#i genuinely wonder if anyone else feels this way. it doesn’t ever seem like it

[soshirohoshinasimp]

"Everyone's falling in love and I'm falling behind"

It always starts the same way: I watch it happen, and with each passing moment, the ache in my chest grows sharper, like a constant pressure I can't shake.

Another group chat. Another flood of photos, captions, and text updates from my friends. Another one of them sharing that they’ve met someone special, or that they've been on a date, or that they’re "officially in a relationship." The words blur together, the images become a haze of happy faces, intertwined hands, and promises of forever, while I sit here staring at my screen, feeling like everyone is moving forward, and I’m the only one standing still.

I’m happy for them, of course. I tell them I am. I send my congratulations, my emojis, do my best to sound genuinely thrilled for their happiness. But inside, there’s a quiet, gnawing feeling—that something is slowly being chipped away, like I’m stuck in the same place while the rest of the world keeps running.

It’s not that I don’t try. I fall in love easily—maybe too easily. It’s one of those things I can’t control. A smile, a laugh, the way someone’s eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, and I’m hooked. I imagine all the little things before I even know their last name—walks in the park, late-night conversations, whispered secrets in the dark. I let myself dream about everything that could be, even though I’m the only one dreaming.

The problem isn’t that I fall too quickly. The problem is that no one ever falls in love with me.

I try not to think about it. I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. But every time another picture of a happy couple pops up, or the group chat explodes with excited updates about how “everything just feels right,” I can’t help but wonder: Why not me?

It’s as if I’m watching from the outside, peering through a foggy window at a life I’ll never belong to. Everyone else has found their someone, their partner, their “person,” while I stand alone at the edge of the crowd, half-smiling, pretending I’m fine, even when it feels like I’m not.

The worst part is that no one means to hurt me. They don’t know how their joy, their shared moments of connection, make me feel like I’m missing something I’ll never find. It’s like they’re all part of a club I can’t seem to get into, no matter how hard I try.

There are times when I catch myself getting too attached—when I start to like someone, a friend, a coworker, maybe just someone who’s kind to me. For a moment, I let myself believe that maybe this time, it’ll be different. This time, maybe they’ll see me the way I see them. But every time, I make the mistake of getting too close, of caring too much, I’m reminded that the love I’m offering isn’t what they want. It’s never what they want.

It’s a strange kind of loneliness, this quiet ache. It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s not a storm—it’s more like a slow drip, a constant reminder that I’m not enough. Not enough to be loved. Not enough to be chosen. Just... not enough.

And still, I hope. Still, I fall again.

I can’t stop myself from falling in love with the idea of love. Even when I know it’s unlikely. Even when I see the signs, when I recognize the patterns. Even when I know I’ll probably get hurt again.

I tell myself it’s okay. I tell myself that I don’t need anyone to complete me. That one day, it’ll happen, that one day, I’ll find someone who looks at me the way I look at them. But with every relationship that starts without me, with every “I’m so in love” post I scroll past, that hope starts to feel more like a dying ember, flickering weaker and weaker until it barely gives off any warmth at all.

Everyone’s falling in love, and I’m falling behind.

I tell myself I’m fine. That I’m strong. That I don’t need anyone else to feel whole. And in the rare moments when the ache doesn’t feel so sharp, I almost believe it. But then another couple announces their engagement, or another friend talks about how perfect their date was, and the ache comes back. A little sharper. A little louder.

I’m happy for them, of course. I’ll always be happy for them. But as I sit there, scrolling through their pictures, their stories, their dreams, I can’t help but wonder: When will it be my turn?

Is it too much to ask for, for a person to give me the love I give out tenfold? Or am i just stuck in my own delusions as usual.

But for now, I’m just waiting. And everyone else is falling in love.

And I’m falling behind.

[wandering-winchesters]

Sleepless Confessions

Summary: In the stillness of the bunker’s kitchen, a sleepless night turns into a tense, unspoken confession between you and Dean Winchester, where vulnerability and unspoken emotions crack through the surface, leaving both of you teetering on the edge of something deeper, unsure if you'll find peace or fall further into the darkness.

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:47 AM, its numbers glowing ominously in the dark. You’ve been staring at it for what feels like hours, counting down the minutes as anxiety claws at your insides, refusing to let you find peace. Your thoughts are racing, a relentless cycle of worries and what-ifs that keep you wide awake despite your body’s desperate need for rest.

You toss and turn, trying to will yourself to sleep, but it’s useless. The weight on your chest only grows heavier, making it impossible to relax. With a frustrated sigh, you throw the covers off and sit up, running a hand through your hair. There’s no point in staying in bed if you’re just going to lie there, suffocating in your own thoughts.

Quietly, you slip out of your room and head down the hallway, your footsteps nearly silent on the cold floor of the bunker. You don’t have a destination in mind—just the need to move, to escape the confines of your own head. Eventually, you find yourself in the kitchen, the dim light from the range hood casting a soft glow over the countertops.

You open the fridge, the cool air brushing against your face as you scan the contents. You’re not really hungry, but maybe a glass of milk or something will help calm your nerves. You’re just reaching for the carton when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Your heart sinks a little when you turn around and see Dean Winchester standing in the doorway. Of course, it’s Dean. Anyone else, and you might have been able to brush them off, but with him… Well, it’s complicated.

He’s wearing his usual sleep attire—a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt—and his hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene, clearly puzzled.

“What’re you doing up?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that breaks the silence. There’s no bite in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

You quickly turn back to the fridge, trying to hide the unease that’s bubbling up inside you. “Couldn’t sleep,” you reply, keeping your voice casual. “Thought I’d grab a drink.”

Dean steps further into the kitchen, his gaze never leaving you. “In the middle of the night?”

You shrug, pulling the carton of milk out and setting it on the counter. “Yeah. It happens.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you pour the milk into a glass. The silence between you stretches on, heavy and awkward, and you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s trying to figure out what’s really going on.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You grab the glass and turn to face him, forcing a small smile. “What about you? Why are you still up?”

Dean leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Same reason as you, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.”

