#hi i have never posted writing before & idk how to format

[caotictimmy]

Hey!!! Can you do Curly x (gn, but it's okay if you don't! Whatever you prefer writing) reader headcanons? Post or pre crash idk it's up to you! Even if you want to write a one-shot I don't mind really whatever you feel like writing it's up to you I JUST NEED CURLY CONTENT JDJDJDJJWJSBSB

Btw I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

Thank you!!! I hope your having a good day to! I’m gonna be doing pre crash Curly. I’ll probably be doing the same format I did with Daisuke. Crushing - confessing. Dating than NSFW. It will prob be more Gn but I’ll put (AFAB) when in gonna talk about more AFAB stuff. (Btw this is gonna be like what a regular trip would be for them.)

Crushing - Confession

- Kind of like love at first sight. But it’s a love at first true conversations. Lemme explain

- Yes you’ve had conversations with Curly before. But not on a personal level. Your guys first conversation was prob Like you guys were either both up going to get coffee at a late hour. So when you both see each other where the coffee machine is. You guys make small talk. Before the conversation starts get more real. Not just forced talking. The conversation flows freely. And you guys find out you have a lot more in common.

- After that moment he realizes how much you guys click together. You interest him. So except for him to come up and talk to you a lot more. He wants to get to know you better! (Totally not to remember everything you like and love to woe you)

- He’s another person who’s gonna be a bit obvious. Not as much as Daisuke though. But he’s still gonna be obvious.

- Curly definitely treats you better. Not like he doesn’t treat his crew good (jimmy doesn’t exist here.). But it’s more like picking favorites. Opening doors for you, before letting it slam shut even though Swansea was just about to walk through the door. (Curly got an ear full after that happened.).

- But the funny thing is that no one really notices that you’re getting treated better. Except for Daisuke funny enough… For another example imagine they have his surprise birthday party! He’s cutting the cake and he gives you a noticeable bigger piece of cake. Giving Daisuke a smaller piece. And let me tell you. This man was outraged. HE ASKED FOR THE BIGGEST PIECE AND CURLY GIVES HIM A SCHOOL PARTY SIZED PIECE?

- So of course he had to speak up. “Listen Curly, since I’m such a righteous man, I’ve let the favoritism towards them slide. BUT I CLEARLY ASKED FOR THE BIGGER PIECE! AND YOU GIVE THEM THE BIGGEST PIECE. I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS TREATMENT ANY LONGER!”

- To say everyone was stunned is an understatement. It was quiet for a good couples of minutes. Just standing still like the moment was paused. You then silently switched plates with Daisuke. Taking the smaller piece. He then found balanced was restored!

- “never mind Curly now I get why you favorite them.” He said looking over to you before raising his hand. “High five dude!” He said, smilingly giddily. (I love daisuke he’s so silly!)

- To say Curly was embarrassed would be an understatement. After that moment Curly knew he had to confess to you to soon. So he called you down to the cock pit. When you got there he lead you to sit in one of the chairs. Crouching before you. Holding your hands on his as he stares up at you. “You’ve made me feel emotions I’ve never truly felt before, god you mean so much to me. Will you be my partner.”, He asked.

- When you say yes he cups yours face with his hands. Leaning upwards to bring you in a passionate kiss.

Dating

- Like I said in that brief moment In Daisuke’s headcanons. This man is a die hard romantic to his core. So if you don’t mind. Curly would love to cuddle with you in bed, while watching sappy love movies. Just holding each other. God he loves you sm I’m gonna tweak up in this bitch.

- I think the affection he likes to receive is quality times and words of affirmation . And I think the affection he gives is acts of service and physical affection. Now let me cook. Guys LET.ME.COOK

-(receiving) Curly loves spending time with you. He tried to find as much time to fit you into his busy schedule. So when he finally gets to spend time with you. Omg he’s love sick!!!!!! He really doesn’t care what you guys are doing while being together. Whether that be doing or watching something together. Or maybe doing your own stuff. Your presence is so comforting. You calm him down sm.

-(receiving) He receives compliments a bit. But when you do it. It’s different. It makes his heart flutter, makes him feel like he has butterflies in his stomach all over again! He just feels so special when you compliment him!!!! Please compliment how good of a captain he is. Yes he gets praised for being a good captain. It just feels so genuine from you.

-(giving) He doesn’t care how you guys spend your quality time together. Whether that be doing or watching something together. Or just doing your guys own thing. He just loves being in your presence. You being there just makes him feel calmer, he knows he doesn’t have to keep this big stoic act in-front of you. He doesn’t mind if theirs silence or background noise. As long as he got to spend time with you.

-(giving) Curly isn’t gonna be doing big/a lot of physical affection all the time. Even though he does give you a lot of physically affection. I know I sound dumb right now stay with me. He’s more soft with his affection. Gently rubbing his thumb on your hand. Drawing shapes on your back while cuddling. Rubbing your leg when you sit next to him on the couch. Kissing a bruise you got from falling(those floors look slippery asf PROVE ME WRONG). He’s very romantic and soft with you and Curly’s just such a sweetie.

- A SUCKER for pda. Like he loves it so much. He feels bad if he has to “hide” how much he loves you away from the world! He feels so special knowing you wanted him, HIM! He’s just so sickly in love with you. He wants to show you off. Not in a trophy wife way but in a. Yeah see the drop dead gorgeous person that picked ME, yea that’s right, be jealous.

- He loves if you draw in him! From his hands to his arms. I think he finds it very relaxing and therapeutic. As long as you don’t draw anything inappropriate, he won’t care what you draw. He WILL proudly show off the drawings on his hands and arms. Like FLEX his arms. He loves them sm. Every time you draw on him, he takes a picture and keeps it in a folder on his phone.

- Loves anything you make him. Bracelets? Wears them all the time he might acually get a permanent imprint. Clothe? Try’s to find any opportunity to wear them. Art? Hung proudly in his bedroom. He appreciates anything you do for him. No matter what form affection it is.

- This man loves slinging his arm/arms around you. Arms around your waist. Arm around your shoulder. Hand on your hip. Idk why I think he likes it. But I have that spicy sense.

NSFW - DO NOT READ IF YOUR A MINOR OR UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW (AFAB)

- Another man who would be into public/semi public sex. Y’all have DEFINITELY done it in the cockpit. Like almost everywhere. Curly and you have probably done it on the table too(you guys cleaned it afterwards don’t worry). But I think he just loves the thrill of it. You guys have almost been caught but thankfully Curly knows how to be quiet! (No shade to you Daisuke we love you)

- This man loves keeping his hands on you. Like a FIRMM grip on your hips as he’s hitting it. Gripping yours thighs. He just likes sinking his fingers in your soft flesh. Somehow just kinda grounds him in the moment. He also just loves feeling up your body.🫢

- Speaking of feeling you up. Dry humper. DRY HUMPER. I feel like this man is a tease. So this man will pin you against a wall, and just grind on you. Teasing you until you can’t take it anymore! He loves seeing a pout on your face before he gives you what you want.

- Like before, curly is a tease. He will push all your buttons. Just get you right there! Then stops. He wants to make sure when you climax. It’s better than the last time you guys had sex. It’s a GOAL for him to make you feel even better than the last time you guys slept together.

- Loves overstimulating you. Unlike Daisuke who accidentally overstimulates you. It’s Curly’s mission to get you brain dead by the end. He knows he’s making you feel good. This man won’t over do it though. Your comfort and safety is his priority! So he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable.

- Call him captain!!!!! God Curly gets so riled up when you call him captain. Teasingly calling him captain earns you a night of either overstimulation or edging. So I hope you are aloud to take sick leave, cause wooo…. You will be sore my friend

- (AFAB) Sit on his face.. OH GOOD GOLLY SIT ON HIS FACE. I imagine he’s buff. Like have you SEEN that fanart. So he can definitely take a lot of weight!( shout out my cubby AFABs i really wanna make a chubby reader FIC but idk..) BUT PLEASS, he’ll beg on his hands and knees. Like why are you keeping that tantalizing gift away from him???

- Yes I’ve been saying he can be a freak.(guys I promise I’m trying to be original 😭🙏) But I definitely think he’s More into romantic, soft sex. He likes to take his time. Kissing up and down your body. He wants to make sure you feel loved, and that he’s not just using you for your body. He is a sucker for you.

- He loves watching your face when he’s pleasuring you. No matter what he’s doing or where. He wants to know your getting pleased! That’s how he figured out what you liked and didn’t like fast. He kept his eyes trained on your face. He truly is a giver!

Authors note: GUYS I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. IVE BEEN HAVIBD SIRE AFFECTS FROM MY PLAN B. Like dude I’ve been bed ridden for the past two days. But I’m feeling better and it’s the weekend. So more requests are on the way!

[httpsserene]

Gosh please please please can you write something daniel x reader maybe inspired by too sweet by hozier when he thinks(some internal turmoil cuz he can't stay away from her) she's too sweet/innocent for him or something like but it turns out to be further from the truth?? I love love love your writing, i think about please's and thank you's at least three times a day since i read it. You're so immensely talented!!!

I'd really really appreciate it.

(i don't mind age gap(like up to 10years), some kinky smut or even a bit of morally grey characters as long as there are no explicit mentions of past relationships or cheating and etc., happy ending plss, and I won't mind if you add a pinch of "who did this to you")

Ly ly ly

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐓𝐒𝐀

Summary: She’s too pure for him. She hasn’t been damaged by life like he has and he hopes you never will be. So, that’s why Daniel can never allow himself to be with her. He knows she’s convinced herself that she can fix him, but he knows that the longer he sticks around, the more he’s ruining her. He finds it cynical: their relationship (or lack of a relationship) reads like one of the books she’s obsessed with: right person wrong time or forbidden love. Daniel learns that it might be a little darker of a trope—like one of her books that she never allows him to see a page of. Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. implied sexual content. mild!yandere!reader. stalking. sabotage. angst with a happy ending. lando and max are here. not edited at all. mentioned alcoholism. pov switch. fights? idk danny gets his ass beat. possessive!reader. can you find the hozier inspo in here? probably. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader (black-coded? but not mentioned in the fic, i think) Word Count: 2.7k words.

Author’s Notes: okay! this is past me (6/11) hoping that the tumblr queue doesn’t do me dirty! this should be posted on thursday, because i won’t be able to manually post it on my own as i’ll be hiking in san diego the whole day :p

this was formatted on mobile so please ignore how ugly it looks :( and also ignore the ugly writing i’ve never written dark/morally gray characters so i’m pretty sure i did your request like terribly LMAO. um also i couldn’t find a way to write smut into it? so again i apologize for that :/

anyways, please bare with me. i’ll make it pretty when i get back to my computer…on sunday 🥴

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

Daniel meets you in the elevator. At first, he thought you were a Formula One fan who snuck into the condo trying to get a glimpse of your favorite driver (himself, obviously) but, he learned that you’re his new next-door neighbor. It was awkward; he accused you of following him to his room and felt like the world’s worst person when you—dressed in the cutest pink dress and matching flowy bow tied in your hair—stared at him terrified, before you unlocked the door to your flat and slammed the door behind you quickly without a word.

He sent you a bouquet of pink orchids the next morning, along with a hand written card apologizing for his rude behavior and that he hoped the two of you could become good neighbors and friends. It seemed all was fixed, as the next time he ran into you, you greeted him softly, like nothing had happened. It was 5 A.M: you were starting your day and Daniel was ending his night.

Daniel was on his third drunken attempt of shoving his key vaguely in the direction of his lock on the door, when you exited your flat with a yoga mat over your shoulder and a water bottle that was comically large. With a hushed ‘good morning,’ you kindly helped Daniel into his apartment, telling him to drink a big glass of water and have pain killers ready when he wakes up; there was no judgment in your wide brown eyes, only tenderness, and a slight hint of worry. He woke up after twelve at the sound of a knock, his head pulsing with pressure and his sight slightly blurry from not quite sleeping all the drunk away.

He eventually made it to his front door and found that you ordered him lunch: a chicken wrap and sweet potato chips, from one of his favorite brunch cafés—Daniel figured you have good taste, as he doesn’t recall ever telling you about this meal in either of the two interactions you’ve had. So, he ate, drank plenty of water, freshened up, and debated if he should go over and express his gratitude, or whatever. He decided he will, and found himself putting on a nice watch and a few too many sprays of his expensive smelling cologne. Daniel didn’t let any thoughts of why he was prettying himself up cross his mind; he’s simply thanking you; a girl far too young, and probably far too sweet for his tastes.

You brushed off his thanks shyly, hidden behind your door with a blush strong enough Daniel saw it paint your dimpled cheeks and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Thinking quick enough to rival his reflexes, he offered to exchange phone numbers so the two of you could meet up and he could buy you a coffee. You entered your name in his phone with a yellow heart next to it.

The coffee meet-up had to wait due to Daniel’s hectic schedule, yet the texting flourished. He initiated the beginning of your text thread the next day, mindlessly texting you about how he overheard Emilio (another neighbor) arguing with his wife on the phone; Daniel said she’s probably going to mail him divorce papers within the next week. You replied that it was mean to eavesdrop and gossip. Daniel followed up saying it’s not eavesdropping if said person was screaming into his phone in the hallway, and he wasn’t gossiping, he’s merely keeping you informed.

Daniel laughed in the middle of his motorhome listening to the voice message you sent four days later, eagerly telling him about how you saw Emilio in the lobby with a couple boxes and without a wedding ring on his finger.

It was a warm morning, when you and Daniel finally managed to meet for coffee. You scrunched your nose in distaste when he ordered plain black coffee; Daniel did the same when you ordered a drink that was mainly milk and sugar. Daniel chuckled when you claimed the amount of coffee in your drink had you wired for the rest of the day. He decided to let you believe that, and not inform you that it was most likely the sugar content that had you crashing hours later.

Daniel invited you over for burgers one night and you comment that his home looks like a mix of a “mojo dojo casa house” and a “minimalistic hell.” You gifted him a throw blanket and a potted plant the next day, and continued to text him reminders about watering it.

Around 10 P.M. on another night, he’s yelling at Max for cheating at fifa. Max laughed around the lip of his beer bottle before the two of them paused at the sound of a knock. Daniel checked the door and opened it to see you: fuzzy slippers, eye-mask on your forehead, bonnet, matching pajama set, and pout on your lips with a sleepy tilt to your eyebrows. He apologized for the noise and promised to quiet down. Daniel threatened to kick the Dutchman out when he teased him for having a “crush.” He doesn’t get crushes, he’s a grown man.

Daniel spends less time in night clubs and more time with you. You took him to sip and paint nights, pottery classes, hiking, even bookstores. You order him to not open any of the books he’s holding for you; Daniel tries to take a peek when you scan through one and you slam the book shut, saying it’s too dark for your liking. He doesn’t comment when you end up getting it (Daniel paid).

He kissed you in your apartment, halfway through Howl’s Moving Castle. He proceeded to tell you it was a mistake. You teared up when he said you were too pure for him, arguing back that you weren’t a child. The tears fell when Daniel claimed he’s too old for you, that he’d only hurt you. He returned to his apartment, figurative tail tucked between his legs, and heard you crying through the wall. He fell asleep hating himself.

Daniel distanced himself from you; he misses your shared adventures and condo gossip, but he never forgets to water your potted plant, even without your texts. He fell back into the clubs, bringing home various women but never manages to get them in bed due to various things going wrong. He gets stuck in the elevator with Stephanie who happened to claustrophobic for hours, locked in the stairwell with Sofia who sprains her ankle in five-inch heels, the fire-alarm interrupts him and Kiana just as he unlocks the door, and his kitchen sink burst when he lifted Laura on the counter.

He tries to console Laura, who runs from his flat in drenched clothes, and sees you staring at her in confusion from your doorway as she rushes past. Daniel apologizes for waking you again, and you shrug, ignoring his words, murmuring that he should call maintenance before he floods the entire floor and shutting your door in his face.

Your potted plant starts to wilt, no matter if Daniel moves it in or out of direct sunlight, if he waters it less or more, or if he changes the soil, or adds fertilizer. The universe has it out for Daniel.

He finds himself in an ultra-private lounge, dim-lighting, sultry piano, and dark decor enhancing his dramatics as he reveals how he ruined his life to Max, Lando, and the bartender who will be tipped handsomely for pretending to care. The piano fades to the end of the piece just as Daniel wraps up his lament.

“It sounds like you deserve it, honestly,” Max stated bluntly, Lando nodding agreeably at his side.

