admits, that are often honored in the breach rather than the observance, ideals that are messy and flawed, but nevertheless ideals that can work to inspire us to become the best version of ourselves. For Flint, history is as valuable as a source of stories to inspire ourselves as it is a repository of knowledge, and on this I tend to agree with him. We must learn from our moments of shame but equally we must learn from moments that show us how to be our best selves.

It's been twenty three years and the text is now an interesting historical document in its own right, hitting points and rhythms in beats that are sometimes out of place today. It's not perfect. But the novel contains a commitment to joy and to emphasizing the leaps of faith and understanding that regular, everyday people make every day to try and support each other that I routinely try to match in my writing.

Anyway, one of the strengths of the novel, I think, is its gender politics: it's a very ensemble kind of novel, lots of characters, and it's preoccupied with positive masculinity in a lot of ways. There's a lot of these hyper masculine characters--Mike Stearns perhaps more than anyone else--and--and...

... And Flint's characterization of Stearns, as he sketches out who the man is--his pivotal American leader, ex boxer, working class organizer, big man.... well, it lands equally on "he is delighted and astonished to find a local woman who quickly assesses how the cushion of air in tires works," and "he considers who to set up a Jewish refugee in the middle of Germany up with and he thinks to ask the Jewish family he grew up with to host her and her ill father because he thinks she'll be most comfortable there", and "he views people as potential assets rather than potential drains." A younger man asks him for advice on whether to pursue a professional sports career because of the boxing and he says no, you're in the worst place of not being quite good enough and you'll blow out your knees without accomplishing safety. He frames that interaction such that he allows his own experiences to make him vulnerable and invite the younger man to understand when a struggle have worth it.

It's actually a really deft portrayal of intense masculinity that also makes a virtue of a bunch of traits more usually associated with women: empathy, relational sensitivity, the ability to listen. As a blueprint for what a positive masculinity can look like, vs the toxic kind, it's very well done. I think sometimes when we look at gender roles in terms of virtues, and when masculinity is defined in terms of opposition to femininity, people get lost by arguing that virtues assigned to one gender are somehow antithetical to another gender. In fact that's never been the case: virtues are wholly neutral and can appear in any gender. What the gender does is inflect the ways we expect that virtue to appear in terms of individuals' actions within their society.

Gender isn't purely an individual trait, basically; it's a product of our collective associations. Two characters with different genders can display the same virtues and strengths, but we imagine them expressed in different ways according to our cultural expectations around gender. And I just think that's neat.

[captain-ross-poldark]

Red Magazine October 2024

I here’s a moment in Rivals, the new television adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s bestselling novel, when Aidan Turner’s character recites WB Yeats’ famous poem When You Are Old. It’s a moment of peak Irishness, and, for Turner, who has long cherished a yearning to play a literary Irish character, the scene was joyous. ‘I loved it!’ he exclaims over Zoom, grin wide across his face. ‘I think I was enjoying it way too much. I could smell the classroom again when I started reading that. I was going, “Oh, my god, I remember all of these poems!”’

Turner is trying hard right now not to use the word ‘fun’ when describing Rivals, but he tells me that it’s proving rather impossible. ‘It was the most fun I think I’ve ever had on a production,’ he declares. Watching the show, I can’t say that I doubt him for a second. Set in the fictional upper-class county of Rutshire, Disney’s raunchy new series delves into the cut-throat world of independent television in 1986, in which a long-simmering rivalry between Lord Tony Baddingham (David Tennant), controller of Corinium Television, and notorious womaniser Rupert Campbell-Black (Alex Hassell) is threatening to boil over. Against a backdrop of sex, scandals and scheming, Irishman Declan O’Hara (Turner), a talented talkshow star who is wooed to the countryside to join Corinium, vows to get his revenge.

‘I THINK WORKING ON RIVALS WAS THE MOST FUN I’VE EVER HAD ON A PRODUCTION’ 

‘It happens once in a while when all the stars align,’ enthuses Turner, ‘and you get a bunch of really great actors who want to work with each other, want to work on this material and who want to be in this particular place at this particular time.’ Reading the script, he could immediately understand O’Hara’s sense of alienation as he steps into a quintessentially British world obsessed with class. ‘Because I’m Irish, I didn’t have to try too hard to put those glasses on,’ he explains. ‘It seems to me very much like he is the outsider. He doesn't really like the people or what they’re trying to achieve. He sort of has a bohemian sensibility. He’s a literate person, a more serious person. He’s a journalist. He likes things black and white, straight and clear, and this world I think he finds a bit gross.’