The admission surprises you, and for a moment, you just stare at him. It’s rare for Dean to admit when something’s bothering him, even to Sam. But then again, you’ve noticed the subtle changes in him lately—the little signs of restlessness, the way he’s been more on edge than usual. It’s clear he’s dealing with his own demons, though you doubt he’d ever talk about them openly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your milk. “Seems like neither of us is getting much sleep these days.”

Dean nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. He’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder if he’s going to drop the subject. But then he looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft but serious.

The question hangs in the air, and you suddenly feel exposed, like he’s peeling back the layers you’ve worked so hard to keep in place. You’ve never been good at letting people in, especially not Dean. The way he challenges you, the way he always seems to get under your skin—it’s easier to keep your distance, to maintain the walls that keep your emotions in check.

But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the weight of your sleeplessness pressing down on you, those walls feel fragile, ready to crack at any moment.

“I don’t know,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You immediately regret it, wishing you could take them back. But it’s too late now.

Dean’s expression softens, and for a second, you see something like concern flicker in his eyes. He steps closer, his posture less guarded than usual. “What’s going on, Y/N? You’ve been off lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The last thing you want to do is burden him with your problems. Dean’s got enough on his plate as it is, and the idea of opening up to him—of all people—feels both terrifying and absurd.

But there’s a part of you that wants to. A part that’s tired of carrying it all on your own.

“It’s just… everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like, every time I try to sleep, all these thoughts keep coming at me—things I’ve done, things I’m worried about, stuff that could go wrong… It’s just too much.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his expression. But when he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, almost understanding.

“Yeah. I get that.”

You glance up at him, surprised. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no teasing or sarcasm—just a quiet understanding that catches you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You’re so used to the back-and-forth with Dean, the way you’ve always butted heads, that this softness feels foreign. But it’s also comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

Dean shifts his weight, leaning against the counter next to you. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s oddly grounding, like an anchor in the midst of your spiraling thoughts.

“I get it, Y/N,” he repeats, his tone low and sincere. “It’s not easy to shut that stuff off. Trust me, I’ve been there more times than I can count.”

You look at him, really look at him, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, the lines etched into his skin from years of carrying burdens that no one should have to bear. Dean’s been through hell—literally—and somehow, he’s still standing. If anyone would understand what it’s like to be kept awake by anxiety and fear, it’s him.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice small, almost hopeful.

Dean nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. I don’t talk about it much, but… sometimes, it feels like my brain’s running a marathon. Can’t slow it down, can’t turn it off. And when you’re stuck in that loop, it’s damn near impossible to get any sleep.”

You bite your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. There’s something about hearing him admit that he struggles too, that he’s not as invincible as he seems, that makes you feel a little less alone. Like maybe you’re not as broken as you thought.

“What do you do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “When it gets like that?”

Dean hesitates, glancing away for a moment before answering. “I usually just… keep busy. Work on the car, clean my guns, watch crappy TV. Anything to keep my mind off it. But that’s just me. Sometimes, talking about it helps too. You know, getting it out there instead of letting it fester.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. You’ve never been one to open up, especially not to Dean. But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the night pressing in around you, it doesn’t feel so impossible. It feels… safe, somehow.

“I’ve just been feeling overwhelmed,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “There’s so much going on, and I’m scared I’m going to mess it all up. And then I start thinking about everything that could go wrong, and it just… it feels like too much.”

Dean doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze steady and focused on you. There’s no judgment, no impatience—just a quiet understanding that makes it easier to keep talking.

“And I know it’s stupid,” you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “I know I should just let it go, but I can’t. It’s like my brain won’t stop reminding me of all the ways I could fail, all the mistakes I’ve made, and it keeps me up at night. It’s exhausting, Dean.”

He nods, his expression softening even more. “It’s not stupid, Y/N. We all have those moments. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve stayed up worrying about stuff I can’t control. But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re still standing, and that’s what matters.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that, to have someone acknowledge your struggles and remind you that you’re not alone in them.

“Thanks,” you whisper, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I just… I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Dean gives you a small, almost sad smile. “I get that. I’m not exactly the poster boy for emotional support, but… I’m here. And I mean that, Y/N. If you ever need to talk, or just… not be alone, I’m here.”

It’s a simple offer, but it means the world to you. For so long, you’ve been keeping everyone at arm’s length, afraid to let them see the cracks in your armor. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to do that anymore. Maybe it’s okay to let someone in, to lean on them when things get too heavy.

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I appreciate that, Dean. Really.”

He nods back, and for a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet of the kitchen, the weight of the night pressing down on you both. But this time, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. With Dean there, it feels manageable, like maybe you can get through it.

“Come on,” Dean finally says, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s go back to bed. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words settle over you like a warm blanket. There’s a comfort in the simplicity of his suggestion, in the way he doesn’t push you to confront everything right now. Just one step at a time, one moment of peace in the chaos.

“Yeah,” you agree softly, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Dean gives you a small, reassuring smile, one that reaches his eyes in a way you don’t often see. It’s a glimpse of the man behind the armor, the one who cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.

You set your glass of milk down on the counter, realizing you don’t need it anymore. The anxiety that had you in its grip has loosened its hold, if only just a little. And that’s enough for now.

Dean waits for you, not in a hurry, just letting you move at your own pace. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel like he’s really there for you, not just in words but in action. As you turn to leave the kitchen, he falls into step beside you, his presence a steadying force.

The walk back to your room is quiet, the silence between you companionable rather than tense. The bunker is still, the only sounds the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the floor beneath your feet. It’s late—too late for conversations like this, but somehow, it feels like the perfect time.

When you reach your door, you pause, turning to face Dean. He stops too, his gaze meeting yours with that same steady intensity. There’s something unspoken between you, something that wasn’t there before—an understanding, a connection that feels deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

“Thanks, Dean,” you say again, feeling the need to express your gratitude one more time. “For everything.”

He nods, his expression softening in that way that’s becoming more familiar. “Anytime, Y/N. You know where to find me.”

There’s a moment where you consider saying more, opening up even further, but you decide against it. This is enough for tonight. You’ve taken a step forward, and that’s what matters.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, reaching for the doorknob.