Daniel groans into his hands, lifting his head to say that he’s already aware of that, but freezes when he sees you rise from the seat of the piano. Your figure is snug within a floor length, backless, black dress, complemented with gold jewelry, and makeup that opposes your angelic nature. You bow your head slightly in the direction of the tables clapping at your performance, stumbling briefly when your eyes meet Daniel’s. You smile softly and begin to make your way over to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel shrinks into his seat, as the other two drivers stare at him in confusion.

“Hi, neighbor,” you start airily, before turning to smile at Lando and Max, “Hello.”

“You didn’t tell me you worked here,” Daniel mentions.

“You never asked,” you narrow your eyes at him, before relaxing, “I also don’t work here—this is my brother’s bar. The pianist suddenly fell sick and I offered to fill in.”

“Oh,” Daniel hums, “This doesn’t seem like your type of scene.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “You should know better than to tell me where, what, or who I do or do not belong with.”

“Okay!” Lando claps, kicking Daniel’s shin under the table, everyone ignores his muffled groan of pain, “Sit with us for a minute, if you can take a break. Danny is seriously obsessed with you.”

You take the offered chair next to Max and sigh, “Really? I couldn’t tell,” all three men wince at your dig, but you continue, “Did he tell you that he almost flooded the entire floor last week?”

Daniel watches as you charm his friends, the three of you chattering happily over his demise, and ignoring him as you do so. He can’t find it in himself to be annoyed, only thankful, as this is the first time in weeks that you’ve been in his presence for more than five minutes. You smell so good. Is that weird of Daniel to think?

Unfortunately, the four of you are interrupted far too soon. Your brother calls you over from behind the bar; his expression is less than pleased, jaw tensed with irritation, and Daniel thinks the look in his eyes has a hint of crazy. He wonders if you told your brother about him. Hopefully not—the man looks like he could fold Daniel like a lawn chair without breaking a sweat. The three men watch as you argue with your brother; it doesn’t seem like it’s going in your favor.

Lando calls Daniel’s name, “Mate—she’s good for you.”

“Nah, mate. I’ll only ruin her.”

“Daniel,” Max scolds, “The few months you were ditching us for her were the happiest I’ve seen you. I wasn’t worried that you would be passed out in a random club or yacht after giving yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“She’s sweet, Danny. I think she’s exactly what you need,” Lando adds, “You've convinced yourself that you don’t deserve anything good. She’s trying to prove you wrong and you need to let her.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, he chooses to shake his head and remain silent. You make your way over to the table again and stand in front of them with a pout.

“It’s past my bedtime, apparently,” you huff, turning your head to glare at your brother, “Don’t worry about paying tonight, it’s on the house.” You exchange polite goodbyes with Lando and Max, Daniel gets a soft smile. He watches you leave the bar with a sad tilt to his lips, then orders a shot of whiskey.

You’re sat on your couch, freshly showered and ready for bed. It’s 1 A.M. and Daniel usually doesn’t end his nights out for another hour. So, it makes sense for you to be worried when you see his location nearing your shared condo building an hour early. Did you sneakily (his phone password is his birthday, it wasn’t that hard) use his phone and share his own location with you? Yes. But, you did it with good intentions. You worry about him when he’s not with you.

You decide to go down to the lobby and pretend to ask if you received any packages in hopes of intercepting Daniel when he walks in. You don’t manage to step out of the elevator when you suddenly have an armful of a bruised-up Australian. His lip is busted and you can see a bruise blooming high on his right cheekbone. You start to shake with anger.

Furiously pressing the button of your floor and slamming the ‘close door’ button, you frantically question Daniel, “What the hell? I left you not even two hours ago, and you look like a mess. Did you get into a fight, did you get mugged, did you—“

“Did your brother beat my ass for hurting you?” Daniel groans, not fighting your motions as you tug him out of the elevator and into your flat, “Yes, he did.”

You pause and grumble angrily, forcing Daniel to take a seat on your couch. You rush into your kitchen for ice, then to the bathroom for a first aid kit. He doesn’t fight when you order him to ice his cheek, and lets you hold his face to tilt his head at every angle possible, as if it’ll expose any more damage. Eventually, you end up looking into his eyes, pretending that you have the knowledge to know what a possible concussion looks like, even though you really just wanted an excuse to look at him.

Unconsciously, your thumb rubs soothingly along his temple, Daniel leans further into your hand. His tongue flicks out for a brief second, and he flinches when it disturbs the cut on his bottom lip. Blinking rapidly, you clear the haze from your eyes and frown as you turn to rifle through the first aid kit.

“I can’t believe he put his hands on you,” you bite out angrily, finding a disinfectant cloth to clean his lip, “I don’t know why I tell him anything anymore.”

Daniel winces at the sting of alcohol, remaining quiet as he watches the focus that covers your expression.

“I apologize for him,” you mumble, “He doesn’t think clearly when it comes to me, he thinks he’s like my guard dog or something,” you dispose of the wipe and grab an ointment, “I promise you I told him that the only thing you did was waste my time and hurt my feelings,” Daniel deflates under your hands, “It’s not like you physically hurt me…or anything. He’s just an idiot. I’ll kill him.”

At that, Daniel laughs quietly, dropping the ice from his cheek so you can clean that too, “Don’t say that. You’re such a sweetheart, you couldn’t hurt your own brother. Also—I’m not sure if he hoped this would make me stay away from you, because if you keep rubbing my face like that, I might fall in love.”

You hum, pleased you have him eating out of the palm of your hand, “Have some decorum, Daniel. You sound desperate. Also, he knows that I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“Oh? You’re possessive,” Daniel teases, “Is it bad if I kinda like that?”

Your heart flutters, he’s really the best for you. He doesn’t need to know about the lengths you went to ensure any of the girls he tried to bring home didn't make it into his bed. It's a shame Sofia sprained her ankle; that was not intentional on your part.

You shrug lightly, “No, it’s not bad. I think it makes you perfect for me. As long as you don’t mind a little crazy. And—don’t think you’re off the hook. You still have to apologize for making me cry.”

Daniel nods seriously, “I’ll fall to my knees and beg right now, if that’s what it takes.”

Sticking a plaster over his cheek, you stand and gesture for him to do so too, “Okay. Kneel.”

“Huh,” he chokes, eyes wide with disbelief, “You’re serious?”

“If you beg well enough, I’ll let you eat me out.”

The sound of his knees hitting the floor echoes.

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© httpsserene2024

[milkpup]

｡⋆ʚ♡ like father, like son

›› chapter 2 ›› nsfw 18+ ongoing multi-chapter fic!

previous chapter ♡ next chapter

ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› toji fushiguro x reader ›› megumi fushiguro x reader ›› toji x reader x megumi (mfm) ›› 18+ f!reader ›› started: 12/6/23 : updated: 1/29/24 : status: ongoing

‹𝟹 summary: You and Megumi are best friends. You've known eachother for almost your whole life. His home has become your second home. As time passes and life happens, Megumi slowly develops feelings for you, even though he's unaware of it. To complicate things further, you're now living with him and his father, who has also taken a liking to you.

‹𝟹 fandom: jjk, jujutsu kaisen

‹𝟹 genres / warnings: au - no powers, college au, power imbalance, pseudo-incest (they both want y/n, nothing w/ eachother), dubious consent

‹𝟹 tags: good cop bad cop, fluff, smut, angst, toji has a big dick, dilf toji, toji is his own warning, toji tries to be a good parent, toji is an asshole, toji is trying okay?, daddy dom toji, daddy kink, porn with feelings, porn with plot, friends to lovers, spit / spitting, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, double vaginal pen, double pen, anal, making out, making love, love triangles, praise kink, degradation, light masochism, light sadism, emotional sex, cuckolding, jealousy, jealousy kink, smoking, smoking kink, emotional manipulation, manipulation, polyamory?, father and son share you, protective megumi fushiguro, megumi needs a hug, megumi has a big dick, aged up characters, dead dove: do not eat, finger sucking, large cock, cum swallowing, blow jobs, first time blow jobs, under desk blow jobs, fingerfucking, face sitting, face riding, 69, mutual masturbation, threesome mfm, lots of smut, loss of virginity

‹𝟹 notes: formatting next chapter for tumblr! there are currently 4 posted on ao3. i have the 5th in the works! it gets spicy!

!! - again, PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING - !!

! - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ - !

Chapter 2: Intimacy and Exposure

--

By mid afternoon, you and Megumi are both exhausted with your full course load. You both major in biology, no emphasis right now. Megumi loves animals, so he will probably pursue something veterinary later. As for you, you’re undecided. You chose biology because it’s very general and broad, and also so you could be with Megumi more. You would never tell him that, though. You just say “idk maybe some science-y crap” and shrug it off.

You weren’t able to get lunch, so you both decide to visit a coffee shop after your last class of the day. A snack and some caffeine would help get you through for a while until you decide what you want to eat that night.

Megumi orders his usual black cold brew and muffin. The barista asks how to spell his name, and giggles? Is she flirting with him?

“That’s a cute name…” She says as she writes it down on his cup. “And for you…?” She barely glances at you.

You’re not sure how you feel in that moment. Was she flirting with Gumi? Am I jealous? Why is my heart racing?

“Oh I’ll just get an iced black tea and a banana bread please.” You try to not show your emotions while speaking. You’re not sure why you feel this way though.

You hope and pray to whoever is out there, any deity listening, that Megumi would not see you blushing and jealous.

You think you’re in the clear, he didn’t notice. He drives you home and you scroll your phone, acting like everything is normal. In reality, you’re shaking.

--

Sitting around the table, you both have your laptops and books out in front of you. It’s been a couple hours of studying, and you’re ready to take a break.

“Gumi, can we take a break and watch something? If I read the word bacteria one more time I’m going to go insane.” You tell him more than ask, already getting up out of your seat. You’re yawning, walking straight towards your bedroom, not even bothering to wait up for him. You already know he will follow.

Your room is hyperfeminine, plushies everywhere, cute shit everywhere. But you also have a mix of other stuff, like your consoles and gaming setup (that Megumi helped you get), a bass guitar that you’ve barely touched, piles of books you haven’t sorted yet.

You turn the tv on, hopping onto your bed. Megumi follows and lies next to you. You’re already aware of his presence and he isn’t even touching you.

“What do you wanna watch, Gumi?” You ask as you scroll through different apps.

“Whatever you want, you have better taste in movies and shows.” He doesn’t really care, he just savors the opportunity to be close to you. He lies behind you, almost touching but not quite. He’s close enough to feel the tickle of your hair. He feels weird thinking that your hair smells nice.

You choose some random comedy show, not caring to pay any attention. You just wanted a chance to rest and turn your brain off for a while.

Megumi moves a little close, resting his hand on the side of your abdomen. This isn’t the first time you’ve been close to Megumi, you both used to cuddle under the same blanket on cold nights or huddle under one when playing games as kids. But for some reason, now it feels different. Maybe it’s because you’re hyperaware? It has to be that, right?

Your heart beats faster, your skin feeling warm to the touch with every movement he makes. Does he notice? Is he aware of these things too? Am I overthinking things?

An hour passes by, but it feels like an eternity. You’re so hyperaware that every second feels like 20 minutes have passed. He hasn’t done more than gently caress the side of your body. He doesn’t seem to be making any advances. So why is this so painful to endure? Why does a simple touch make your body feel hot, with something pooling in between your legs?

Megumi is aware. You think he isn’t, but he can tell. Your breathing is irregular, your pulse is uneven, your skin is hot. He notices, and it drives him insane. But he’s respectful, he wouldn’t try anything. You are basically siblings with how long you’ve known eachother and lived together.

It’s getting hard to breathe. Even the lightest touch sends jolts through your body. You turn around to meet his gaze, with a look he’s never seen before. Your face is red, you’re struggling to breathe, while looking into his eyes like you know his secret. He’s flushing too, starting to sweat, feeling heat spread through his body. Your eyes are intoxicating to Megumi.

He looks at your eyes, then your panting lips, and back to your eyes again. He’s thinking of everything he wants to do to you, he doesn’t care if it’s wrong.

He touches your cheek, caressing you gently. Your breath hitches as he’s so close to you. He runs his fingers down your neck, before he pushes you to your back. It’s not forceful by any means, but mostly surprising.

He’s on top of you, pinning your arms to your pink bedsheets as he leans down towards you.

“Y/N…” he breathlessly speaks, “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

You definitely do not want it to stop. You’re staring up at him with your doe eyes, unable to control your breathing. He leans in closer, his face not even an inch away from yours.

His lips crash into yours. You’re surprised, you didn’t think he would be so intense, and this good at kissing. He’s biting your lip, trying to elicit little yelps and mewls from you. He’s kissing you so roughly, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. Megumi is still on top of you, pressing his body against yours.

You can feel his heartbeat, his hot skin, his bulge against your body. You don’t know why, but you lift your hips and legs up a bit to angle yourself better against his body. Feeling him so close, pressing into you was making you feel almost drunk.

He releases one of his hands from pinning yours so he can caress your cheek a bit more. His hand travels down your neck again, moving towards your chest, before eventually resting at the bottom hem of your shirt.

He’s giving you sloppy kisses, before he momentarily stops to ask you a question. “Y/N, can I?” he asks while gentle tugging on your shirt.

You giggle. He’s too damn cute. You nod your head yes and he releases your other hand.

You pull your shirt above your head, leaving your bralette on.

He looks down at your flushed frame, no longer hidden behind some random band t-shirt. The moment you take your shirt off, he’s harder than ever before. You feel him poking into you a bit.

He kisses you with more passion this time, grinding his bulge into your clothed cunt. He’s grunting and making little moans in between kisses.

He lifts his head a bit to look at you and moves his hand over your bralette. He admires the intricate lace detail, thinking it suits you perfectly. He licks his lips. You know he wants to desperately feel what’s under, but you decide to tease him a bit.

You wrap your legs around his waist, forcing your bodies to be even closer. He grunts a bit, looking at you. You smirk and pull his head back down to make out with you.

You’re grinding against him with fervor, unrelenting and unforgiving. The feeling of him rubbing against you is oh so good, and extremely hot.

He moves his hand towards the waistband of your shorts. “May I, Y/N?” You think it’s sweet that he asked. You decide to reward him a bit.

You roll him over and push him against the mattress. You quickly get up and pull your shorts off, leaving your panties on. You take your bralette off. He’s watching you like a starved dog, savoring every second of this.

You pull his sweatpants off, leaving only his boxers on. He’s looking at you, with wide eyes, excited and surprised.

You straddle his waist, sitting on top of him. You grind against him, eliciting sounds of pleasure from his lips. You lean towards him, giving him a quick kiss on the lips, before leaving a trail down his neck. You suck on his skin, giving him small and faint lovebites. He looks so cute.

You have a suddenly devious idea. “Megumi, can I try something?”

He instantly nods yes; he wants you to do anything and everything with him.

“Lay down then, please. I want to try something I saw online once….” You say as you move towards his head. You’re hovering above him now. He’s directly at eyelevel with your clothed pussy, and he feels his boxers get tighter the closer you get.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, please <3.” You hum as you pull your panties aside and lower yourself onto his face.

He can feel your drenched cunt against his mouth and instinctually starts getting at it. Licking and sucking like it was his last supper. Megumi couldn’t really breathe, but he didn’t care. He could die right now and have no regrets. He would die a happy man.

You moan as he’s sucking and flicking between your folds. The noises you make drive him even more insane, he thinks he could cum right then with how much of a turn on it is.

You lift yourself up, giving him a moment to catch his breath as you look down at him. He’s staring up at you with the eyes of an animal.

You sit back down, and he continues once more. Sucking on your clit, savoring the taste of your essence, and basically fucking the air. He’s straining against his boxers now, desperate for any touch or release.

You have another idea. You lift yourself back up and turn around, your cunt still in front of his face. You lean down towards his straining cock. You push your cunt back down on his face, and like a good boy, he continues again.

“Fuck Megumi…” You whimper out as you push against his tongue. You move your hand over his boxers, palming his cock. You notice he’s quite big and you’re a little scared.

You release his cock from his underwear and it springs up. Megumi grunts under your touch. You stroke his cock a bit, slowly. That’s not your objective however.

You lift up once more as you move to spit on top of his cock. Megumi moans again, feeling the sensation of your spit covering the head of his cock.

You sloppily kiss the tip, earning a moan and a few curses from Megumi. “Fuck… Y/N.”

You move forward to suck the tip, before letting it come out with an audible pop sound. “You have hands too, Megumi…”

Your pussy is still in front of him, and he gently moves his hand to brush over your clit, circling it. You moan as you take him back into your mouth again. You’re desperately hoping this feels good, it’s your first time doing any of it.

Megumi pushes his index finger in, noticing how wet and tight your cunt already is. He’s salivating at the thought of when he can fuck your tight hole, but he’s content with just learning your body for now. Everytime he pumps his finger in and out, he hears your sweet, angelic voice.