As you’d expect from a Jilly Cooper adaptation, Rivals is a rollickingly entertaining romp, full to the brim with helicopters, horse riding, lavish parties and romantic entanglements. But the show has political shades, too, examining questions of race, gender, class and sexual liberation through a 2020s lens. ‘I think it feels really truthful and honest,’ Turner says with sincerity. ‘I think we’re showing a world that, I think in some ways, still does exist, but very much existed in a different way back then. And I think we show it in a kind of no-frills approach to it.’ With the exception of high-powered executive Cameron Cook (Nafessa Williams), Turner notes that the majority of the women in the show don’t hold positions of power. ‘We show the hypocrisy and the bigotry in that,’ he adds passionately. ‘It’s not just like, “Here’s what it was like, let’s move on,” you know? It’s not just a museum piece. I think we’re showing how wrong that was, how difficult that was, and I think how we’ve made improvements in the years gone by.’

He suspects that some viewers won’t expect that commentary from a show like Rivals. ‘They may think it’s fluffy, or it’s just a comedy,’ he says. ‘I mean, it’s very much not. I don’t think you get the calibre of actors involved in the show if it was just that, either.’ The cast became like a family unit, he says, and for actors of a similar age to himself, some of whom are parents, filming the show in the Cotswolds offered a unique opportunity to bond. ‘You know, we’re getting out of London for a week or two, and we’re getting to hang out in Bristol and have cocktails at night and talk about the show and do all these things,’ he explains. ‘We quickly realised that this is quite special, and we’re going to lean right into it.’ Did that involve getting into the party spirit, I ask? ‘I don’t want to start getting in trouble,’ he chuckles. ‘But there was a sprinkle of hedonism over the production, for sure. It makes the show better.’

If Rivals offered Turner a little escapism, it’s also further proof that as an actor, he can’t be neatly categorised. Since galloping onto our screens as the swashbuckling, scythe-swinging protagonist in Poldark, he’s resisted being pigeonholed as a romantic lead, winning plaudits playing a top coach accused of abuse in tennis drama Fifteen-Love, and a chilling clinical psychologist in crime thriller The Suspect. ‘It was nice to do a couple of shows that were in contemporary worlds, you know, wearing suits and jeans and shoes and carrying iPhones,’ he says modestly. ‘And not riding around in horses and carriages, or in a world of goblins and orcs or whatever. So yeah, it’s good to mix it up, but you never know what’s around the corner.’

Let it be known, though, that if the occasion calls for Turner to jump on a horse, he’s more than up to the task. As well as riding, he boasts an impressive range of talents, including being a champion ballroom dancer. What skills did he learn on the set of Rivals? ‘I can drink whiskey like nobody’s business,’ he laughs. That, and drive O’Hara’s yellow Mini. ‘That Mini was almost impossible to drive, and I’m pretty good at it now.’ He did also grow a statement moustache. ‘For the first time in my life as an actor, I felt a little bit sad to get rid of it,’ he says ruefully. ‘I had it for so long. We’ll see if it comes back’. 

He’s excited for Rivals to make its way out into the world. ‘We’re all just really happy and proud, he says. ‘You know, it’s the show that we set out to make, which is also a rare thing.’ That said, he’s not in a rush to find his next project. ‘Sometimes you also just need to step back for a while and not work all the time, and wait for the good thing to come along,’ he muses. ‘I’m a better person when I do the work that I really want to do.’ When we speak, he’s in Canada with his wife, Succession star Caitlin FitzGerald, who is filming, and his two-year-old son. They navigate who takes on the next project, he explains, by having an open dialogue. ‘I mean, our lives have changed a lot and not a lot at the same time, if you know what I mean. We’re still both working. We’re still both lucky that way. We can keep working and keep our family life together, and everything is just great and happy.’

‘I LOVE BEING AN ACTOR, BUT I THINK THERE’S ALSO SOME OTHER HATS THAT I CAN PUT ON’ 

Turner’s not at liberty to discuss his next project, but he’s very excited for it. ‘It’s a very different type of show than anything I’ve done before,’ he smiles. In the future, he envisages working more with friends and hopes to turn his hand to producing. ‘I love being an actor. But I think there’s also some other hats I can put on that I can be equally as good at, if not better.’ In the meantime, he says, his roles are only getting more interesting. ‘It’s the best thing!’ he exclaims. ‘I mean, I sort of knew it was gonna happen.’ With the benefit of life experience, he explains, his characters are naturally getting more layered. ‘I think that matters you know? I want to listen to a 41-year-old man, over a 21-year-old man. I just do,’ he says emphatically. ‘For me, that’s more interesting.’ 

Twenty years after breaking into the industry, he’s lost the ‘cacophony of nerves’ that came with trying to impress as a young actor. ‘I’ve learned that it’s okay to find the thing, or to not know the thing, to get on set and go, “Okay, I have no idea how we’re going to do this.”’ It’s been freeing, he says, learning to let go. ‘Now it’s fun and creative and it feels more relaxed, and then the work is better through all that, too. So I guess if I could say something to the younger actor, it would just be, breathe. Everything’s gonna be fine. You know the lines, you know the work. Just get in there and have fun. And don’t worry so much about the work itself. The work will happen. Just let you happen first.’ 

Rivals is streaming on Disney+ this autumn