“Goodnight,” Dean replies, his voice low and warm.

You open the door and step inside, but before you close it, you glance back at him one last time. He’s still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression. It’s almost as if he’s making sure you’re really okay before he leaves.

With a small smile, you close the door behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. The bed is still rumpled from your earlier restlessness, but as you crawl back under the covers, it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming anymore. The anxiety is still there, lurking at the edges of your mind, but it’s muted now, softened by the memory of Dean’s words and his presence.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, and this time, sleep doesn’t seem so far out of reach. You know the worries will still be there in the morning, but somehow, it feels like you might be able to face them with a little more strength. After all, you’re not alone in this.

As you drift off, the last thing you think about is the way Dean looked at you—like he really saw you, like he cared. And for the first time in a long time, that thought brings you a sense of peace.

In the hallway, Dean stands for a moment longer, staring at your closed door. There’s a part of him that wants to knock, to make sure you’re really okay, but he knows you need your space. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He’s never been great at this—at connecting with people, at being there for them in the ways that matter. But tonight, he thinks he might have done something right. And that’s a start.

With one last glance at your door, Dean turns and heads down the hall toward his own room. He’s tired, the weight of the day—and the night—settling heavily on his shoulders. But there’s a lightness in his chest, too, a sense of relief that he doesn’t fully understand.

Maybe it’s because, for once, he didn’t push someone away. Maybe it’s because he let himself be there for you, and in doing so, found a little bit of peace for himself too.

When he finally lies down in bed, sleep comes easier than he expected. And as he drifts off, his last thought is of you—of the way you looked at him, of the trust that seemed to pass between you in those quiet moments in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, he’s content to just let it be.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester falls asleep with a sense of hope.

tag list: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz

[wallowslistener]

late night drive. ೨ৎ r. cameron x reader

𐙚˚ rafe cameron x fem!reader. fluff. 0.9k words.

✦ the party’s long over, and you’re settled in the passenger seat of rafe’s truck, headlights cutting through the darkness as he drives. you expected him to take you straight home, but instead, he’s driving aimlessly down empty roads, the silence between you broken only by the soft music playing from the radio. there’s something calm about this moment, an unspoken understanding that neither of you need to fill the silence.

after a few minutes, you glance over at him, catching the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. the casual smirk he wore all night is gone, replaced by an expression that’s harder to read. something distant, weighed down. finally, he lets out a sigh, the kind that seems like it’s been building up for a while.

“i swear… sometimes i just feel like i can’t win,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. he’s not looking at you, his eyes focused straight ahead, but you can feel the intensity in his words. “it’s like everyone already has this… idea of who i’m supposed to be. my dad, my friends… even sarah sometimes.” he pauses, his jaw clenching like he’s holding something back. “they don’t actually know me, you know? they just see what they want.”

you stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt. you’ve never heard rafe talk like this before, and the vulnerability in his voice is almost startling.

“it’s exhausting,” he continues, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wheel. “always trying to live up to what they expect, always feeling like i’m failing them no matter what i do.” he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “you know, sometimes i wonder what would happen if i just… stopped. stopped pretending to be what they want.”

he finally glances over at you, his gaze raw, almost searching, like he’s waiting for you to judge him. but you don’t. you hold his gaze, letting him see that you’re listening, that you’re there.

“maybe you don’t have to be what they want,” you say softly, watching the way his expression shifts. “you can be whoever you actually want to be, even if it means letting go of their expectations.”

he chuckles softly, the sound laced with something vulnerable. “easier said than done.”

“maybe,” you admit, “but maybe you deserve a break from all that pressure.”

the words hang between you, and he relaxes slightly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he glances over at you. “i don’t really… talk about this stuff. but with you…” he trails off, like he’s almost surprised he’s shared so much.

you give him a reassuring smile, reaching out to place a hand on his arm, and he doesn’t pull away. the tension seems to drain from his posture, and he rests his hand over yours, giving it a small, grateful squeeze.

for the rest of the drive, he doesn’t take you home. not yet. instead, he keeps driving, the silence between you both comfortable now, as if sharing this part of himself has somehow made the world just a little lighter for him. and as you watch the road stretch on, you realize it’s these small, unexpected moments that reveal a side of rafe he rarely shows anyone else.

rafe keeps his hand over yours, glancing at you every so often as he drives. the night feels different now, quieter but somehow fuller, like the two of you have slipped into a space where time slows and everything else falls away. he takes another turn, winding through roads without any destination, like he’s not ready for this to end.

after a while, he pulls off onto a side road, finally stopping the truck at a clearing overlooking the water. he turns off the engine, leaving only the hum of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves outside. the moonlight filters in, casting a gentle glow on his face, and he looks at you, his gaze softer, more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen.

“i think… i think maybe i’ve been waiting for someone to just listen,” he says, barely above a whisper, his hand still holding yours. “and for some reason, it’s easy with you.”

the confession hangs between you both, heavy and raw, and it hits you that this version of rafe, the one stripped of all the expectations and masks, is something precious. you squeeze his hand, giving him a small, understanding smile.

“you don’t have to go through this alone, rafe,” you say gently. “i’m here.”

there’s a flicker in his eyes, something like relief mixed with disbelief, like he’s not used to someone sticking around for him without asking for anything in return. his gaze drops to your hand in his, and he takes a shaky breath.

when he looks back up, he’s leaning in just slightly, his eyes searching yours. “i don’t… want this to end,” he says, voice laced with something vulnerable, like he’s afraid to admit it out loud.

“you don’t have to go back yet,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, reassuring him in a way words alone can’t.

he gives you a small, almost shy smile, and with a gentle squeeze of your hand, you both settle into the silence, watching the water glimmer under the moonlight. for once, he doesn’t feel the weight of anyone’s expectations, and as he lets out a deep breath, you realize you’ve given him something he’s rarely had—peace.

[leclsrc]

wait and see ✴︎ cl16

genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear

word count: 2.5k

The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.

auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.

Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”

“Just describe the two of them.”