The way you respond to his touch is music to your ears. Your mewls and whimpers drive him crazy enough already.

You take his cock back in your mouth, trying to push more in as he fucks you with his finger. He adds another of his slender fingers inside, feeling how he’s stretching you already. You moan around his cock, and this turns Megumi on more.

He moves to push you against the bed again, pushing your body down gently. He never breaks contact with your cunt, as he starts to fingerfuck you even harder. He’s watching you squirm and moan under his touch, and he can’t get enough of it.

“Megumi… Aah!!” His touch is relentless. He wants to hear every sound you can possibly make. He finger fucks you harder, feelings your walls clamp around his fingers. He uses his other hand to rub circles around your clit. You’re nearing your climax, and he’s eager to see all of it.

You’re drunk in the pleasure that is Megumi’s skilled fingers. He brings you to the edge, watching as pleasure washes over your entire body. He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, wanting to savor your juices all while never breaking eye contact with you.

Your chest is heaving, but you want to make this man feel good too. You roll over and crawl across the bed towards him. He sits atop the bed once more, spreading his legs open and smirking.

The way you’re crawling towards him is incredibly hot. He knows what you’re about to do.

You make your way to his cock, spitting on it once more and stroking it a bit. You know you can’t fit all of this beast, but you want to try your hardest.

You look up at him as you take his cock into your mouth. You make it about halfway before you feel at your limit.

“Y/N, you’re taking me so well. You’re such a good girl,” he praises you as you drool over his cock. He gently grabs your hair, not tugging but mostly just applying pressure.

Your pussy drips again at the praise as you continue to go up and down. You’re finding a rhythm to breathe and still go at a decent pace. Using your hands also helps, and whenever you fondle his balls, Megumi’s eyes roll back into his head a bit.

“Y/N.. I’m close..” He says as he bucks his hips against your mouth. “Please.. don’t stop..”

You suck harder and moan against his cock. You don’t particularly like the idea of cum in your mouth, but for Megumi, you would do it.

He covers the back of your throat with his cum, and groans as you empty his balls like an expert. “Y/N… fuck…”

You pull back up, trying to not show how displeased you are with the taste of cum.

“That was… fuck…” He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Fucking… amazing…”

You’re laying down together again, not even caring to get dressed again. The studying can wait for later, for now you want to relish this moment.

You’re not sure what this means between you two, but you’re still happy that it happened. You yawn as he snuggles around you as the big spoon, surrounding by the same fuzzy blanket and cute plushies.

He thinks it’s so cute how tired you get after that. He lays there as you fall asleep before him, memorizing and tracing every detail of your body.

Toji comes home not long after Megumi finally passes out. He doesn’t see food on the table, and goes to check your room. He sees you and Megumi, asleep under your fuzzy pink comforter.

--

‹𝟹 notes: i will have the next chapter posted here asap :D feedback is always appreciated! ao3 has all the chapters so far!

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‹𝟹 notifs: @vvxxccaa @arylaa @starshipxoxo

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(･ω･)つ divider creds to @/cafekitsune and @/eloquentreverie

[nororitz]

narumi gen and academic achievement

tags: self-indulgent, bullet points-style, self-imposed stress, academics stuff, curse words, no kaiju au, non-established relationship

note: uh first post yay. english is not my first language ngl. also idk how to format anything please. writing this while i have an essay due tmr morning is crazy though.

• Recently, you've been stressing yourself over the overwhelming tests and work that never seems to end. After working your ass off for weeks without any respite, all your efforts are finally being paid off.

• Staring back at you was your phone screen with words of congratulations and a high score written along with it.

• Absolutely elated you turned to Narumi Gen, your close friend of many years. Preparing to tell the good news to Narumi who's busy with his controller and some kind of BS5 game.

• There's a high chance of him not even hearing you because he's too absorbed in his gaming, bloodshot eyes boring holes into the screen. Yet, you're still showing him your phone screen anyway, excitedly displaying your proud achievements. The adrenaline rush overpowering the small, hideous doubt stored in a corner of your mind.

• At first, you're sure he didn't even register your voice talking to him. But then suddenly Narumi is putting down his controller and taking the phone from your hand, the BS5 no longer playing game music and sound effects. His bangs block half of his face so you can't read his expression well. Silently, you eagerly awaits his reaction.

• After a while, he says "You worked hard so it's to be expected that you would do well," before handing your phone back to you. It's startling, but Narumi is really someone who is blunt.

• "Yeah...but there was a chance I still wouldn't be able to do it you know?" Narumi, who senses the sadness in your voice, goes still. Finally, he lets out a huff and faces you properly.

• "What are you talking about? Since when did you have so little faith in yourself? You always gave your all in everything so this result isn't surprising in the least." Damn this guy and his attitude.

• But this is pretty much Narumi Gen's roundabout way of saying I've seen you put your effort into this and I believed you would succeed from the start. It might seem like he doesn't care, but Narumi is a person who pays close attention to someone important to him.

• It did kind of sound like he was scolding you though. "Narumi, you really..." "Hah!?!?" Breaking a smile, the bickering between you and Narumi erases the traces of doubt lingering in your mind.

• Narumi is someone who knows about hard work, results, and acknowledgement better than anyone. So, I believe he would think that you were more than capable of achieving the results that you wanted. Even if he's not as direct about it, he has a lot of trust in your abilities.

• If you end up falling asleep in the living room at the end of the day, the familiar sounds of Narumi's BS5 lulling you to sleep. He would take a glance at you before muttering something like a, "You did well," his gaze holding a kind of secret fondness to it.

can you tell that i love narumi. he might be slightly ooc my brain is fried.

likes, reblogs, and comments are so very appreciated ☆

[cosmicisms]

alhaitham being whipped for his lover

sfw

gn!reader

a/n: love you alhaitham but you’ve been temporarily benched for a twink magician. sorry! also idk what the format of this post is like, i just threw words together without much thought.

alhaitham who had no want or need for romance before meeting you.

panics upon getting to know you more because he can sense something is wrong.

he’s very in tune with his own emotions and thoughts, so right off the bat, he knows that you’re making him feel some type of way.

poor guy, you’ve made him doubt everything he ever knew about himself.

you’d never realise it, though.

even when you greeted him with your happy smile, placing the hot coffee on his desk, he simply nods and politely thanks you.

oh god, but if you could peek into his mind. panic.

he’d usher you out of his office, claiming that you’re distracting him from the files he must attend to, even though you’re pretty sure he’s asked you out to lunch many a time during his work hours. hm…

after a while he caves, tired of denying his own feelings.

as mentioned earlier, he’s very in tune with his own thoughts. he’s not going to hide from them forever.

having approached you with his confession laid out neatly in his mind, alhaitham is rendered speechless as he’s met with that same feeling of desire he always felt around you.

except now it was more intense, blooming within him and causing him to belt out his confession in a rather strange way.

you could’ve sworn he was lecturing you, judging by the way he spoke.

after you processed his words, you accepted and returned his confession with that same sweet smile he adored.

and here you two are now. a happy couple. all according to alhaitham’s strategic plan that he definitely did not spend hours upon hours perfecting and agonising over.

now, having alhaitham as your boyfriend comes with a lot of things.

first of all, his love languages are quality time and acts of service.

even you being in the room with him while he works is enough for him. bonus points if you sit on his lap while he reads.

speaking of work, do you need help with yours? alhaitham’s a scholar, well versed in many fields. have a report you’re dreading to write up? alhaitham will try his best to help, lending you resources and giving you pointers along the way.

also he’s a touchy guy. not in the sense that he’s emotional, i mean he’s a cuddlebug.

loves to touch you in any sort of way. interpret that however you like, but i’m talking about linked pinkies while walking through sumeru city, fingers gently caring through your hair while he reads, and throwing his leg over you while you both sleep.

“i’m clingy? not at all, i simply want to keep you in my sights lest you get into any trouble. what’s that? i’m in denial? hm… then i will refrain from touching you. no, no, you’ve lost your chances now, darling.”

pet names are another thing. he doesn’t really use em. maybe the occasional “darling” or “dear” now and then, but most of the time, he’ll address you by your name.

but the way he does it still has you blushing all the same.

he likes seeing you wearing his clothes. at first, he was confused, however.

“i don’t understand. you have your own clothes that are perfectly suitable, and yet you wear mine anyways? …alright, then.”

yep, he secretly loves it. will melt upon seeing you wrapped up in his cape, his cheeks tainted with pink.

not the biggest sappy romantic, if i’m being honest. how would’ve thought, right?

he’ll cook something for you both and have a nice dinner in the privacy of his home (having kicked kaveh out for the night).

doesn’t enjoy dates out and about, but will gladly take you to the quieter spots of the city. maybe the library for a nice reading date, the two of you cuddled together in a corner with a book each.

…though, his attention is definitely focused on you, rather than the text in his hand.

will literally do anything for you. yeah, he might tease you a little for it, but he won’t hesitate.

alhaitham’s always been sure of himself. whether people thought he was arrogant or just that self-confident, he didn’t really care either way.

but for you? oh, for you…

he loves you. he could never deny that.

“you are the only one who could ever make me feel this way. i love you, y/n. let’s stay together for a long time. dare i say forever?”

[kumquats-are-gay]

sparing with Johnny, and you pin him down only to find that he's rock hard, maybe some teasing/sex? idk idk

(TF YOU MEAN “idk”?? THIS PROMPT IS HEAT AND I’M ‘BOUTTA COOK!! 🔥💯😤)

Johnny Cage x gn!reader (SFW/NSFM)

NOTE: This will be a two-parter because I just couldn't wait to post what I had already, lmao. This first part only has sexual themes and foreplay, while the second part will have actual smut (also, while this first part is totally GN, the second part will be mentioning afab anatomy, but I will still be using GN pronouns). I'm sorry this took so long to get to; I've been working almost every day for the past two weeks and ya girl is tired, lol. Was super excited to write for this though! :D

ALSO I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW ACTUAL FIGHTING WORKS I JUST MADE SHIT UP LMAO PLS DON'T COME AT ME

Pasted straight from Google Docs and NOT proofread, so please excuse any grammatical/continuity errors/syntax and formatting. I am also still VERY much an amateur writer so pls go easy on me <3

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51869623

Come On With a Come-on

         For a ‘professional’, Johnny Cage is about the least professional person you’ve ever met. Propriety must be a foreign concept to him with how frequently he flirts with you, especially on set—you know, in front of all of your colleagues and crew? The man was shameless in his relentless pursual of you, like a goddamn dog with a bone. And worst of all? You liked it, and this fact frustrated you to no end. 

         How could you possibly be attracted to someone who is so insufferably arrogant, loud-mouthed, and impossibly far up his own ass? An ass that, admittedly, you find yourself staring at whenever you think he isn’t looking. But, because you’re an actual professional, you’ve rebuffed his every attempt to seduce you thus far. Plus, you had a reputation to keep and dignity to hold onto; you weren’t sullying either when the likely outcome would involve your face and name on countless tabloids. 

         Without warning, his stupid, smug, and incredibly handsome smile invades your mind, and you suddenly find yourself wanting nothing more than to punch it off of his unfairly chiseled jaw.

         …or maybe kiss it off.

         “Grah!” you abruptly shout while burying your hands in your hair, momentarily tugging at the roots in annoyance. God, you had a problem. 

         Bzzt.

         “Huh?” You look down at your hip where your phone had just buzzed in your pocket. You pull it out and flick your finger across the screen to unlock it, then tap on the messaging icon.

         Johnny Cage: Hey, wanna spar later? 👊👊

         You raised a brow. You and Johnny worked in the same sphere for a reason. Action films were your guys’ bread and butter since the both of you knew how to fight as well as do your own stunts. 

         You and Johnny hung out casually here and there, but the two of you had never sparred before. You sensed an opportunity in his proposal, though: an effective way to get your frustration out on the source of said frustration. Shrugging, you figure, ‘why not?’

         You: Yeah, I’m down. But I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into b/c I won’t be holding back!

         Johnny: Woah, don’t go threatening me with a good time ;) 