“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”

—

“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”

You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.

“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”

Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

—

“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”

—

It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.

“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”

“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”

“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”

“Purple!”

“Are you crazy?!”

Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.

An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”

“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.

“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.

They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.

—

“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.

—

Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.

Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”

You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.

“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.

“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”

His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.

Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?

—

“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”

—

“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”

“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”

“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.

Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.

“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.

“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”

“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.

“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”

“Fine. Wait, that?”

“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”

“Okay, bossy.”

Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.

—

“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”

—

Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.

And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.

Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.

“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.

“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”

“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”

So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”

“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”

“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”

You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”

Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.

—

“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”

—

You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.

“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.

“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”

You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.

Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.

“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.

“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)

“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”

You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.

“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.

—

Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”

“Elaborate?”

“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”

—

“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.

You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks.

“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”

“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.

“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.

We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And

Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”

He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”

“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”

“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.

—

Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”

—

It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.

But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.

You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.

“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.

“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”

“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.

“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”

He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.

“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”

“You may,” he whispers.

“Right now?”

“Anytime.”

“So now.”

“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.

“Now is… the best. Now would do.”

“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.

—

“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”

Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.

Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.

[pressureplus]

hello!! can i pls ask for headcanons or a lil story abt sebastian coping with the loss of expendable reader he had relationship with? like they knew eachother long enough and had a lil sum going, and out of the blue reader gets really hurt and dies in sebs arms (doesn’t come back either like how u would in the game, ik some stories follow that) need that angst !!!

(keep up the amazing work also!! i love ur guys stories and hc :3)

Thank you, all of your support means so much to us, we're so happy you guys like our work!

Anyway, here, have a little angst in the form of some Headcannons! I turned the angst on this one aaaall the way up for you by making you not only a lover, but literally the centerpiece of this man's life, he was OBSESSED and COMPLETELY IN LOVE with you to a crippling extent ❤️

Sebastian Solace Grieving Headcannons

Warnings: Death, Grief, a mention of injury as a metaphor, and the light implications of Suicide

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

• When you passed, it didn't feel real to him... It still doesn't.

• You'd been in his arms when it happened, his large, clawed hands clutching you like you were slipping away from him- and you were.

• He had begged you not to leave him here, pleading and bargaining like it might keep the light in your beautiful eyes for a while longer

• But it was to no avail. Now, he is alone.

• He doesn't talk to the expendables anymore, shutting everyone out was the very first thing that he did when he had to wake up in your shared bed by himself that first morning after what had happened

• He knows you wanted him out of here, and it's the only thing that keeps him alive most days

• That and the need to put an end to HADAL the way that it put an end to you.

• He blames the company, yes, and he definitely blames what or who actually killed you, but the rest of that guilt rests on his own shoulders

• "I should have been there... I should have done something to stop it."

• "Why is it I could only cry?"

• "I don't even know what I'm going to do now that you're gone, Y/N..."

• "Please... Please come back?"

• Doesn't see a future for himself anymore, now that he knows what it is to have you in his life, he just doesn't want anything else

• His existence is solely for spite and for vengeance, now, no point in attempting to move on

• Is more aggressive, generally, to an extent he will get hostile with people more often and even become an active threat to anyone that enters the shop without actively purchasing something from him

• The thought he may grow attached to someone again is one that haunts him, he will be having absolutely NONE of that ever again

• He's a broken man

• Sometimes, he dreams that he can hold you the way that he knows you used to like, and he gets to lay in bed when he wakes up remembering how sweet it was to kiss you and how wonderful your laugh used to be

• He'll lay awake and miss you... But the reminiscing is the only time he's even close to happy anymore

• It's an abstract sort of closeness, the comfort he finds in allowing himself to linger in your memory the only real ease that he takes anymore

• It's a fresh wound that he seems to genuinely enjoy leaving to bleed, definitely not a healthy way to brew in his ever growing sorrow

• The long, long months he spends in the Blacksite alone are empty and void of what little life they'd managed to have before. The color in everything is drained out like the hope that he'd managed to hold onto for so long

• When he eventually leaves and leaks the information that actually DOES end up avenging you, he watches HADAL fall to ruin, unable to get their prisoners anymore and unable to continuing to stay upright for it

• Watching that place burn brought him some peace, honestly, but it just wasn't enough. Nothing was ever going to be enough without you

• He only has one thing left to do. He knows there's really only one thing left he can do for you.

• The public will find his body strung over a gravesite with your name on it the very next morning after everything came to it's close on his plans, a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a newspaper with an article on HADAL's corruption on the cover, and whatever little treasures you'd given him over the years in his still, clawed hands

• And for the first time since you left him:

• Sebastian is smiling.

[lucilleslore]

oh lord i love your coryo drabbles so much! especiallyyyy the touch-starved one. i would quite literally die just to be able to read a drabble about coryo slowly falling in love with reader (being an average girl from district 12) over the course of being strangers to friends 🤭

➸ coriolanus arrives in twelve with a dark cloud over his head and a mind full of revenge and envy. he hates that he’s here, hates being surrounded by these people who are so below him, hates that his future is so uncertain.

➸ he’s been plagued by these thoughts for his journey, like a nonstop melody in his head but just as he’s leaving the station he spots you. you’re plain by capitol standards, in a dress that’s a few sizes too small and a little discoloured like you’ve had it for years but you’re smiling and when you see him staring at you, you smile more and offer him a sweet little wave.

➸ his lip curls a little in disgust. he doesn’t want to be approached, he just needs to think on how to get back home, that’s all. but he’s intrigued. so intrigued that when he’s eating his first meal he thinks of you, your name, your life, how that stupid smile of yours made his stomach go funny. when he puts his head down that night he wonders where you could be, if you’re with someone. that’s how easily his obsessions can start.

➸ then he starts to see you around, easily beginning to pick you out of crowds no matter how big. how did he ever think you were plain? compared to everyone else you’re a star, a gem in this dull district. you start to give him something else to think about, to mull over in the quiet moments and as much as he hates these feelings he’s having, he’s grateful for that.