         Your stomach twirled in unbidden delight at the cheeky response, and you internally chastised yourself for being so easily affected by this man. You and Johnny sorted out the details of your meetup—his place, late afternoon—and returned your phone to your pocket. You would just have to kill some time until then.

~~~

         “Of course you would have your own gym, and of course it’s fuckin’ huge,” you joked with a bit of sarcasm, yet enough lightheartedness as to not offend. Though, you doubt Johnny could be so easily offended; he’s got way too much self-confidence (for better or for worse) to be put down that easily.

         “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen ‘huge’ yet,” he boasted with a smirk. The wink that followed did nothing to abate the heat that was slowly taking over your body, but you did your best not to let the effects show. Since when were easy, immature innuendos such a turn on for you? You just closed your eyes and shook your head.

         “Alright, I am definitely knocking you on your ass for that one.”

         “Hah, see if you can, sweetheart!”

         The two of you stood in your  respective corners and took your stances. One quick little countdown later, and the game was on. 

        You knew Johnny was a very good fighter being a martial arts expert and all, but you didn’t realize he was that good. In all honesty, you figured he was more bark than bite, and that you’d have no real problem going toe-to-toe with him. Unfortunately, it seems like you may have underestimated him. It turns out that Johnny Cage was one of the rare few you had met who could back up their arrogance. Bully for you.

        Furthermore, this shithead was fighting dirty! Well, okay—technically he wasn’t fighting dirty. He was just talking after all, and there’s nothing wrong or “illegal” with that. But it was a dirty tactic regardless, and it only infuriated you further with how helpless you were to try and block him out.

        You pivot sharply on one foot and  use the momentum to lift and swing the other around, aiming the kick at his head. You expect him to duck under such a high-reaching maneuver—maybe he’d follow up with a low sweep with your single foot planted on the ground—so you prepare yourself to counter this. See, before you went into acting, fighting was your primary activity; you won many tournaments and managed to make a decent living off of it. One of the main things you were known for were your notoriously powerful kicks; few would risk trying to outright block them rather than moving out of the way.

         You must have forgotten who you were up against; that was the only reasonable explanation for your short-sightedness. You were not distracted by him or anything like that, thank you very much. Johnny-fucking-Cage just lifts an arm and grabs your leg. With one hand. Like it was nothing.

         The impact creates a loud smack! that briefly leaves you dumbfounded; you felt the force of that blow against his palm, and it was enough to leave the skin there tingling unpleasantly. Johnny didn’t look phased in the least bit with a crooked smile dancing across his handsome features, just gripping your ankle. Casually. Like you weren’t currently being held in the near-vertical splits.

         Johnny took this fleeting opportunity to give you a quick once-over, and his smile only grew. “Nice legs,” he quipped, “bet they’d look a lot nicer over my shoulders.” You openly gaped at his brazenness, and he used your shock to his advantage, flipping you in one fell swoop. You grunted when your back hit the mat underneath you, but the heat that overwhelmed your person (caused by your anger and fury, obviously) had you back up in a flash.

         “Best two out of three,” you nearly seethed. Johnny had the audacity to appear as anything but intimidated. In fact, he seemed rather amused.

         “You know, you’re like, really hot when you’re mad.”

         You nearly flung yourself at him in a mindless bout of rage, but caught yourself only a split moment before you could make such a devastating mistake. A delightful idea quickly sprang to mind—two could play at this game. 

         You kept up the facade of indignation and outrage in order to trick Johnny into thinking that you actually were going to make that blind charge at him. You stepped off of your dominant foot, using the momentum to make a lunge for him. He braced himself to counter your head-on attack, but you feigned right at the last possible second, swiftly gripped his shoulder with your left hand, and brought your right leg in against the back of his knee to buckle it. Johnny was quick to recover, though, keeping enough of his balance to twist and grapple with you as his leg nearly gave out. 

         Ah, so it was time for plan B.

         Before he could finish off the move, you brought your face right up to his, making sure that the two of you were making eye contact, and looked at him with sensual purpose. It was almost enough to disarm him, so to ensure you had the upper hand, you threw him another curveball with a breathy, “I wonder if you fuck as good as you fight.” 

         That did the trick. Johnny’s mind was sent reeling with your seemingly out-of-pocket comment, and you jumped at the chance to knock him flat on his ass. Johnny got the wind knocked from him as he landed with a resounding thump. Not wasting a minute, you straddled yourself across his hips and held his wrists against the floor mat. While Johnny had more raw strength than you, you hoped that the KO would leave him dizzy enough to keep him subdued.

         “Ha! Gotcha!” you barked out in triumph. Johnny just blinked up at you in a daze as his response. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the taste of your own medi-” you had cut yourself off when you felt something stiff beneath your pelvis. ‘What…? Wait, is he…’

         “Are you hard right now?!” you squawked incredulously. Johnny just shrugged his shoulders and gave you an audacious smirk, as if to say, ‘Uh, yeah I guess so. What about it?’ You were flabbergasted. “I can not believe you right now!” You released his wrists and made to get up, but he grabbed your hips before you could get away. Damn it, his body was so warm, and…holy shit he felt big.

         “Woah now, hang on just a tick,” he spoke like he was trying to soothe a startled horse. This fucking asshole! Why, just why did you have to fall for him? “It is very difficult not to pop a boner when I’m getting up close and personal to the most gorgeous person I know,” he spoke with an immense amount of charm and a surprising measure of sincerity. Your eyes widened comically before you squinted at him with a healthy amount of suspicion. 

         “Oh, really now? And I don’t suppose you’ve used that line with every other person you’ve taken to bed, hm?”

         Johnny just sighed like he was the exasperated one here. “Darling, I’ve been laying it on thick for half a year now. There’s no way I’d still be after you just to get into your pants.” He looked at you with this sort of ‘duh’ expression on his face, like he couldn’t possibly understand your confusion. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: you’ve got just the kind of body that I love,” he added, and you nearly clocked him then and there, but you relaxed again as he spoke further, “but I’ve come to really like spending time with you. There’s never a day that I don’t look forward to working with you on set, you know.” And, just like that, you felt like the stupidest person on the planet for denying yourself something that you evidently could have had for a long time now. 

         You hung your head low and shook it from side to side in disappointment of yourself. You fool. You buffoon. You absolute imbecile. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Johnny took this the wrong way, looking offended, and opened his mouth to say something. However, you were quick to shut him up with a short yet firm kiss of which he wasted no time in returning. He ground his hips against yours in short, desperate thrusts like there would never be another chance to do so, and you eagerly mirrored his movements like they might be your last. Without warning, he rolled the two of you over to flip your positions. Sprawled out beneath him with your hands held beneath his own, Johnny thought you looked like a dream.

         “By the way, I think you’ll find that not only do I fuck as good as I fight, but I fuck like I fight, too—hard n’ fast,” he intoned in a voice nearly an octave deeper. 

         You squirmed in anticipation at his words, and retorted with equal huskiness, “let’s see it then.”

[hyperfixatingonsonicsohard]

I LOVE the idea of Amy Rose in the Sonic Movies

and if she's not in it the Sonic Movie 3 in the end credits scene at LEAST I will be so sad.

This is the continuation of This Art Post Here , of my design for a Movie Version of Amy

Here is all the little ideas I had for this AU written down:

(Sorry about the weird format)

I'm not sure how or Why Amy gets to Earth, but I imagine she learns about the heroic Sonic the Hedgehog(maybe she overhears something? Sees a newspaper/newscast? Idk)and begins a search for him.

Amy found the Walkowski's on her own, but when she arrived Tom had taken the boys out for a day of fishing so only Maddie was home.

Maddie was surprised

She may have 3 alein kids, but there will always be a moment of shock and "ANOTHER ONE?!" for her

She gets Amy cleaned up before Tom and the others get back home

It turns into a little fashion show, and Maddie is estatic

Living with little boys she doesnt get the oppertunity for dress up & tea parties often

Only when she's visiting Rachel and Jojo

When the others get home, Maddie gathers them in the kitchen/living room before bringing Amy in

- Tom faints

- "There's a GIRL now?!" — Tom

- Sonic is super excited to meet another hedgehog is slips his mind that shes a girl.

- and then it clicks and he's like

- "wait she's a girl-Oh my god shes a girl ive never met a girl what do i say she's really cute ulchhfccvjvukzkg"

- Reverse Sonamy, I'm a total sucker for it!

- Tails is curious as to who she is and why she's here

- Knuckles is wary of a new face

- Amy gets overwhelmed and summons her Piko Piko hammer

- Knuckles is no longer wary

- "Ah! Clearly you are a Warrior, here to join as a member our clan in protecting the master Emerald!"

- Amy ends up becoming a member even if it wasn't her orginal intention for meeting them.

Rachel, as we know, doesnt't really any of the Sonic characters.

- EXCEPT Amy.

- She's pretty, pink, and she refuses to let the other boys taint her!

- "Maddie you can't be serious about letting such an angel stay with those ruffions you call your kids! No, NUh-Uh, I'm taking this one you already have 3."

- Rachel takes in Amy to live with her and Jojo in San Francisco

- JoJo looks up to Amy like an older sister

- Maddie sends Amy off with her iconic red dress.

- When Sonic first sees her in it, he runs with his super speed all the way back to his old burrow, screams, and runs back and pretends it didnt happen.

- Amy enjoys listening to Music with Wade when he picks her up from the airport to visit the Walkowski's

- Tom took Amy fishing, as he's done all the kids, and it turns out Amy already knows how to fish!

- She's not bad at it, average skill

- She says someone named Big the Cat taught her

- She plays baseball with the Walkowski's

- She's incredible at the bat, but is no match for Sonic's speed being able to catch any home run she hits

- At least when Sonic is able to snap out of his admiral-gaze at her in time to do so.

- Sonic is totally down hard for Amy, thinks shes so cool and totally out of his leauge(No Baseball Pun intended)

- Amy is oblivious to this

- Amy also thinks Sonic is cute, but is overall good friends with all of team Sonic

- Knuckles thinks Amy is a good mate for Sonic. Someone strong to protect and provide for his little brother

- Knuckles also sees Amy as a friendly rival, someone almost if not as strong as he is

- Tails doesnt fully understand what Knuckles is talking about with "mating" and why Sonic always blushes around her but he enjoys Amy's attention and praise about his inventions

Thats all I have right now, but I'm glad I was finally able to write down this idea lol!

(Again, PERFECT TIME TO POST THIS when the new trailer for Sonic 3 dropped today!)

I really hope you all liked this!

Pls Reblog&Comment&Like!

[softxsuki]

Hiii, i just joined the club and everything here is amazing!!! I absolutely love how you write and i wanted to make a request if it's ok, it's half urgent half not...let me explain: these last days have been very stressful for me and i have been trying to find a comfort mha fanfic for a simular situation as mine, i feel like a i need attention but now just soft one like a worried kind one and not from a partner but from more like a fatherlike figure i need to feel secure and cared for to relax before i breakdown :")...idk if you take requests with characters other than bakugou etc but i really wanted to request this fan fic:

Reader is part of class 1A and she's been having trouble at home and training hard plus insomnia, in other words she's not feeling too great but she always takes part i class, trains and never skips anything. Mr Aizawa has noticed that the last few days reader seemed out of it so he decides to have a talk with her after class but reader in that specific day has been feeling much worse than the other past days of exhaustion and while Mr Aizawa is expressing his concerns and trying to get her to talk to him she has a stress induced seizure and then passes out from then all carrying reader for urgent check up and the comfort. :))

I would be so happy if you took this request...thank you so much for all your hard work!!

Aizawa Comforts Reader Who Has A Stress-Induced Seizure

| Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader (PLATONIC) | Genre: Comfort | Post-Type: Headcanons | Word Count: 650 |

Warnings: Mentions of seizures, stress, insomnia, alluding to at-home troubles

Note: Hey, welcome to my blog it's great to have you! I don't write for Aizawa anymore because I'm just really bad at writing for him as you'll see NBFHKEAFJ. But I wanted to make this for you since it's a topic I haven't been asked for yet, but moving forward for anyone reading this, I do not write for Aizawa so please don't send any requests for him :3. I have a full list of characters that I do write for on my navigation page if anyone wants to check that out. But hopefully this does it's job for you! All my urgent requests are written in headcanon format so I hope that's okay! I hope the stresses in your life ease up so you can get the rest you need ! <3

You could feel your head pounding as Aizawa asked you to stay for a few moments after class, a worried expression on his usual stoic face

It had been a tough week for you, with your usual troubles at home and the countless nights you’ve had without sleep

Yet instead of taking a break, you pushed yourself even harder, training every day and never missing a class

It got to the point where Aizawa could see how out of it you were, hence why he pulled you aside

You could hardly focus on the words he was saying, but by the look on his face it seemed like it was serious

Tingles shot up your body as the pounding in your head grew more severe, and before you knew it, your body was convulsing

Alarmed, Aizawa supports your head, waiting for your violent shakes to cease from the little knowledge he held about seizures fill his mind, but once you go still, you're passed out from your lack of sleep and fatigue that had filled your body these past few days

He lifts you up and brings you to Recovery Girl who watches over you until you finally wake up later in the day when classes are over

Upon opening your eyes, you see Aizawa asleep in a seat beside the bed in the room

“Aizawa Sensei,” you say softly, making the older man jolt at the sudden noise, his eyes immediately on you as he sits up

“How are you feeling?” He asks with a sigh, rubbing his tired eyes

It was the most rest you’d gotten the whole week so of course you felt a lot better, but you could see the slight furrow in Aizawa’s brows as you speak, letting him in on your rough week and how you’ve been feeling in general

“L/N…you’re a great student and I know you want to give it your best, I see the effort you’re putting in, but you can’t do it at the expense of your health. Take the next few days off recuperating at the dorms. I’ll have Uraraka or Yaoyorozu bring you any work you miss. Don’t bring yourself to your breaking point like this again”

He’s stern, and stoic as usual, but you can hear the tinge of concern in his tone, you’re his student so of course he’d be worried about you just suddenly collapsing and having a seizure like that

You were ready to protest–how could you go a full week without training? You’d fall behind your classes. Seeing your inner turmoil, Aizawa speaks again

“You’re free to train after class hours for no longer than an hour each day, I’ll have one of your classmates observe you…Just know your teachers are here for a reason, even if you feel like you can’t come to me, every teachers here at UA has an obligation to be there for their students, so reach out if you need it. I’ll be stopping by the dorms to check in on everyone more frequently from not on, so please rest”

You nod your head in agreement, with Aizawa’s support perhaps you could work your way through your troubles and stresses moving forward in a better way

You were a future hero, if you couldn’t properly take care of yourself, how could you save anyone else?

With a small smile, Aizawa pats your head, standing up from his seat as he nudges his head towards the door

“Then let’s get you back to the dorms, Recovery Girl said you were set to head back once you woke up”

And with that, Aizawa leads you back to the dorms where everyone is informed of your situation (briefly) to make sure you actually do rest instead of overworking yourself again for the next few days and even moving forward in general

Not only do you have your teachers support, but even the support of your classmates

Posted: 4/15/2024

[saltofmercury]

I love your writing so much that I check if you posted anything new right after I wake up and before I go to bed 🥹 I have a little request for you, if you don’t mind. I would like to see König’s POV of anything. It would be great to read fluff (or angst 😭), for example him feeling like a teenager when he’s around reader at the beginning of a relationship, you know, butterflies in his stomach, bit of anxiety, trying to act cool and look best OR if it’s angst then maybe something about him being jealous, because he finally found someone who gets him and who attracts other people (even just in a friendly way!), so he kinda doesn’t know how to control his feelings, BUT he’s working on it? (your König goes to therapy sooooo you know we love self aware king). Idk, but I’m begging on my knees to get into König’s mind 🧎‍♀️

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

The yellow blob bounces from the ground to the wall back to the massive hand. The ball moves so swifty, it's blurry and looks stretched in his peripheral vision.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

He’s pretty sure he should cancel, there were never third or fourth dates. Usually by the end of the night it was a mutual decision that it would be best to not continue dating. But if there’s anything keeping him on the fence it’s you.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

He reflects on the small moments he’s saved and logged into his brain. For example, last weekend when you had been sharing a dessert and you saved the last piece for him.

“Please! It’s too sweet for me.” You had said while scrunching up your nose. You placed the piece of cake on his spoon, went back to sipping your coffee.

It was a small gesture but it was a clear indication to him at least, that you were caring, willing to share.

There was another time he knew he wasn’t making eye contact with you, he mentally killed himself for it.

“Just look at them for three seconds…” he replayed the demand in his head.

“Three seconds….”

He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t until you had pointed out the birds in formation flying overhead.

“Hey look at those guys!”

Your head shot straight up, along with your left arm, and he caught the perfect opportunity to look at you. He thought maybe you would look back at him, but your concentration went to the birds.

He stared at you. The curve of your nose, how your eyes widened, your smile perked up on the corners of your mouth, but your gaze stayed on them.

Birds… he thought. you’re his bird.

He found himself smiling. He likes spending time with you. He likes hearing about your day. He likes making you laugh and hearing you gasp when you hear stories that he tells about being away.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump —

He catches the ball with his left hand.

He wonders what you’re doing today. He knows your schedule already. He knows that you head off to work, you have a sandwich and a soup for lunch everyday, you make an afternoon coffee to keep your energy level up. He already knows how you take it too —extra sweet with hazelnut flavored creamer, no extra sugar, preferably hot in the morning and iced in the afternoon.

He likes knowing the little things about you.

Like how many pet animals you had as a kid.

How you don’t sleep with socks on.

You brush your teeth on the left side of your mouth and not the right side.

There are also things he’s seen that he’s taken mental note of.

Like how you eat your vegetables before you eat meat on your plate.

How you blink slowly when you're getting sleepy. There’s even times your lip curved just a little bit to the right when you get excited about something.

Small things he’s picked up, locked into a file in his brain and loves.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba — thump-thump-ump

He stops, hears wheels on the gravel crunch outside his house.

He stands up from the living room, walking towards the front door. He only catches a glimpse, realizing the color of your hair, leaving a package on his doorstep.

He doesn’t open the door, but can hear you giggling outside and then running back to your car before driving away.

A smile curls up his face, he catches it, and gets embarrassed.

Once the coast is clear, he feels the ping and vibration from his phone, checking it.

“I was driving by and someone left something on your doorstep!”

He smiles at your text.

“Oh really?”

“Yes!”

“Funny… I saw someone giggling outside driving your car and had your hair color too.”

“So weird!”

He puts his phone down, he’s smiling. Opening the door, seeing the small cream colored package on his porch. Picking it up gently; he brings the package inside.

A small hint of worry comes to his head. What’s inside the package?

He sees it’s sealed with thin, clear tape. He grabs the knife out of his sweatpants, flips it open, quickly swiping the knife against the tape.

The scent hits him. It’s sweet, and vanilla?

He opens the package and there are four cupcakes inside. Perfectly frosted, decorated with rainbow sprinkles. There is one word written on each of the cupcakes.

“Happy. two. month. anniversary!”

Fuck. He can’t help the smile that appears on his face. He’s never celebrated any anniversary before and now he feels stupid that he didn’t even remember.

He quickly texts you back—

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Buuuut how else are we supposed to celebrate?”

His tongue licks his bottom lip, attempting to hide the smile that keeps appearing. At this rate, his cheeks are going to be sore from all this happiness.

“Can I see you tonight?”

“Yes. Your place or mine?”

“Yours.”

*

There’s a small hesitation when he reaches the door to your apartment. He leans against the doorframe after the first 3 knocks. He hears you running from the living room to the door, where you take 3-4 breaths? He counted three for sure. Then you collect yourself and slowly walk to the door.

Once opened, he prays mentally that you don’t notice how fast his heart is racing when he envelops you in a hug.

“Hi!” You chirp at him, he can see how far your neck cranes up to see him.

He bends down to kiss you, pulls up his face mask.

His heart keeps pounding on his chest, it’s so loud, thumping in his ears. Please don’t let her hear or feel it.

You bring him towards the couch, laying on him immediately. He likes that you’re so comfortable with him. You don’t hesitate with him.

“Well?” You ask.

“Well what?”

“What’s up? What’s new? Why are you nervous?”

He covers his face with his enormous hand, blushing instantly.

“How do you know?” He says sheepishly.

“What? That you’re nervous? You’ve been red since you opened the door.”

He doesn’t know if this is going to last long, part of him hopes that it does because he can’t grow tired of hearing you run towards the door when he comes by. He can’t get over how you greet him with so much love, and he can’t get over meeting someone so… so special like you.

[trespresh]

let me go, don't you ever

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

+ reader: afab, no pronouns used partner: amab, he/him word count: 7.1k rating: explicit. very explicit. tw for basically anything you'd expect with deep nasty vampire sex: primal play, blood play, blood drinking, biting, rough sex (but with feelings!)… and a little cockwarming, as a treat

+

idk man I just write the fic I want to read about the sex I want to have.

This ended up being one of the big primal scenes I've always wanted to write but never had anywhere to put it. It is purely a fantasy put to words. This is a real plug-n-play style fic. It's xreader but the partner is not specifically described. You can copy and paste your favorite little guy in there, or just use this as a blank canvas and go to town!

This xreader style of fic is a first for me, and I'm still tbd on whether I'll post it to ao3. I think about scenes like this a lot just for my own uhhhh enjoyment, and I’ve just never actually written it down in this format before. I’m a little nervous but taking my own advice about no shame and no judgment ✌️ but also be nice to me lol

(tl;dr - It’s deeply self-indulgent pov primal vampire sex. There will be blood.)

+

The first time he ever drinks from you, he’s a little crazy-eyed and desperate, a few hours too many past the last time he drank anything. 

You’ve talked about this before: how you’d like to try it, how he would too. Never specifics, never how or when. But right now, the air seems to crackle in the space between you, magnetic and intriguing, and you realize that you really want this now. Even as your eyes catch on the flash of his fangs when he licks his lips, you think, yeah. 

You want this, and you trust him, and you want to help him if you can, so you ask, “Would it help?”

You can tell he’s trying hard to keep his eyes on yours, but he can’t catch himself before glancing down at your throat a few times. You watch him watch the pulse in your neck before he drags his eyes back up to yours. When he takes a step forward, you can’t help it—your heartbeat kicks up a notch.

“Easy, it’s just me,” he murmurs gently, like you’re a skittish animal, and you’re suddenly aware that he’d heard your heart leap. His eyes finally drop to your neck and hold there. “Yeah sweetheart, it’ll help. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Your next breath is shaky. You know he hears that, too.

“Will it hurt?” You ask, quiet.

His eyes flick up to yours long enough for you to see a wave of red flood through them completely until they’re so dark they’re almost black. He steps close enough to lean down and nuzzle against your throat. 

“A little,” he breathes, his lips brushing your skin in an apologetic kiss. His tongue comes out to lick along your pulse when it jumps at his words and touch. “At first. God, I’ll make it good though, I promise, please just—let me. Let me.” 

His voice has a tiny, desperate whine to it, and you can only shiver when you feel the points of his teeth come to rest against your skin like he already knows you’ll say yes. When you finally nod just enough for him to feel it, you barely get the word “yes” out before his hand is coming up to the other side of your neck to hold you still, and then he’s biting down.

He’s right. It does hurt at first, but in a strange, subdued way. Like two small blades sinking into your neck, except they’re so sharp you barely feel it as they split your skin. The pain is almost sweet, somehow. 

His teeth withdraw and then you can hear the soft, wet noises of his mouth and tongue on your neck; it’s hard to reconcile what’s happening with the pull under your skin, the strange suction as the blood is pulled from you. It’s like he’s working you from the inside and out—the hot slide of the blood in your veins before it passes through the holes into the equally hot slide of his tongue and down his throat.

It’s far more intimate than you expected. Visceral and primal, somehow, this new way you’ve given your body to him.

You can’t help the strangled gasp you make, and when your hand raises up to grip his arm, he pulls away immediately. That shadowy pool-of-blood color fades until you can see the sharpness with which he watches you, scanning you over. You feel a trickle of blood trail down your neck; when you lift your hand to wipe it away, he snags your wrist out of the air, threads his fingers through yours, and brings your joined hands around to rest at the small of your back. It’s a gentle way of holding you in place, firm enough for you to relax into.

He ducks his head and licks over the skin on your neck. The idea that he’s cleaning you up should maybe gross you out but it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it sends something swooping through your gut, fever-hot, and you realize—oh, fuck, you like this.

When he pulls away from you, you stare up at his face as you’re hit with a strange sensation on your neck—as if the skin is knitting together somehow, closing up and scabbing over. You raise your free hand up to check your neck only to feel half-healed skin instead, as if the pin prick holes are already days old. He grins when you look back up at him in confusion.

“The venom has, uh, healing properties,” he answers your unasked question. “Apparently it's how enough venom can turn someone. Healing the body before it can ever break down enough to die or something, you know?”

You swallow hard at the casual tone in his voice. You don’t want to think about him dying but you don’t know what to say, so you just nod. He watches you carefully for a moment before sliding a hand up to cup the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss.

“Are you okay?” He asks against your mouth.

Again, you nod. “I’m okay. It was—” you search for the right words, trying to ignore the way you feel the healing wound pull slightly when you swallow hard. “—nice. It felt… not good, but uh. Intense, I guess. Deep.” 

Your cheeks heat a bit but he only smiles and hums in understanding. 

“For me, too,” he agrees. While he tilts his head to kiss under your jaw, you wonder idly what it must be like for him, to bite into flesh and drink the hot liquid lifeforce underneath. You’re thinking about what the texture of blood might feel like, when he sighs into your skin and adds, contemplatively, “You’re sweet.”

You flush happily with the endearment. “I just wanted to help.”   

He meets your eyes again, smiling wickedly. “You did help. Very much. But I meant you taste sweet.”

Your heart pounds again at that, and he hums and taps a finger against your pulse to the beat. 

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully, distractedly, more to himself than to you. “Like burnt, melted sugar.”

You don’t know what to say to that, and he seems to know that. He leans down to kiss you again and says, so quiet you barely hear him, “Thank you.”

And you can’t help but relax into him.

+

The first time he drinks from you while fucking you, he’s otherworldly.

“This seems like overkill,” you say, trying not to laugh as you sit on the bed, watching him line water bottles, a bowl of fruit, and a package of your favorite cookies on the nightstand. He’s already put a towel down next to the bed. “You’re not a blood donation center, you don’t have to give me cookies.”

He throws you a grin and shrugs. “I don’t know what this’ll be like. I’ve never done this before and I just, I don’t know. Need to make sure you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, fond despite yourself. “I trust you.”

It was you who finally asked for this but he hadn’t taken any convincing, so you get the feeling he’s just been waiting for you to bring it up, to make the first move. Now that it’s going to happen, his need for preparedness and eagerness to do this right for both of you is endearing. The pillows are soft when you lean back against them, letting your knees fall wide and enjoying the way he watches the movement. 

“Come here.”

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it aside before crawling over you; you get your arms around his neck and pull him down. He meets you easily for a kiss that doesn’t take long to turn filthy with your gasp when he gets a hand into your hair and tugs gently, and his tiny moan when you nip at his lower lip and meet his tongue with yours.

Without pulling away from your lips, he snakes a hand down to the inside of your knee and pushes your leg open to make more room for himself. He settles his hips just under yours and thrusts up, and you can’t help but rock down in return just to feel him start to harden and press against you through his sweatpants. A gasp escapes you into the kiss when he nudges against your clit through the layers of clothing. 

When he pulls away, his hand falls from your hair to rest at your throat.

“Here,” he says quietly, tapping two fingers on your pulse there. His other hand trails up your knee and stops at the top of your inner thigh, where he taps two fingers again. “And here. Okay?”

Your heartbeat picks up immediately and you know he hears it but you don’t care. You swallow hard against the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat, meet his eyes, and nod.

“Good,” he says in a low, pleased tone that sends a happy little shiver down your spine.

His hand leaves your throat so he can lean up on that hand like he needs a better angle—and then he kisses you again like that will distract you from the way his other hand slides up from your thigh to dip under the waistband of your shorts, like it’ll stifle the little noise of surprise when he cups you with his whole hand, curling his fingers down and into you only to the first knuckle. You arch up into his hand as he flexes his fingers to tease between your hole and clit. You’re wet enough already that he can gather some of it on his fingertips and drag the wetness up over your clit, where he circles lightly a few times before dragging his hand from your shorts. He smirks at the way your breathing goes high and quick just from the brief feel of his hand on you.

“Tease,” you huff, and his smirk widens into a grin.

“You think so?” He says, mock thoughtfully, as he sits up and tugs your shorts off your hips, all the way down your legs until he can throw them off to the side. And then he’s shuffling back on his knees, dropping both hands to the insides of your knees, and spreading you wide for him. He spends a few moments just looking at you while you try not to squirm.

It’s uncomfortable, and yet somehow it sends fire through your gut. You can feel his gaze like a tangible weight. You’re not sure if you like the way he’s openly studying you or not, but you want to be what he needs, so you hold still and let him look. You shift a little when he runs a finger lightly right down the very center of you like he just wants to test what you feel like. You shiver, and then he leans down, presses a kiss to the inside of your upper thigh, and lowers his mouth to you. 

Your skin is so heated that his mouth feels almost cool, and you moan when he tongues at your clit in a touch so gentle that you writhe up against him, seeking more until he weaves his arms under your thighs to clutch up at your hips and hold you down on the bed. No matter how hard you arch up against him, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s stronger than you. If he wants you held down and open for him, then that’s what you’ll be. 

You know you’re lucky because not only is he good at this, but he enjoys it. You laugh breathily at the reminder of that fact when you feel his fingers at your hole—only for your laugh to cut off in a sigh when he slides a finger into you. He immediately crooks his finger up and pets right over your g-spot, as if it’s second nature for him to make you feel good with how well he knows your body by now. As if it’s his goal and his right to watch you throw your head back against his pillows.

And then he buries his face against you and groans softly like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

You gasp at the vibration of the enthusiastic noises he makes. Your hands drop to stroke through his hair, pushing it back from his face so you can watch the way his eyes go half-lidded up at you, his mouth working, forearm flexing as he works another finger into you. The way his nose is crushed against you sends the heat of his heavy breaths in waves over your skin and you are so lit up, up, up for him that you just know you won’t last long with his fingers in you like this.

Or his teeth, you realize as you become aware of the feeling of him rubbing two fingers into the skin of your upper thigh. Your clit throbs between his lips when your heart hammers, remembering what’s about to happen, and suddenly you want it so badly you can barely breathe. Either your anticipation is contagious or he’s already as eager for this as you are, because he licks a final, slow stripe up from where his fingers are pressed inside you up to the top of your clit, which he sucks briefly, humming just for the way it makes you arch up and moan—before he finally lets go to trail kisses over to your inner thigh instead, his fingers still moving inside you. 

It’s thrilling, the way he nuzzles against your thigh like he’s savoring the feel—or smell?—of you.  When he starts to suck a bruise into your skin, it’s like a tiny electrical current fires up your thigh and into your clit, down through to where he’s still fucking you on his fingers. He curls them up to drag against your g-spot so perfectly that you sob and try to twitch your hips up every time.

By the time he licks over the new bruise and shifts his mouth just a little lower to a clear patch of skin, you’re feeling dizzy in the face of your looming orgasm. You’re so ready for his bite, so eager to find out what it feels like, that when he scrapes his teeth over your skin and looks up to meet your gaze, you’re nodding before he even asks the question. 

He asks anyway. “Are you sure?”

“Do it. Please, I’m ready,” you say, because you think you are. 

When he bites through the thin, sensitive skin into the flesh of your inner thigh, though, you can’t help the whimper that escapes you or the way your fingers tighten hard in his hair. It’s the same razor-sweet sharpness you’ve felt in the past when he’s bitten into your neck or your wrist—only here, while you’re naked and spread wide for him and already close to coming on his fingers, it’s like lightning jolting up through you. Like that thin electrical current that had formed alongside the bruise he gave you has now been amplified to a sparking livewire between your clit and where his fangs pierce your skin.

His head jerks a little in your hold when you tug on his hair, and his fingers freeze inside you when he pulls his teeth out, seals his mouth over the wounds, and sucks hard. There’s a breathless, still moment while he gets his first taste of you, and then his eyes glaze over with that eerie red-black color and he whines into your skin; he scrambles to get his free hand under your thigh and pulls you harder against his face.

With every heartbeat, you can feel the blood thrum through your groin, then down your thigh to pulse in thick rushes against his lips and tongue when he sucks on the holes he made in your skin. It’s a hot, liquid feedback loop that has your head spinning, and you clench down around his fingers because you’re close, you’re so close—

“Please, god, I’m so fucking—,” you babble through your open-mouth panting, so caught up in the way he’s playing with your body like he knows just how to curl his fingers and exactly how to twirl his tongue over your skin to make you moan and fall apart for him. 

He sucks one final mouthful of blood from your inner thigh before pulling away, panting for air while your eyes catch on how red and wet his lips are. He licks a flat strip over the punctures—and then without waiting to make sure the holes have begun healing, he presses his face between your legs again. His lips close around your clit, sucking messily at the same time he fucks his fingers in and out of you, urgent and deep like he’s frantic to get you there, desperate to see you come.

It feels so deliriously good that you’re already teetering on the edge of your orgasm when he eases down onto his stomach between your legs; between one thrust and the next, he slides a third finger in alongside the other two, dragging hard over your g-spot with each stroke. After that, all it takes is one glance down at him to see the way his hips are grinding down against the bed like he’s so hard right now that he can’t help but seek friction—and then he’s pressing his free thumb to the healing puncture wounds on your thigh and you are launched over the edge into your orgasm.

It explodes through you so violently that you arch off the bed, gasping around a high moan and pulling him into you by your hold in his hair, grinding against his face as he moans and curls his fingers inside you and stares up at you, rapt, like he would rather die than miss this. 

You can feel his heavy gaze the whole time you ride down the peak of your orgasm, his fingers slowing into long strokes that ease you through it. Finally, you tug on his hair when you’re twitching through the aftershocks and he pulls away from you, panting. He rests his forehead against your thigh while he catches his breath; finally he says, “Fuck,” and looks up at you with his normal, clear eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree faintly, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm and the memory of his teeth in you, his tongue working against you in such different ways.

You glance down at him, gently stroking your fingers through his hair. His eyes are lazy and satisfied from where he looks up at you between your thighs. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, his lips red and swollen, and his hair is growing messier by the minute from your wandering hands. You can’t stop staring at the way his mouth and chin are still wet with your slick and a little bit of leftover blood. 