➸ he sees you smiling at everyone. the old people who seem pretty useless to him, the men who go off into the mines everyday, the women who sell their items. what have they done to deserve that from you? the jealousy curdles in his stomach when he realises he wants those smiles to himself, doesn’t even want you to look at anyone apart from him. he’s infatuated with you.

➸ honestly he’s that feral he’d probably start using his peacekeeper status to his advantage. to get information from other people about you. it only feeds his obsession more so after a while he just stops you in the street. pretends something suspicious is going on and asks if you’ve seen anything. this little crease forms between your brows and he resists the urge to reach out and touch it. you’re just so genuine, so sweet, so uncorrupted. he wants you all to himself.

➸ it probably goes on like that for a while. he’s patient and the little snippets are enough for now. he busies himself with getting to know you deeper. watching for your little mannerisms and nervous ticks, figuring out what your real laugh sounds like compared to your fake one. stupid, stupid things. it’s a complete waste of time coryo thinks but he still can’t stop.

➸ he will definitely interfere in your life if he has to. you think you’re going out dancing with that cute guy from the mines? no way. not on his watch. he’ll find some way to keep the guy busy and when coryo sees you looking upset the next day he can’t stop thinking about ways to cheer you up. to get you smiling for him.

➸ there are nights though where he’s dragged out by his bunk mates and sajanus and he sees you there too. dancing with your friends, singing and laughing and in those moments if he could wish for one thing, he’d wish to be in your life - properly.

➸ so watching from afar sustains him for a little while but coryo grows desperate with time. you don’t pay much attention to him anymore, he’s merely faded to the background as he’s become more comfortable in twelve. just another peacekeeper who’s handsome but you’d rather avoid.

➸ then maybe one day you’re walking back to your house with a little woven basket of food and someone’s not watching where they’re going and knocks you down. coryo of course is watching and rushes over, he’s not keen on the idea of playing the knight in shining armour but when he saw you on the muddy ground, dirty dress ridden up to expose a slither of thigh; he just had to help. even more so when the idiot who made you fall and knocked your groceries to the ground just turns and leaves you there. he decides he’ll deal with him later.

➸ you’re embarrassed of course, quickly smoothing your dress back down and offering the hand he gives you to help you up. you’re shy but so, so sweet. telling him how much you appreciate the help, giving his hand a little squeeze before you let go, tucking your hair behind your ear. coryo is perceptive though and sees the small disappointed frown that takes over your features when you see what’s happened to your shopping.

➸ and he can’t have that. so before he knows what he’s doing coryo has a hand at the small of your back, turning you around and offering to replace everything you lost. you complain that it’s not necessary, that he doesn’t have to do that but he’s not listening and he buys you double of everything. just to be safe.

➸ so in your head you have to repay him, right? you manage to do some baking with what you had and the next time you see him you’re handing him a little paper bag filled with some treats and he doesn’t know what to say. it’s small, insignificant but he hasn’t had a gift in a long, long time. he’s speechless and he doesn’t like it.

➸ from then on he finds a way to always take you on your errands. will switch shifts if he has to so he’s got the free time. he likes the way people stare at the two of you. the curiosity that plays on their faces when you take his hand and pull him over to look at something. he notices that about you; that you have this basic, unappealing life in twelve but you’re always finding something to be cheery about. you stupefy him sometimes.

➸ coryo begins to imagine putting you on the train and taking you home with him when he goes. showing you what a real life could look like, the glamour and luxury the capitol could offer. you deserve a life like that, you deserve to be spoiled and taken care of. by him, only him. this is when he really starts his scheming because he needs to find a way to get you out of there.

➸ he starts to get closer to you by always showing up for you. you need walked home? he’s there. if you’re out at night he doesn’t just watch anymore, he’ll come over and tell you how pretty you look. he notices you start to walk extra slow, taking longer routes home and he tries to act like you wanting to spend more time with him doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

➸ coryo definitely starts getting in fights. a lot of them. over you. can’t take it when men’s eyes linger too long, when they look you up and down like you’re their next meal. he dreams of getting you to the capitol, even when banished he’s sure they’d show him more respect than he gets in twelve. for gods sake, the men are like animals. he needs to get you out of there.

➸ there’s one day where you invite him to the lake and you see coryo in a different light. where he can be fun and romantic in his own light. he picks you some wild flowers but proceeds to tell you how ugly they are compared to his roses back home. helps you put together a makeshift meal just to screw his face up and tell you how much better the food back home is. you can tell he’s going somewhere with it, you just don’t know where exactly.

➸ your favourite part is when the two of you get in the water. when coryo is a breath away and droplets of water were hanging from his lashes. when the world was quiet and it was just the two of you. you weren’t as naive as he thought you were. there was times you’d look at him and see right through to the darkness of his core. times when you’d want to shrink back when you’d see the empty, hollow expression on his features. he was different, your coryo; but you were determined to love him all the same.

➸ when your lips brushed his coryo tensed up. unprepared for the way it made him feel. the dizzy rush in his head, the way his stomach was rolling. the simplest form of affection and he could hardly breathe, couldn’t think straight even if someone offered him money.

➸ you pulled back, afraid you’d scared him off and he looks terrified. you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. that smile, coryo thinks as he takes it all in. he’d do anything for that smile. its solidified with that one small kiss that he’ll never let you go. you’re completely and utterly stuck with him <3

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

We Must Know, How Did it End?

“It was tricky, really. Writing songs that come from a place of pain isn’t usually my thing,” Sirius says, plastering a polite smile onto his face. “It’s difficult to describe a feeling that’s so… overwhelming.” 

Peter smiles back, and Sirius can see the empathy etched across his face. 

“Okay, I think we have time for some audience questions,” Pete says, turning to the audience. Sirius follows his gaze to a crew member handing a mic over to a young woman. 

“Hi, uh, hi. I was just wondering if your album is based on your recent breakup? With Remus?” 

His name alone makes the blood freeze in Sirius’ veins. The fan isn’t wrong, his album is essentially all about Remus. It doesn’t stop his heart from stuttering at the mention of Remus. It brings memories that he’s been trying to write out of his system back to the front of his mind. They bring a lump into his throat, and he has to blink harshly to fight back any semblance of a visceral reaction. 