He looks good like this, you decide. Really good.

Movement catches your eye over his shoulder, and when you lift your head to look down his body, you see his hips still working against the bed like he’s not even conscious of it. It sends a strike of need through you so strong that you can’t help but tighten your grip in his hair and tug him up. He goes easily, crawling up your body to get his mouth on yours, and when you deepen the kiss, his tongue tastes sweetly metallic.

“Fuck me,” you say.

He nods eagerly, pressing his hips against yours so you can feel his hard cock through his sweatpants. You push at the waistband, tugging them down his hips demandingly, and he shifts back to pull them down and kick them off the bed. Then he’s naked and hard and kneeling over you, looking at you the way a starving wolf must look at an unsuspecting bunny.

It’s a heady feeling, having that intensity turned on you, so you bask in it and let him take over.

He flips you over with a hand at your side, then pulls you back toward himself and tugs at your hip insistently enough for you to understand—you lift up just enough for him to shove a pillow under your hips. He takes a second to position you how he wants you, hitching your hips up and back toward him. He pushes your thighs together and throws a leg over you so his knees are against the outsides of your thighs and he can really lean over you. You expect the feel of his cock nudging at your hole so you’re surprised when he slips two fingers into you instead, like he just wants another feel. It’s an easy slide; you’re slick enough, wet with his spit and your blood and how much you need him to fuck you right now, come on. 

He pulls his fingers free, strokes that slickness over his cock a few times, and lines up. Even though you’re so keyed up and ready for him that you might spark and explode, you immediately clench down when you feel him press against you, throwing a smirk over your shoulder at him. 

You know he likes it when you make him work for it, sometimes, and this definitely seems like one of those times; you know you’re right by the way he murmurs, almost playful, “Let me in.” He presses a little harder against you until you feel yourself start to give. “Come on baby, let me in, let me—fuck yeah,” he groans then when he pulls your thighs open just a little and thrusts against you just enough for his cockhead to finally pop in and he can slide in, smooth and sudden.

It’s so good you both moan with it. Fucking finally, you think, once he’s as deep as he can get and rocking his hips just a little to let you both get used to the feel of it. Then he’s slowly pulling back, back, back—until he’s all the way out again and huffing a low laugh when you whine at the loss. He presses his cockhead against you again, so close to pushing inside that it’s cruel, the way he’s holding you down by the hips when you try to rock back onto him.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and you’re about to snap back at the amusement you can hear in his voice when he eases back into you, slower this time like he wants to make you feel every inch. 

You gasp and drag his pillow toward yourself, clenching your fists in it just to have something to hold onto. Once he’s fully inside again, he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder. It’s sweet and still for a moment before he sits up, gets a tight grip on your hips, and starts to fuck you.

You drop your head and moan into the pillow that smells like him, arching your lower back just a little bit more off the pillow under your hips; you can’t help the high moan that escapes, louder, when he drags directly across your g-spot with every thrust. Just like that, you sink against the bed, loose-limbed and pliant in his hold, and let him make your body feel good.

It’s always easy to get lost in it with him—tonight is no different, but it’s more. You can’t stop the gasps and breathy moans that fall from your mouth; not now, not when you’re surrounded by him like this. Even when you turn your head on the pillow and stare to the side, you’re still surrounded by the smell and feel of him. 

You’re aware, distantly, that he’s still holding back, and that he’s still so much stronger than you even know. But even so, he’s rougher than normal, fucking you in long, harsh strokes that jerk you forward each time. It’s not long before his hand slides all the way up from your hip into the back of your hair so he can yank your head back. He leans low over your back to nuzzle his face into your exposed neck, and when he breathes in heavily you realize—holy fuck, he’s smelling you. Your already-pounding heart starts to hammer against your ribs and you rock your hips back to meet his thrusts, and you can’t focus on anything except himhimhim—so ready for him to bite down that it makes you throb around him—

But then he’s slamming in hard once, holding for a few agonizing moments while you squirm against him, seeking friction with a desperate whine—before he’s pulling all the way out with a gasped, “Fuck!” and flipping you onto your back.

It’s urgent, now, the way he shoves the pillow under your hips and tugs you toward him. He shifts forward on his knees between your legs so he can pull your thighs over his, and then he’s leaning forward and burying himself inside again with a groan like even those few seconds were too long to not be inside you.

This new angle forces him to drag insistently across your g-spot with almost every thrust and you know immediately that you won’t last long like this. Your eyes roll back but you can feel his gaze on you anyway, watching while your brows curve in and how your jaw drops open on moans growing louder by the second.

He slows his thrusts into long, smooth rolls so that you’re held steady when he leans down to get his lips on your neck. It’s all you can do to hold onto his shoulders, and when your nails scrape down his back again, he shivers against you with a low moan. 

“Tell me again,” he says, licking at your pulse.

You don’t hesitate. “Do it, please do it, pl—” you cut off in a strangled whimper when he gets one hand in your hair, tugs your head to the side to make room for himself, and bites down.

It’s blindingly, stunningly euphoric. His teeth split the skin of your neck so gently—such a drastic comparison to the way he’s fucking you—and you feel the way he sucks hard over the wounds all the way down into your clit. Your hand flies down to circle frantically over your clit, listening to his heavy breaths and the messy sound of his mouth on your skin, the wet noises his throat makes as he swallows your blood. 

It’s too much, it’s all too much, it’s beautiful and horrible and deep and intense and you’ve never felt anything like this before as he fucks you hard and drinks from you and you love it—but then he licks over the puncture holes and pulls back from your neck to gasp against your collarbone. The holes on your neck ache as they stitch together, and you gasp against the sensation. 

You can tell he’s close by the way he slides both arms up under your back to get a grip on the top of your shoulders and hold you secure against him. He ducks his head and his fangs re-pierce your neck through the half-healed holes—you’re surprised when it hurts more than the first time he bit you a few moments ago. You gasp and squirm against him but his hold on you is tight. He sucks at the holes for a brief moment then presses his tongue against them like he’d only needed a taste, before he drops his forehead against the pillow next to you and slams his hips against yours so hard you can hear it. 

He wastes no time in launching into a brutal rhythm, and with his face down by your ear, you can hear every noise he makes—a breathy gasp when you dig your fingers into his ass to urge on every thrust, a choked moan when you tilt your hips up and clench around him. You turn your head enough that you can get your mouth on his neck, licking over the sheen of sweat there before you bite him back. Your teeth do no damage, of course, but the heartstopping little whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge right there.

He’s never fucked you like this before, so desperate and fevered like he wants to put you through the mattress—and you can’t think, can’t do anything but choke on each breath and dig your nails into his back and scrape them down his sides and shiver at the ragged, guttural edge to his responding groan against your neck. You do it again and his hips twitch; his breaths are coming high and quick and you can feel how close he is, so all you have to do is tilt your head to the side so your bloody throat is bared to him and let a soft, shaky moan out against his ear so he can hear how good he’s making you feel, and that’s it. 

He presses his face into your neck with a choked-off groan, wet and filthy and smothered against your skin. His hands fly down to grip your hips and pull you down on him at the same time his hips jerk forward until he’s so deep it almost hurts—and he holds there, his hips just barely moving as he comes inside you.

Every tiny thrust is punctuated by breathy little moans while he uses you to ride out his orgasm, grinding in slowly like he can’t get close enough to you. Like he would crawl his way inside you if it were possible, if you’d let him, and you’re close—you’re so fucking close with the way he’s still rocking against you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and you’re right on the edge of your orgasm when suddenly his mouth is at your throat again; he chases a trail of blood sliding down your neck with his tongue before his lips close around the wound again and then he bites gently and sucks hard and your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, and you are gone. 

You think maybe you scream a little, because he groans in response and starts thrusting a little harder to fuck you through it. It’s good, it’s so fucking good that right at the peak of it, your vision whites out and you wonder, far off and detached, about what this must do to your blood.

It’s clearly something great, you think dizzily as you start to come down from it all, because he’s still buried against your neck, licking slowly over the blood leaking from the bite.

“Fuck, you have no idea what it tastes like when you come like that,” he rasps, voice wrecked and with a faint whine that would sound like he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way he closes his mouth over the holes and sucks again.

You hum in relaxed satisfaction and bring your arms up around his shoulders, luxuriating in the skin contact and the grounding weight of him. You scratch lightly over the back of his head until he shivers against you. Your skin thrums, lit up and abuzz everywhere you’re touching as you breathe against each other.

After a few moments, his hands trail up from your hips. One gets a hold on one of your wrists from around his neck and pushes it down against the sheets; the other hand rests heavily across your collarbone.

He’s leaning on you just hard enough that breathing starts to take some effort, so you say, “Okay,” and tug on the back of his hair with your free hand.

He doesn’t pull back. You can feel the tip of his tongue working against one of the holes in your neck, dipping in just a bit until the sensation teeters on the edge of queasy pain. You make a strangled little noise but still, he doesn’t pull away from the messy wet heat on your neck. 

“Hey, okay,” you mutter again, tugging harder on his hair and at the back of his neck, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. “Baby please, enough, you—you gotta—” your voice trails off in a weak slur and your grip loosens in his hair. 

He’s been hesitant to bite you while fucking you ever since he drank from you for the very first time, and you wonder maybe if this is why. If this is what he meant when he’s always said, it’s… overwhelming. But you’d meant it when you told him you trust him with this—and even now when your mind wanders and your body thrums lazily while his mouth works at your neck, you still trust him to get himself under control.

After all, this is him. You trust him—you always have. You’ve known him for what feels like a very long time, both before and after he changed into what he is now. You’ve been figuring this out together: what works and what doesn’t, what he needs and how much he can take from you to satiate that need without endangering you. There have been a few moments of trial and error that led to learning where the line crosses over into him taking too much from you. 

You like him like that, though, after those few rare times when he’s accidentally taken too much, leaving you woozy and exhausted. He gets sweet. There’s something protective and reassuring in the way he dotes, and in how he doesn’t let you lift a finger for a day or two after while you recover. He’s always kept himself under enough control before that it has never occurred to you to feel worried around him.

But now, while he’s got one hand flat across your collarbone and the other holding your wrist down to the sheets—now, while his lips work at your throat, the rush of blood so close under your skin as he pulls it from you and rhythmically swallows—now, as you realize you’re a little lightheaded, and wondering, huh, when did that happen? 

Now, a traitorous little flicker of unease settles in your gut.

You push weakly at his shoulder but it does nothing; it’s like he doesn’t even feel it. His hips are still absently grinding against yours like he can’t help it, like despite the fact that he’s half-soft at this point, it hasn’t even occurred to him to stop moving. The hand on your collarbone trails up to grip your jaw, two fingers sliding into your mouth to rest on your tongue and hold your jaw open like a reminder to breathe—or maybe it’s just another way he wants to be inside you. 

His fingers or cock, his tongue or teeth—it’s like he doesn’t know how to hold back from pushing his way inside anyway he can.

A stifled whimper escapes you as he hums into your skin and sucks unhurriedly. He’s holding you tightly, pressed down against the bed. Twisting under his grip does nothing to throw him, and trying to get your wrist free is a useless attempt. He’s strong—you sometimes forget just how inhumanly strong he is, when he usually touches you so delicately, with such control and care. 

Right now, while you’re held down under him, still on his cock and with his teeth in your neck—you are forcefully and viscerally reminded that he is not human. He really could kill you like this, if he decided he wanted to. 

The thought sends a rare jolt of curious fear through your gut. You’re well and truly caught under him—all his to do whatever he wants with. It’s an alarming, confusingly heated realization that has you twitching your hips up to meet his lazy post-orgasm ruts at the same time your heart starts to pound with instinctual panic. 

You wonder distantly if maybe fear does something to your blood too, because only a few heartbeats after the thought crosses your mind, he’s ripping his mouth away from you with a curse and leaning up on his elbows to look down at you with rapidly clearing eyes.

He must see something on your dazed face because he curses under his breath again and his hand comes up to cup your chin. With his thumb on one side of your jaw and his callused index finger on the other side, he gently tilts your chin up and over to expose your neck fully to him. He hums and ducks close to lick flat and warm over the holes in your neck. To heal, not to taste. 

You feel the same strange sensation as every other time—that same tickle of the skin knitting together and the blood flow stopping under the sore, healing skin. He keeps licking at you, cleaning the last of the blood from your skin before pressing a gentle kiss first to what’s left of the wound, then up under your jaw, then leaning up even further to press his lips to yours. You’re still a little faded and sluggish but you kiss back as best you can, and you know that when he pulls away with a soft red smile, you smile back at him with blood on your lips.

Your thoughts are fuzzy around the edges, your vision tunneling on him like he’s magnetized, your mind pleasantly blank as you watch him like you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your mouth again. When he pulls back, he seems a little dazed too in the way his mouth is open and pink, his eyes half-lidded and only half-focused like he’s high on whatever was in your blood.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, an odd plea to his voice. “That was—fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how it would be. I could have—“ he cuts himself off and swallows hard. He ducks to check the healing wound on your neck like he’s making sure it’s still working. “Are you okay?” 

You hum absently. He starts to pull out but you’re quick to tighten your legs around him, holding him close. “Don’t,” you mumble. “‘M okay, just… stay.”

He watches you for a moment before kissing you again. He could easily break your hold on him and pull away, especially with how weakened you are right now, but he doesn’t. He lets you keep him close and returns the favor, holding you tight and rocking his hips to push all the way back inside you. You sigh and settle back against the pillows to bask in the feeling of him holding you down, grounded and safe. 

He leans up onto his elbows and reaches for one of the water bottles he’d lined up on the nightstand, cracking the cap before holding it gently against your mouth for you to drink. The berries from the bowl come next, and after feeding you a few, he settles back over you and sighs.

With his thumb running over your cheek, you drift. 

Maybe it’s the blood loss and two really fucking good orgasms, or the way he’s still inside you, your legs hitched up around his hips while he takes care of you, but your fear is gone as quickly as it started. This is still him. He still looks like himself, tastes like himself, smells and feels and acts like himself. Still in control of himself, even if belatedly. It’s him, and you know you’re safe. 

But in that single moment, that instinctual awareness shifted something aside in your gut. Yes, he is still himself, but that brief flicker of prey instinct was an unexpected, immediate reminder that he is not human. There is something other about him. 

You knew this already, but now you know it. You’ve felt it in the strength of his grip around your wrists  and in the close, fleshy sound of his teeth in your neck.  And, startlingly, it’s intriguing. You are safe with him. You know this in your gut. You have no reason to be afraid of him, but… what if you did? 

Flashes of what-ifs begin to crash through your mind: thoughts of him holding you down with all his strength, letting you thrash and fight against his grip until you’re too exhausted to hold him off from tugging your pants down and using you however he wants; the network of bruises his fingerprints could leave on your throat and arms and thighs, and the way they’d ache deliciously for the next few days; the way his back would look scratched bloody from your nails, and the sounds he might make—guttural growls and savage snarls against your neck as he fucks you like you’re both nothing more than animals.

What it would feel like if he looked at you with eyes red-black with wicked intent and said, run. How your heart would pound as he gave you a thirty-second head start as if you had any chance of outrunning him, as if he knew that the desperation that would build within you in those thirty seconds would flavor your blood so sweetly. 

What it would feel like for him to hunt you down like prey.

It’s like the door to something dark and primal in your brain and your gut is slowly unlocking as you consider the possibilities of what could happen if he leaned into his natural instincts. If he acted like the apex predator he is.

You shiver. He notices and presses a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Your heart’s racing,” he says curiously. “What’re you thinking about?”

And really, how could you ever ask him for something like that?

You file it away to think about more later. For now, you simply squirm against him contentedly and say, “Nothing.”

He leans up on his elbows and says playfully, “I don’t believe that for a second,” but he leaves it alone in favor of giving you your favorite of all his smiles.

It's the big grin that always makes you smile and laugh in response. It’s a cheesy smile, overexaggerated and goofy, but you love it. It’s cute, how he squeezes his eyes shut and his nose scrunches up, but there’s something sweeter about this smile in the way he’s showing you all his teeth, the fangs prominent and obvious. Almost as if it’s to make you laugh as much as it is a show of comfort and gentle vulnerability. It’s an “I trust you to see me” reminder that makes your heart feel huge as your eyes soften on him.

You pull him down again to kiss the smile off his face, and again, you relax into him. Again, and again, and again.

[sky-fire-forever]

Responding to your line that you put in the water for izzyxreader asks —

Maybe reader is super tough all the time, and so they and Izzy bond over repressing feelings and everything, and then Izzy goes through his transformation and healing era and the reader feels abandoned because everyone on this crew is touchy-feely and now they’re all alone in putting mind over emotion

But then they find out some really bad news (maybe they lost a loved one or something) and fall apart at the seams, and Izzy is there to pick up the pieces

Idk