Thankfully, Peter steps in. 

“You know what? Let’s move on. Anyone else?” 

In spite of a few grumblings, the microphone travels further, landing with another fan. 

“Hey. I was just wondering if you ever think that Remus dated you for the fame? I mean, his follower count has doubled since you two-” 

“No, I don’t think that,” Sirius cuts in sharply. Apparently, his need to defend Remus is stronger than his hurt at their breakup. Peter is opening his mouth to speak, probably to move on again, but Sirius isn’t ready to move on. “Of course I don’t think that. Remus’ talent speaks for itself. He doesn’t need me to be his way to break out in the dance world. We might not be together anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is still one of the most genuine people I have ever met. Honestly, his kindness is indescribable. Everything I said while we were together was true. That relationship was the realest thing I’ve ever had, okay? Us breaking up doesn’t diminish that.” 

The whole studio has lapsed into silence, and Sirius is really regretting the way he went about that now. Even Peter’s watching him in shock. Eventually, he seems to remember his own job, clearing his throat and breaking out into a smile. 

“Okay! It’s about time for us to move on…” 

Sirius is pretty sure that he’s been in a trance for the past hour. He doesn’t even remember the trip back to his house. All he knows is that he’s been scrolling through his tagged posts as his manager, Benjy, shouts at him over the phone. 

“This is, without a doubt, the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done!” 

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Sirius grumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Benjy has the ears of a fucking hawk. 

“If you weren’t a public figure, and I wasn’t your fucking PR Manager, I would think it was sweet, Sirius! However, calling your relationship with Remus the realest thing you’ve ever had?! That gives tabloids every opportunity under the sun to call you obsessive!”

“Yeah, well, it needed to be said,” Sirius says decisively. He’s not wrong. In what world could anyone ever see Remus as anything less than kind? Yeah, they haven’t seen the way Remus would hold Sirius through his panic attacks, say the dumbest things just to watch him smile, or the dance. The one Remus dedicated to him. The one Sirius really should delete from his camera roll. 

“God, Sirius, you’re so lucky that I actually like you.” Benjy interrupts his train of thought, thankfully, letting out a groan as Sirius refreshes Instagram for the fifteenth time. “However, now you need to lay low until people forget that this happened.” 

“What? That I defended him? Just because he’s my ex doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to say anything nice about him!” 

“Yes it does. You can’t say anything too bad, or anything too nice. You have to be neutral. Peter was about to gloss past the question, anyway!” Sirius rolls his eyes, grateful that Benjy can’t see him as he goes scrolling again. He’s being called obsessive in countless different ways by news outlets, people who hate him, and people who have decided that his and Remus’ breakup means that it’s time to take sides. As he looks through them, he’s barely even pausing. 

Until he reaches a post with Remus’ face at the front of it. 

As much as he knows that he shouldn’t, he wants to watch it. He’s spent a lot of time watching the videos he promised James that he’d deleted and crying, but those were videos Sirius had filmed himself. They were personal. He hasn’t interacted with anything that Remus has posted publicly. He doesn’t actually want to be a stalker. 

This feels… different. Mostly because this one has his name on it. 

‘REMUS LUPIN BREAKS SILENCE ABOUT EX BOYFRIEND SIRIUS BLACK:’ 

“Yeah, okay, Benjy, I’ll stay silent,” Sirius says quickly, zoning out. 

“Oh, really? Thanks. That was easy-” 

“Okay, bye.” He hangs up before Benjy can say anything else, immediately playing the video. 

It’s from one of Remus’ livestreams. His face is flushed a slight red, like it usually is after rehearsal, sitting on the floor in his studio. Sirius hates how endearing he finds it. He’s just talking, comments rolling in and the radio playing, when Sirius catches the message. It’s just another one calling him a stalker, but it stops Remus in his tracks. 

“Right, you all need to leave Sirius alone,” Remus says decisively. The way his name sits in Sirius’ mouth brings a lump into his throat all over again. He really needs to stop crying over Remus, it’s getting a little sad. Maybe he is obsessive. “He isn’t stalking me. I actually haven’t spoken to him at all. Listen, the- the breakup was amicable, okay? We don’t hate each other, and we really don’t need people taking sides. All he did was defend me, which he didn’t have to do. It was nice of him, yeah, but it doesn’t make him obsessive. He’s just being a good person, he can’t help that.” Sirius smiles to himself, face warming at the compliment. 

Okay, he is obsessed. 

Still, it’s so unbelievably Remus to be so willing to defend him. To immediately assume the best about Sirius. 

Just when Sirius expects the clip to end, a different song starts playing. He recognises it straight away. It’s one from his new album. 

‘ I told the moon about you… ’ 

Remus’ eyes widen at the words. At Sirius ’ words. He never has been any good at hiding the first thought that flits across his face. 

“Sorry, I’m, er… I’ve got to go. Thanks for- for watching, yeah,” Remus says hurriedly. 

That’s when the clip ends. 

For what feels like the thousandth time, Sirius wants to be in the same room as Remus, to have the privilege of finding out exactly what is going on in his head. He wants to press his thumb against the furrow in Remus’ brow and watch his face relax. Christ, he just wants to touch him, really. His forehead, his hand, his shoulders, his waist, anywhere . With a groan, he drops his head into his hands. He’s actually pathetic. James is the only one who’s allowed to hear about this, and Sirius is pretty sure he needs a stern talking to from him right about now. 

There’s a knock at his front door, which Sirius assumes is James. It’s like the man can read his mind. The knocking is a little… frantic, but James is bouncy, it’s not exactly out of the ordinary. 

He walks slowly over to the door, reaching out and pulling it open. 

The moment he catches a glimpse of the familiar amber eyes, every muscle in Sirius’ body freezes. 

Remus. 

He hasn’t seen him in three months. Not since he left Sirius’ house, got on a plane, and didn’t come back. Sirius has spent a countless number of minutes trying to recall every single detail about Remus, looking at photos of the two of them, wishing that he had spent more time etching every line, every freckle, into his brain. He thought he had, really, but he was right in his interview. Remus is indescribable. 

For a moment, they just look at each other, Remus’ mouth slightly ajar as though he hadn’t expected Sirius to open the door. He almost seems like he doesn’t know how he got there. 

Well, until Sirius speaks. 

“M- Remus? What- what are you…?” He trails off, watching the way Remus’ features set to something much more sure. 

“Sirius, I love you,” he says suddenly. They’re words Sirius never expected to hear coming from Remus again. “I’m still in love with you, and I’m tired of pretending that I haven’t regretted every single step that I’ve taken since I left here. I- God, Sirius, I think we made a mistake. I- I know what we said, what we agreed on. It was too difficult with our schedules, we were both being too distant, fighting over little things,” he lists everything like it’s pointless, as Sirius tries to get his brain to fucking wake up and work. “And I get it, Sirius. I really do get it, I understand, but I’d take thousands of fights over- over dishes, or hogging blankets, instead of having to do these months all over again. This is going to sound really sad, and really bloody pathetic, but I’ve watched the videos of you writing songs in my flat more time than I can fucking count since we broke up! You told the moon about me? I know that line. I’d know it anywhere. It’s the one right before I turned the camera off and kissed you. It just made me- I don’t know, I didn’t think hearing it like that would hurt so much.” He seems to be hit with a completely different emotion, some sense of regret, and it’s probably Sirius’ fault, since he doesn’t seem to be able to get his voice to work. He can sing night after night, go on countless talk shows, but apparently this is what it takes to render Sirius speechless. “I know I’m probably overstepping a boundary, and this is really fucking stupid of me, but I- I want to try again.” 

Yeah, the words really aren’t going to come out. He’s going to have to find some other way to tell Remus exactly how he feels. 

“If I didn’t say something I just know that I’d regret it for the rest of my life. So tell me to leave and I will. I’ll turn around and- and I’ll move country. You’ll never have to see me again-” 

He can’t say anything else, because Sirius is kissing him. 

He isn’t even sure when he made the decision to do it. It’s almost like a reflex, the first thing to come naturally to him. 

There’s not a second of regret that comes with it, though. 

Before he can even figure out where he got the idea to do that, Remus’ arms are around Sirius’ waist, pulling him closer and holding him secure, warm, safe . His lips are soft, so familiar that Sirius wants to cry. 

Actually, he is crying. 

Tears start rolling down his face as he pulls away to look at Remus. Thankfully, Remus is crying himself, and somehow also grinning like an idiot, which Sirius can genuinely say is the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege to behold. 

“Oh, my god, I love you, Remus. Moony, I love you so much,” he says quickly, hands reaching to cup Remus’ face. 

“So- you- do you want-?” 

“To start again? Pick up from where we left off? Anything, darling. Anything. I’ll take whatever you can give me, if it means I don’t have to try to move on. You’re not someone I can get over. I’ve tried, and I’m convinced that it’s fucking impossible,” Sirius says, making Remus laugh breathlessly and drag him back into a kiss. Not that Sirius is complaining. He would let Remus drag him anywhere. Remus is his everything. His world. 

Oh, my darling, how could I ever have let you go?

[alexxness]

Beautiful - A Short Fiddauthor FanFic

This was a short fluff I just posted on AO3, but I'm dropping it here as well for you Tumblr writers

Summary: A few days after they met in college, Stanford tells Fiddleford how he used to be ridiculed for his six fingers, and Fiddleford comforts him. (I haven’t written fan fiction in a while, so I apologize if this doesn’t turn out well…)

It has been a long day at college, as usual.

Fiddleford was sitting on the dorm’s desk just finishing some math equations.

Once finished, he looked at Stanford, who was distracted looking at his six fingers.

“You seem distracted… Are you okay?” Fiddleford asked.

Ford takes his eyes away from his fingers, to look at his roommate, who has a concerned look on his face.

“I’ve been better, I guess.” replied the six-fingered, rubbing his hands together in nervousness.

The room stays silent for a bit, just for Stanford to start looking at his hands again.

Fiddleford tries to analyze his friend’s body language, getting up from the desk’s chair, and sitting then in Ford’s bed.

He wanted to ask what was going on, but he didn’t want to intrude on his colleague’s personal life.

“It’s just– Sometimes I feel so out of place, just for looking like this,” Sixer explains, expanding his fingers. “I’ve always been told that I’d never belong anywhere. ‘Six Figured Freak’ people used to call me…”

“Stanford…” McGucket paused. He tried to choose his words very carefully… “You ain’t a freak, whoever those people were, they have no idea what they’re talking about.” 

He paused again. 

“In fact, I think that you’re special, and I genuinely mean it. Look, way before you came into this room, I thought I was going to be all alone like I always was… But ever since you’ve busted in, and made our first theory together, I felt like my life has changed for the better. And hey, I’ve only noticed your six fingers after that. Did it change my thoughts about you? Of course not! You’re amazing, Ford. And don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

Stanford slightly smiles, softly looking at Fiddleford’s eyes.

“I-I— Thank you…” he responded holding one of McGucket’s hands.

The roommates then looked at each other’s hands that were being held together.

Fiddleford softly rubbed his thumb on Sixer's palm, appreciating the beauty of how special his “friend” was.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Shit, I said it out loud.” McGucket was looking like a tomato, embarrassed by the words he just spilled.

“What did you say, Fiddleford?” Ford wondered.

“Nothing, I-I didn’t say anything– Who’s Fiddleford?” awkwardly giggles while crossing his legs.

The six-fingered chuckled, slightly blushing with his roommate’s scene.

Fiddleford covered his face, still from his embarrassment, thinking Ford would make fun of him.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized looking away.

“Wha- No, it’s okay. It’s just– I’ve never taken a compliment like that before.” Ford replied.

He slowly lays his head on Fiddleford’s shoulder.

“I think you’re beautiful too.”