[AN: I try to leave it vague as to what the bad news actually is, so I'll leave it to your imagination! This is my first time writing X Reader fic, so I hope it's any good! Also, I am posting this on mobile, so I apologize for any formatting errors]

FALLING APART [IZZY HANDS X GENDER NEUTRAL READER]

Izzy Hands is the only one on the ship who understands you. Or so you thought.

These days, it doesn't seem like anyone understands you at all. Izzy included.

It used to be you and Izzy against the world. The two of you understood what it means to be pirates: It means bottling up the fear and the sadness and the… all of it. It means facing the world with a brave face despite how you might feel inside.

You both understood that. Once.

Izzy seems to have forgotten. He wears his emotions on his face now. He talks about them. He wears the title of Unicorn with pride. Things that Izzy wouldn't have been caught dead doing once upon a time.

It seems so easy for him now. He sits with the crew, smiles with them, congratulates them on a job well done. He belongs with them.

And all you can do is watch.

You're almost envious of his ability to change, to grow. It was less lonely being an outsider when Izzy was on the outside with you. Now, you just have to look in and watch as he builds this fantasy family. You wonder how much it will hurt him when it comes tumbling down.

"You could join us, you know," Izzy tells you one night as the crew huddles together by the light and you stand on your own. "No point in you drinking all alone."

You scoff and wave him off. "I don't do well with people." It's an old excuse, one you've used for years.

Just as he always has, Izzy sees through it. "You don't need to push them away. They're... not what we thought they were."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Just because you've gone soft doesn't mean we all will."

Izzy looks at you with something like sadness in his eyes. "The invitation's open."

But it wasn't an invitation you could accept.

Not until later, when a letter comes for you.

As you read it, your hands begin to shake. Your vision gets blurry as your eyes fill with tears. Before you know it, your entire body is trembling.

"Fuck," you whisper. "Fuck!" You shout it at the sea, crumpling the letter in your fist and hurling it at the ocean.

You can never catch a break, can you? The world loves punishing you no matter what you do. People like you don't get a happy ending.

That's something you've always known. You're a pirate and pirates' lives are full of bloodshed and misery and death. A happy ending has never been in the cards for you. Hell, you never even expected a happy middle.

You've never seen the point in crying over the shitty hand you've been dealt. Expressing emotions changes nothing, fixes nothing. So what's the point?

But in this moment, you can't hold it all in. You fall to your knees as tears hit your cheeks. You sob so hard you can hardly breathe. The world around you becomes a blur as you begin to cry.

Strong hands come to wrap around you. Your first instinct is to fight, to shove away whoever is offering you comfort. But you're just too tired and weak to bother.

"I've got ya. I've got you, love." Izzy's soothing voice washes over you as he pulls you into his lap. "I'm here."

Not long ago, the idea of Izzy Hands gently holding you as you fall apart would have been laughable. But here you sit, curled up against his chest as he rubs circles into your back.

You hiccup, trying desperately to regain some control over your breathing. "H-Hurts," you whimper through the tears. "Fuck, it hurts."

"I know," Izzy says softly. "I know, love. I know it hurts. Just let it all out, yeah?"

He presses a kiss to your temple and you squeeze your eyes shut. Sob after sob wrecks through you and you're powerless to stop it.

There's a reason you keep your emotions to yourself. Crying is painful and it's weakness and it fucking sucks. Why would you choose it if you could lock it all away instead?

But somehow crying in Izzy's arms doesn't feel quite as bad as you feared. It still fucking hurts, but he holds you through it, whispering gentle assurances all the while.

And when you've finally cried yourself out, a part of you feels… lighter. Like a great burden has been lifted from your shoulders and all it took was falling apart.

"Shit. I'm sorry," you mutter as you wipe your eyes on the back of your sleeve.

"Nothing to apologize for," Izzy says. "How are you feelin'?"

You hesitate before answering. "Better," you admit somewhat grumpily.

He smiles like he knows how much it pains you to admit that crying helped. "It's easier to fall apart when someone will help pick up the pieces." He reaches up to cup your cheek, brushing away a few stray tears with his thumb.

You swallow and if you had any tears left to shed, you're certain you'd start crying all over again.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Izzy and hold him close, burying your face in his neck.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He holds you close like it's easy to do it. Like being there for you isn't the burden you know it must be. "Always, love."

And you believe him.

[wing-dingy]

Remember when I said I wasn't gonna post fanfics? I lied. I'm gonna post just this one as an excuse to have some Johnshi in my life but also because its rare I write a fic that isnt a self indulgent oc fic

This is just a lil fic where Kenshi comforts Johnny after a stunt on set leaves him with an injured ankle, mostly cute banter. Also sorry if the formatting looks weird, i dont normally post fics to tumblr so idk how to space my paragraphs like I do on google docs.

Click. Step. Click. Step.

The Hollywood actor carried himself on his crutches across the room, from the door to his living room couch, where he saw Kenshi waiting in anticipation.

“Honey, I'm home,” Johnny announced in a parody of those old movies, how he loved his dumb movie references.

“Doesn't sound like good news. Are those crutches?” Kenshi asked, judging by the sound and the patterns of the sound. Though he usually relied on Sento for sight, he hardly ever felt the need to in a casual setting, so it rested in the mantle above the fireplace.

“Yeup. Doc says I'll need ‘em for a few weeks, a month at most.”

Kenshi crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch. “Was that stunt still worth it?”

Johnny snorted, “Totally, the shot came out perfect! You may not know this, but I do all of my own stunts. Impresses everybody when I tell them that!” He dropped a small paper bag of his prescribed painkillers on the coffee table and sat next to Kenshi, wincing as he lifted his ankle to rest it on the same table.

“Aren't stuntmen used so the real actors don't get hurt?”

“I mean- yeah. But don't worry, they're just gonna film everything else until I come back, which should be in no time. I'm just built different.”

Kenshi could just hear the cocky smile, causing him to shake his head in disbelief, but he couldn't hold back the small bit of laughter at Johnny’s pride and confidence. “Alright, but it looks like it's my turn to take care of you again.”

“Don't sweat it, Ken doll, I can take care of myself. You've already helped me enough, and you've got yourself to look after,” He noted all too seriously. Obviously there still rested some guilt in his heart over Mileena's rabid attack that day.

“That ankle needs to rest. That movie needs you and you need the money from it.” Undeniable. Johnny was still getting back on his feet (not literally now) after a messy and expensive divorce, he needed whatever work he could get at the moment. “You just let me know when you need something.”

Johnny sighed as he looked down at his injured ankle. These next few weeks were going to be the most boring while of his life.

Kenshi seemed to know Johnny wasn't feeling so good by the sudden quietness, not even a silly request from his offer. When Johnny of all people was quiet, there was a problem. “Johnny? You alright?”

“Yeah… I've just never been good at sitting still and doing nothing, you know? Now I can't even use my own pool in my living room,” He complained, as if having a pool in the living room was a normal thing.

“Come on, Johnny, you still have a whole mansion. Unless your attention span really is that small, you're not gonna get bored,” Kenshi lovingly poked at him. “It’s not like you're alone either.”

Johnny noded with a small smile of comfort. “That's right, I've got you, my best friend, boyfriend, and assigned FBI agent,” Johnny joked. Gods, not again with the assigned FBI agent meme. “And hey, maybe we can invite Kung Lao and Raiden over to hang out. You think Liu Kang would wanna drop by?”

Kenshi gave an amused smirk. “Probably not, but Kung Lao, might.”

Johnny looked down at the table again, spotting a marker. He groaned and wheezed as he leaned over to grab it, trying not to move his ankle off the table as his finger tips barely touched the marker.

“Johnny what are you-” Before he could finish his question, he felt a marker tapping against his hand.

“You wanna be the first to sign my cast?” Johnny offered, trying to play it off cool but his excitement was slipping past in his voice.

“You mean Hollywood’s megastar wants my autograph?” Kenshi teased. He took the marker into his hand, and Johnny guided his hand down to his cast. Confidently, Kenshi began writing his name.

“Not bad writing for someone who can't really see,” Johnny complimented, meaning it obviously and trying to make it sound like that rather than a mockery.

“I still know the motions of writing, that's enough to get by.” Of course Johnny hadn't seen Kenshi's messier writing at his job and maybe it should stay that way.

The real surprise was the small heart he drew right below his own name. Kenshi wasn't so into PDA, nor into cutesy stuff like that, so it caught Johnny off guard to see the small display. It wasn't like people didn't know they were dating, Johnny was way too into showing off their love and too loud to keep that secret, but it was rather that Kenshi was a more subtle lover when it came to their relationship, preferring to keep things behind doors. Still, it was a nice surprise, and at least now it made the cast way better to look at! Of course Johnny was already pulling out his phone to snap a photo of it to post to his socials.

“You're posting your cast, aren't you?” Kenshi reasonably accused.

“Gotta let the fans know production might be on hold.”

“Is that it? Or are you bragging about us again?”

Johnny snickered, meaning Kenshi was right. “Okay, you got me, but how can I not show you off? You're the coolest! A blind swordsman? Dating Hollywood's biggest hit? We're like a power couple!”

If Kenshi still had his eyeballs, he'd be lovingly rolling them, but admittedly it was kind of cute seeing how enthusiastic Johnny was about their relationship- and kind of funny to think about considering they were previously rivals over Sento.

Kenshi leaned in to press a kiss to Johnny's cheek, and he could feel the wrinkles of a smile under his lips. “Looks like you're feeling better about that ankle.”

“As long as I have you by my side, this injury is gonna be a breeze!” Now it was Johnny's turn to lean in, this time leaning to rest his head on Kenshi with closed eyes and a content smile. Kenshi reciprocated by wrapping an arm around Johnny to hold him. “Shit, that medicine they gave me is starting to catch up.”

“You get sleepy off of a couple Tylenols,” Kenshi playfully quipped, making Johnny laugh.

“Just saying it's a good excuse to nap on you! Unless you're gonna tele-fling me to bed again.”

Kenshi shook his head. “Maybe when your ankle isn't as broken. Right here is fine, just keep your ankle up.”

“Sweet,” Johnny happily murmured as he felt himself starting to doze off. Damn, Tylenol really did knock him out.

[corviiids]

THANKS @kimdokjafan you are so kind and generous. ok im cashing in the first of three blank checks to talk about faith trust and pixie dust (most recent chatfic) because the last two directors commentaries were too serious so let's do a silly one.

some p5r spoilers, and this is mostly about sumire, and it's long again. do i need to keep disclaiming that these are long? you should know me by now.

i had this written for a while before i started formatting it because i wasn't really sure if i should post it? i feel like silly chatfic is something people go to for predominantly lighthearted nonsense so i was like, maybe there's too much plot and dramatic misunderstanding and i should just keep this one for myself. but then i was like well nothing matters and maybe someone will have fun with it. it's kind of terrible how much fully or mostly completed fic there is my docs that just doesn't see the light of day lol. write for yourself etc but i like sharing! too bad it comes with the mortifying ordeal etc. anyway that was a tangent

potato counter is a neopets game. there's no deep lore i just like neopets. i guess in this universe ryuji doesn't play neopets? or maybe he's just never played potato counter specifically. i also have a different fic where ryuji DOES play neopets. it's about neopets and ryuji and goro talking on neopets.

i think this might literally be the first time ive written sumi in a fic because i haven't actually written that much fic for royal, like, now that im looking, literally almost none? and none that had a group dynamic. so it was kind of fun to find her voice for the first time in a silly groupchat like this. i was worried people would find her exclamation marks annoying but i personally thought it was endearing so i added it in there.

every time i do a gag where a character corrects their own typo i have to code more stupid little bubbles to make it happen but i think it's worth it. all the effort that goes into making tgis look as much like a real chat as possible

this obviously doesnt take place in the canon p5/r universe, but im imagining sort of a postcanon sumi personality where she's more comfortable being herself and isn't borrowing kasumi's brand of confidence, but she's visibly a really anxious person without that kasumi veneer. i also think in this universe sumire is a fairly recent addition to the friend group, and while everyone likes her a lot and she really likes them, i kind of wanted to emphasise that feeling of being in a friend group where everyone's established and you're sort of a plus-one? you don't really fit yet. part of that is her being new, part of it is her anxiety, part of it is just the kind of person sumi is where she's so polite and self-conscious she ends up taking herself out of things with her own good intentions. stuff like her interrupting the flow of an existing conversation by greeting everyone instead of jumping straight in because she doesn't feel comfortable inserting herself, which means everyone else stops to greet her even though that doesn't normally happen in a friend group, or making a point of thanking everyone for being invited to events while the others take it as a given.

idk i love that she feels a bit out of place with the phantom thieves in p5r. and part of that is a natural consequence of being a new addition in royal who can't be naturally integrated with an existing dynamic but i honestly feel like the writing team realised that and acknowledged it, and really leaned into it, and that made it work incredibly well for me. like, it's part of her character that she's sort of an outsider. it's not like p4g's incredibly clumsy integration of marie and subsequent attempt to shove her down everyone's throat as the canon love interest in p4ga (knife). sumi has that outsider vibe on purpose and it makes me really like her dynamic with the thieves as an individual

goro also feels slightly out of place in these chats, but his conversational style blends more naturally with the other thieves at this point and he even uses their codenames sometimes. i keep saying my chatfic series isn't a real Series because the lore keeps changing, but if we accept that they're all kind of following a General Continuity, assume this takes place some time after the last fic in which ren added goro to the groupchat and they made an effort to integrate him into their friend group. he's kind of there now and has settled into being the weird boyfriend. that's his role.

every time goro says something like "ren and i" assume it's the text equivalent of him talking to the group with his arm around ren's waist.

ok i got really fond of this silly running joke where sumi brings up the weather when she's feeling uncomfortable. she's so polite. i like this thread because setting it up meant i got to tie it off like this:

this just made me happy lol i liked writing this. i tried to use it to demonstrate that despite goro's abrasiveness he obviously knows sumire pretty well, he's attuned to her quirks and knows how to tell when she's having a bad time with her anxiety, so he uses her little weather habit to ground her.

i honestly dont think goro and sumire could be considered close in p5r and as much as i like the "royal trio" in canon they're not really... like... friends? with each other? they're both attached to ren, so it' more a V shape than anything else. but that said, i really LIKE goro and sumi's canon dynamic. he takes a really grouchy but politely attentive supervisory role to her during their few forays into the palace as a trio where he doesn't really know her well but clearly identifies her as a harmless little tryhard who needs some guidance and steps into that role grudgingly, and she immediately looks up to him despite being very wrong footed by his ruthlessness, which i find incredibly charming. i think given time they could be good friends, they just didn't get much chance to know each other very well in canon. so i tried to kinda do that here.

once goro stops being evil and joins the group they all kind of tiredly accept that his role is to occasionally push a cup off a bench while smirking and refuse to clean it up. emotionally, i mean.

wait i need to backtrack chronologically to talk about akeshu.

in this scene they're in the same room lol talking and snickering while typing. im trying to get at that vibe of the annoying couple who is flirting with each other, via you. you know? like ostensibly they're talking to you (sumire) but everything they say to you is part of their stupid game. sumi is incidental to goro and ren teasing each other about flirting with someone else, goro is reporting everything ren says because his boyfriend is so eye-rollingly foolish in a cute way. they're very tickled by how amusing and charming they are. gross. disgusting. sumire im so sorry for putting you through this

anyway here are too many of my favourite jokes from the fic

[aspenicus-is-learning]

This is my late night trick or treat 🎃 do you have any fun ocsar fics to share with us? Definitely never trick or treated here before 🥸

hmmm i think i've seen this costume before... but it's the end of the night and i'm a nice old hag, so here, have some more candy

Oscar! i love oscar. i have no idea what to do with oscar.

my dream is to write some really toxic oscarmark + seb being RANCID. but i'm not yet at a point in my writing where i feel that i can comfortably portray truly bad relationships in a way that feels... right? idk i want to do it justice. like the pullpin fic is like. they're really not good for each other and to each other but both of them are not bad people, really, they're just bad together at this specific time in their lives. but if i were ever to write oscarmark mark would fully be a villain, and it's hard to make someone a truly bad person while still both writing from their pov and having other characters (especially a character as reasonable as oscar) still love them and still think of them as not entirely bad or even good. i think one day i will have the inspiration and skill to do it, but for now, alas, loscar and landoscar must suffice.

but oh. urgggg. they'd be so bad.

otherwise, i have a little oscar fic for you that i also posted here for osctober. it's kind of the shitty candy at the bottom of the bucket, so to speak, but here it is.

the way i format on ao3 is different from how i format in google docs, which is where i have copied previous snippets from, so i'm sorry if it's a little off

Oscar isn't cursed. He doesn't believe in things like that.

Just. Unlucky. 

Unlucky, when he's 12 and his kart's bolts loosen, just a little bit, as he's about to cross the finish line in first.

Unlucky, when he's 1 and a half and his crib breaks under him, and he falls to the cushioned mattress.

Unlucky, when he's 6 and his little locker at school rusts shut in the night.

Unlucky, when he's 9 and his bike breaks under him.

Unlucky, when he's 4 and every light bulb in his bedroom shatters at once.

Unlucky, when he's 16 and a book he's reading comes unbound as he opens it.

Unlucky, when he's 3 and his high chair falls apart when he's placed in it.

Unlucky, when, on the night of his birth, the hospital loses power inexplicably.

And now, just unlucky, when he's 23 and the front wing of his car slides under him, sending him into the barriers and out of consciousness. 

++++

Oscar isn't so much awake as he is aware.

Aware of the metal around him, a cage and a safety net all in one. The halo has saved his life, he distantly realizes. But he's upside down and up against the barriers and the earth.

He thought that the- the unluckiness was gone.

When he'd won FRECA, most of the more... Conspicuous unlucky occurrences had gone away. There had still been all the other small things: any hot drink was always cold, every pen he picked up was spotty and nearly dry, but only in his hands, his shoes came untied within 10 minutes of him tying them, and a hundred other little things that were inconvenient, but never as dangerous as they had been before.

Not like this.

Because with Oscar, mechanical malfunctions were never something explicable. There was no reason that the front wing could have detached in that way, could have slipped under the car as it did. 

His unluckiness was always at the root of it. Mechanics who worked with him for large amounts of time learned that there was no way to anticipate the little issues that Oscar caused. They came, and they had to be fixed, and there was no real way to prevent them. 

This is different. 

When he was 4 and the light bulbs shattered, he was injured. But it would never have killed him. When he was 9 and his bike fell apart as he rode it, he'd only bumped his head and skinned a knee. They were not things that would have ended his life, ever.

But now?

Oscar can feel the blood trickling down his arms, coming from his shoulder. 

He breathes out. 

++++

Oscar wakes up, truly this time, to a hospital room.

The beeping of the machines around him is the first thing he registers, and then the cold white light, and finally the three slumped figures in the corner, sharing two chairs pressed close to make a bench sort of thing. 

One of them, the one Oscar realizes is Logan, seems to be the only one awake. 

He wants to call out, but finds his throat is dry and anyway, he might want a little bit more peace before everyone is worrying over him. Oscar shifts a bit, and pain shoots through his shoulder. But only his shoulder. Small mercy. No pain in his hands, and he clenches them a bit to check for bandages, finding none. He can still drive then, when he gets out of here. 

Logan's head jerks up as the blankets over Oscar rustle, and his face goes first to relief and then to... Anger?

He gets up from where he's sat, jostling the other two a bit, but not enough to wake them, who Oscar can now tell are Lando and... Lewis? Before he can ponder why the 7-time world champion is here in his hospital room, Logan bursts out. "When were you going to tell us you were cursed?!"

Oscar wants to respond, wants to say I'm not cursed and Curses aren't real, what the fuck are you talking about, but he's just a bit overwhelmed by all of this, and the pain and the bright light above. 

Thankfully, Logan seems to realize this and lowers his voice. What he says next still doesn't make any sense, but it's something. "You can't be racing with a curse, Oscar. It's even worse than racing with a broken rib, which you also shouldn't have done, but Oscar..."

Oscar finally speaks, his voice scratchy and thin. "I didn't- Logan, I'm not cursed. I've always been... Unlucky."

"Always?!? Oscar, why haven't you seen a Practitioner? This isn't... It's just a little curse, it's not a life-bind or something strong like that. It's easy to break. Hell, I could break it with some guidance." Literally none of what Logan is telling him makes any sense to Oscar. He isn't cursed. Curses aren't real. And did Logan say he could break it?

"Logan... What do you mean? Curses aren't real," Oscar says, his voice getting stronger as he speaks more. 

Logan stares at him a bit, dumbfounded. At this point, Lewis and Lando have blinked their eyes open, and Lewis gets up and walks to stand by Logan. 

"Oscar... Are you not a witch?" Lewis stares at him a bit, and Lando straightens up in the corner. 

What the fuck is all Oscar can think. "Of course I'm not a witch, witches aren't real."

Lando laughs a bit, from his perch in the corner. "Then what's this, Osc?" He asks, snapping his fingers. The lights go out, just for a moment, until Lando snaps again and they come back on. 

Oscar really doesn't have a response for that. 

While he thinks on how to rationalize this whole situation, Lewis sighs and says. "Let's talk in the hallway."

Okay then. 

He isn't cursed. He isn't. Curses aren't real. 

He's just unlucky. Inexplicably unlucky. Constantly unlucky. Has been all his life. 

It wasn't a curse. It was just how Oscar was.

At least, that is what he has to believe. If that isn't true, then what in his world is? If he is cursed, then did he ever sign his contract with McLaren? If he is cursed, then is any of this real? Is he a Formula 1 driver? 

Before Oscar can follow that logic path anymore, Lewis re-enters the room. Only Lewis though, which seems suspicious to Oscar's mind. 

"So, Oscar," Lewis begins with a tone like someone telling their child that Santa isn't real. "You aren't a witch?"

"No," Oscar says with as much finality as he can muster. Because he's pretty sure he'd know if he was. 

Lewis looks at him for a bit, and Oscar can't help but shift under his gaze. When he speaks again, it is with a placating tone. "Oscar, every Formula 1 driver is a witch. It's always been this way. Normal people... You need a certain amount of luck. A certain kind of luck." The to survive goes unspoken, and Oscar hears it.

"I'm not a witch, Lewis, witches aren't real," Oscar is kind of pleading now, if he admits it to himself. Pleading for this to all be a joke or a dream. 

He sighs. "Oscar, even if you aren't a witch, you are cursed. And that is unforgivably dangerous. And very easy to fix," Lewis pauses a bit. Oscar knows there's a catch. "But you do need to be willing. I can fix it right now, if you let me."

"I am not cursed." Oscar tries again, mostly losing his fight. 

"You need to believe you are to be cured of it," Lewis explains. 

Oscar looks at him. He decides that if this is a dream, he might as well play into it and hope he wakes up. If it's real... "Fine."

++++

It is a few days later when Oscar truly realizes it. 

Logan and Lando bring him coffee. 

Hot coffee. 

It burns his tongue, but in a way that Oscar knows is not just his luck. 

"Oh," He says out loud, a bit in wonder of it all. 

"Yeah, Osc, oh," Lando says, looking at him fondly. Logan snorts. 

[luckynumber-8]

♡ ~ HOBBIT TRAUMAS (AND HOW YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM) ~ ♡ (4 Hobbits X Reader Preference)

a/n: No one would escape an adventure like the Fellowship had unscathed, especially not if you were an innocent, good-hearted, fun-loving hobbit.

My take on the traumas the 4 hobbits would have after the adventure, and how you, reader, help them deal with that.

P.S. -This is my first-ever writing post in Tumblr... and also my first-ever posted fanfic-type-thing! It's just a bunch of headcanons right now - maybe I'll take one of the ideas and turn it into a drabble or something later. Feedback is the best thing ever, and I would love to get any that anybody has!

P.P.S. - Shoutout to @wordbunch, who's LOTR writings I absolutely adore, and whose post formatting I basically used as a cheat sheet, because I'm a totally clueless newbie. So thank you! I hope that wasn't out of line for me to borrow 😕

Frodo

Sometimes he can still feel the crushing weight of the ring pulling on his neck or weighing on his chest, and you catch him absentmindedly rubbing one of these spots

So you, you special person, find some excuse to give him a neck rub or a back rub

Because you absolutely cannot stand seeing him trying to hide his discomfort like this

You know openly calling him out on it will just remind him of all that happened to him, so you have become a Master of Subtlety and Distraction

Whenever you catch him staring into the distance, you know it is Time to Remove Frodo From His Own Head

So

Distractions ensue 

Namely:

Surprise hugs

Randomly launching into stories or rants that you know he won't be able to help listening to 

(Because the sound of your voice is not-so-secretly one of his favorite things and he will listen forever)

Offering to read to him (we all know this is Book Boy, so what better than having his favorite tales read aloud by you?? His favorite narrator??)

You make him cups of tea as he writes his book

When he sees you smiling in the doorway with a mug in one hand and the scent of his favorite leafy brew drifting out of it, it just makes his day because…well, you.

You just think of him too much and he can't handle it lol

Sam

Never

Ever 

Ever

Try to put this poor boy around spiders

Ever

(yes I love this HC, idk who came up with it and I can’t remember where I saw it but it’s basically canon in my bran now)

He cannot stand them, not even in the garden anymore. You can see how he stiffens and twitches every time one of those ugly eight-leggers scuttles across his path and instantly know how much restraint he's using not to kill it on the spot.

Spider in the house? It's all you, Y/N

You know he would try to face it down for you and you alone

But you can't stand seeing him go all cold and shaky at a little garden spider 

So you often remove them before he can even notice because peace in the house is a nice thing to have

He also has alarming levels of self-doubt sometimes because of how he thinks he's misjudged things in the past

But luckily for him, he has you

You are there to support him and are always advocating that he is strong and makes solidly good choices

And you know what? You are his world, so he believes your every word. 

He drinks those affirmations up like there is no tomorrow

And you are happy to continue on as his supplier till the end of days

Merry

Personal HC that when his arm is burned after stabbing the Witch-King, he gets phantom pains not dissimilar to Frodo's

It's almost like nerve damage - he'll be fine one minute and drop whatever he was holding the next, or his hand will start twitching in weird and sometimes disturbing (to him) ways

This is Mr. "Nothing-Bothers-Me-And-I'm-Fine", so naturally, it bothers him quite a bit that one of his appendages refuses to follow orders on a regular basis

It's something that he tries to hide from you - pretends it's not there, BARELY jokes about it.

If Merry Brandybuck ain't joking about it, you aren't either.

Sometimes you hear villagers mentioning it in hushed whispers, and you (badass) shut them up before a single one makes it back to Merry

Because you know that's what he'd do for you, so you absolutely do it for him.

And you know he secretly appreciates that you don't fuss over it, because he doesn't want to feel different or incapable. It helps, for him, that you treat him like just the same person he was before (because he is duh) and nothing has changed and he doesn't want or need to be coddled.

Not saying you do, but you might sometimes give this particular arm a little extra love and affection. Massaging his hand, tracing circles on his wrist, and just letting him know how dead cool you think his scar is.

Because, really…how many people have changed the fate of Middle Earth and have something to prove it?

Your Merry does, that's who. And you'll never let him forget how amazing and brave he is.

Pippin

Pippin is constantly awake in the dead of night

Because he's haunted by wild nightmares 

And you're the first and probably one of the only people he would turn to for comfort

So guess what? You're up too, holding him close to you in the dead of night while he tries to calm down

Sometimes he tells you what the night mare was, sometimes he keeps silent and just wants to lay next to you. You know he'll tell you in his own time if it's right to.

This little hobbit is such an empath, he really took to heart EVERYTHING that happened on his journey

And he thinks that way too many things were exclusively his fault 

Gandalf's death? His fault.

Merry getting hurt (because he got them separated and wasn't there)? His fault.

Boromir's death (because he didn't know how to fight)? His fault.

Again, you know better than to push, but you know the content of a lot of his nightmares revolves around his contributions being insignificant, his actions causing people's injury (or death), and how badly things could have played out because of him. It worries you, how much brainspace he gives to these things.

So you keep him close to you. I mean that both literally and figuratively. He's not shy about taking the physical comfort he needs (honestly I don't think he's aware of the concept of personal space), but he gets tripped up trying to talk about his own feelings

So you just give him his space, all the time he needs, and bottomless snuggles 

Because contrary to what he thinks, a lot of things went right because of him, and you can't tell him enough how much he means to everyone (and you. most importantly, definitely you.)

Thank you for reading, if you made it down this far! I hope to post some actual writing soon, if I can find the time to sit down and put my Writer's Cap on. I am considering opening requests! At this point I don't know who will see this r how it's going to do, so we'll see how things work out :)

[freyafrida]

how certain the journey special DVD bonus features

LOL this is a thing i did on my old blog when i first finished come back home ages ago, and I thought it would be fun to do again :> kind of, different format this time around. more notes and fun facts!

General inspo for this fic: besides, obviously, the desire to write something happy and shippy after reading Rilla of Ingleside, I always go back and forth on Walter's death. There are times when I think it's a little too easy, you know? On the one hand, I get why it had to happen, symbolically, why Walter is the one who has to die: he's the only one who grasps the full scope and horror of the war, who knows what he'd be sacrificing, he's the kindest and most sensitive character, he has the potential to be great and famous, he's the protagonist's favorite brother, etc. Of course he has to die.

ON THE OTHER HAND. Walter's last letter sometimes feels a little too neat to me, too -- life will never be beautiful for him again, so it's better that he dies anyway; he goes out in that "white flame of sacrifice", thinking that at least he has made the world better, that it's worthwhile. And, well. Those of us in the future know that's not really how it worked out.

Even all that aside -- Walter is romantic, otherworldly; the books repeatedly remark that he's not meant for this world or to grow up and do mundane things like get an office job and pay taxes and live to see, idk, space flight and rock music. So...sometimes I think it would be more interesting for Walter to live, to have to adjust to the postwar world, to have to cope with preparing himself to die and thinking at least he doesn't have to live with all he's seen...only to find out that, surprise, he does.

What always interests me about Walter and Una -- about the Blythes and Merediths in general, really -- is that the Meredith kids have a much harsher upbringing than the Blythes, even if the books rarely (if ever?) acknowledge it. Walter talks to Rilla of being happy before the war, with their home and parents; the Blythes' adventures in Rainbow Valley and Anne of Ingleside are all fairly harmless and twee. On the other hand, the Merediths' story in Rainbow Valley is sprinkled with death and hunger and neglect (even if it all gets wrapped up with And Then Rosemary Marries Rev. Meredith and Everything is Fine). Una in particular is very sensitive to the loss of her mother, and moreover she knows things in her house aren't right, that people talk about the Merediths for having a chaotic house and the children never being dressed properly.

So Walter and Una's dynamic interests me on that level! For survived-the-war!Walter/Una, I don't think it's as simple as Una healing Walter through being gentle or whatever. Rather, I think they're simply able to find common ground in knowing the world can be ugly and painful and randomly cruel. Walter doesn't have to hide that from Una the way he might with his sisters and other friends; they can be honest with each other, and that's where their relationship grows from.

This fic owes a lot -- a lot a lot -- to "Keeping Faith" by m_shell and "The Piper" by Una-Blythe! (I'll do a proper fic rec post one day, haha.) "Keeping Faith" is really the Walter/Una fic for me, it's tonally so perfect and gentle and aching. (Fully borrowed Walter's injury from this fic because I couldn't improve on it! I did toy with having him be blind, or having a face injury, but felt I wasn't writing about it convincingly.) I also really liked how Walter in "The Piper" is actually quite bitter, and how he and Una don't end up with ten kids and a perfect family at the end. Big inspiration there. (Also fully borrowed incorporating LMM's other characters into the fic from "The Piper" -- the Blue Castle reference in ch. 19 of Come Back Home came from there!)

Other big influence was weirdly George Mallory?? I read a couple of biographies about him and other 1900s dudes for ~research~ but ended up being particularly interested in Mallory's life (coincidentally, they found the boot of his climbing partner, Sandy Irvine, just this year). That also got me thinking about Walter's legacy, how "The Piper" (the poem) and his fame might impact his life later on. The epilogue was also inspired by interviews with Mallory and Irvine's descendants and how they try to remember their famous great-grandparents/great-uncles later on. (This interview with Mallory's daughter was one of the things I read and found really interesting.)

I think, realistically...if Walter had lived, his fame would probably wane. I don't imagine he would ever write anything quite as timely as "The Piper" ever again. I also think his creative output would probably be sharpest when writing about the war, and he'd end up in a struggle between selling his work to an audience who was generally sick of war poetry, but not being able to write as powerfully about anything else. I think, too, that people would be more enamored of a young soldier who wrote one powerful poem before dying in the war -- someone who lives, writes many other works that are overshadowed by that one poem, and spends the rest of his life being bitter about said war is less romantic. I can imagine Walter also unintentionally suppressing "The Piper"'s fame by refusing to let it be used for things or refusing to recite it. (I did end up referring to "In Flanders Fields" as though it exists in the universe alongside "The Piper" -- if "The Piper" replaces IFF as the big poem of the war, I can imagine IFF's fame overtaking it later in life due to McCrae's death.)

I think, too, that Walter, if he lived, would sort of hold himself back in life. I don't mean for it to come across as disappointment or a negative thing, necessarily, in the fic -- I wanted it to be bittersweet; that yes, he doesn't get all that he wants or dreams of, but he sees giving it up as a way to atone and live with himself. (I think it's totally possible, in another life, that he lives in Jazz Age Paris and is a famous poet and has a bunch of messy, destructive relationships that interest biographers just as much as his work, and he's maybe a better artist for never making peace with himself, but he's also not happy.) He knows what he's capable of, the things he's done. I definitely think he...I don't want to say "committed war crimes" haha, but did some things he wasn't proud of, at the front, not really caring about consequences because he was fully expecting to die. I think he'd sort of -- slightly self-centeredly, because Walter can be selfish -- see his own capacity for violence as symbolic of what led to the war and work to suppress it in himself, in his life. I think having a quiet life, giving love to the people around him, would be again a way of atoning and proving to himself that he's capable of kindness instead of destruction. Postwar Walter fully believes he's the worst person ever like THIS IS THE SKIN OF A KILLER, UNA

Um. What else? Some other fun facts:

Was kicking around the idea of finishing this in 2022-2023 because it was nearly fully 10 years since Come Back Home was finished but I was also like "lol probably won't happen" but then got a v. nice ask from @batrachised and was like "Oh man people are still out here!! I could actually finish it!!" so big thanks there and to everyone who kept reminding me to finish <333333

Really meant to write more Jem in here but he just kept...not being relevant, SORRY JEM.

I got a couple of comments back in the day asking if the fic would save Stripey from being drowned by Bruce and I meant to get to it but couldn't really find room for it. One day, another fic, etc. (I was coming down on the side of still killing Stripey, SORRY STRIPEY, because I think it's such a perfect and tragic encapsulation of the book's certainty that sacrifice is worthwhile, because it has to be, and then you're reading it 100 years later like "oof.")

Walter having a school in Saskatoon named after him actually came out of researching Midnighters fic for the character of Jessica, and seeing that a good chunk of schools in Chicago were named after people with zero connection to the city whatsoever.

Came up with most of the first story in the bath and am wondering if this was harder to write simply because I don't have a bathtub anymore 🤔

i meant to take a photo showing my drafts of come back home and how certain the journey side by side, but can u believe, I LEFT MY WRITING NOTEBOOK AT WORK LOL. Fortunately there's nothing too crazy in there, apart from the reveal that I write fanfic and also some original fiction that probably reveals far more of my psyche than I want it to 😅 so i only have my old-ass notebook from 2012 on hand, NOTEBOOK RETRIEVED! here's how it started (my handwriting was v. v. jank 12 years ago) and the last few things i wrote:

anyway thank you again everyone for entertaining me and this fic all the way until the end i love you all <3333333