[shotorozu]

HEYYYY i really wanna see a shoto x reader with the HMM HOW DO I SAY THIS the started dating them to see if he could make them fall in love with him/ started dating them as a challenge but ended up falling for them trope WITH A HAPPY ENDING please help 🙏🙏🙏🙏

just a bet

ft. todoroki shouto (bnha)

use of Y/N and L/N, gender neutral reader, quirk’s not specific

bullet form -> full fledged fanfic (basically it’s written in a bullet form but it turns into your standard fanfic format with paragraphs and such)

fluff, angst with happy ending (shouto misinterprets things said)

note(s): i forgor my format so i made a new one 💀 btw i don’t really see shouto dating someone as a bet, but i can’t see any other way to write this request— so i made my own spin and interpretation on it 😁 anaïs from the future here, and i may or may not have gone overboard 😭

»»————-　♡　————-««

todoroki shouto

as mentioned in the notes section, i don’t see shouto as someone that’d date someone as a challenge— to see if they’d fall in love with him and such, or as a bet.

shouto’s not really invested in his love life when it comes to when he’ll find someone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take it seriously.

he saw the domino effect his parents’ failed romance had on his family, and refuses to be in an imbalanced relationship— let alone date someone he isn’t dead set on.

so with that being said, a misinterpretation of words is what triggered the current set of events.

kaminari had noticed that the way shouto looked at you couldn’t be friendly, platonic yearning. whether or not shouto thought he was being obvious of not, or if he even realized it— he definitely had feelings for you.

and it was starting to become excruciating to watch for kaminari— to witness a cool, popular and attractive guy, not date this equally cool, popular, and attractive person he likes.

so then, that’s when it started.

scenario (pt. 1)

hook—

“i bet ¥1,200 that you can’t date L/N, todoroki!”

shouto stops in place, giving kaminari a side eye. “i don’t need ¥1,200. i have more than enough in my pocket money.”

line—

kaminari lets out a sigh, forgetting that todoroki’s pockets hurt. but he doesn’t falter one bit. “i meant that, i bet you can’t confess to them, ‘s all. the money was just a bonus.”

and that’s what really catches his attention. “confess to them about what?” he inquires genuinely, like he was trying to recall if he needed to tell you something regarding this.

kaminari’s eyes dart around, like anyone would be around to witness the absurdly. “that you like them? what else??”

shouto thinks for a moment, and it looks as if he’s trying to recall things from a different perspective. “… have i not been clear?”

“to me, yes. to them.. probably? maybe? most likely no.” kaminari says exasperated, hand now coming up to pat his shoulder. shouto feels stiff as a board under the brief contact. “you’re a popular dude, if they realized then you two would’ve been dating for months now!”

“i don’t think confessing right now is necessary. i believe i’m fine with just staying near them. our friendship.. is quite satisfactory.”

—and sinker.

“so you don’t have any courage to confess? does that mean you’ll just let someone else snatch them up?” after the words left his mouth, shouto makes a significantly obvious pause.

kaminari thinks to himself loudly, “hmm.. i wonder who will it be?” he questions, rhetorically. “should i do it? should class 1-B’s ever so cocky monoma do it? they seem to get along swimmingly. or maaaybe—”

“that won’t be a concern.” shouto coldly cuts in. “because i’ll do it.”

kaminari holds back his smile, instead— replacing it with a shocked expression (which isn’t really fabricated becaus he didn’t think he’d actually fold) “really? woah, i didn’t think that’d change your mind so quick.”

“but then wait, what do i get if you lose?”

“hm, what do you get when i lose..” shouto mimics the question— although its not said as one.

“yeah, we are betting on this, right?”

shouto shakes his head. “then it would be an unfair bet.”

“because i’ve planned on confessing and dating them regardless. i will win.”

and he did in fact go on and win the “bet” by a landslide (if you’d even call it one 😭)

he confessed his feelings— pulling you aside one afternoon after class, heart practically hammering in his chest, and stomach fluttering with butterflies.

and you accepted— which made all the anxiety worth it.

he was the ideal boyfriend. not just because he was tall, equipped with stunning and harmonious facial features with equally stunning manners, but it was also because he was just so good to you, and he allowed you to be so good to him too.

he did things he didn’t even have to do, and it all feels comfortably new even months into the relationship— which made you realize that as unbelievable as it sounds, you’re really dating your crush, todoroki shouto.

you felt so sure of yourself when you’re around him.

and that’s why you reacted so harshly when everything that was built up for months seemingly got demolished in minutes.

the two of you were getting warm drinks, when mineta appeared just a few feet away. “you two make me realize that the train tracks look good to lay down on.” he mumbles bitterly.

you laugh, stirring your drink “really now?” kaminari appears shortly after, agreeing. although he doesn’t look as bitter as your shorter classmate.

mineta perks up at that. “yeep. which makes me wonder.. how long are you going to do this for, todoroki? kaminari already lost, y’know?”

todoroki’s eyes widen at the question, “i don’t.. what?”

kaminari turns his head in mineta’s direction, like he said something of great offense, and was about to say more. “mineta, just don’t man.”

“no no, but i’m like, just super curious y’know?” mineta continues, “like, wasn’t it just a bet for you? how did you two get this far?! this is unfair! i didn’t know it would be that easy to get in a relationship!” your grape haired classmate whines, unable to read the sudden atmosphere change.

kaminari gulps, as you set your mug down.

“what does he mean.” you turn to your dual haired boyfriend, you try to steady your breathing to sound nonchalant, but the slight crack in your voice at the start of your sentence betrays you.

shouto opens his mouth, but it just confirmed it for you when he was a second too late to answer.

“you see—” kaminari scrambles to give an excuse, “it was proposed as a bet, but it wasn’t actually a bet, so technically—”

“that sounds like a bet, dude.”

“mineta—”

“it’s not as it sounds. it wasn’t a bet.” shouto answers, “though.. the circumstances should’ve been different.” he admits regretfully, heterochromatic eyes drifting from your face to your feet, noticing how you shift away from him.

and his body runs cold like a quirk malfunction when you grab your mug— fingertips against the now cool porcelain “i.. i just.. no, nevermind, it’s alright. i’m gonna go now, so..”

you know your face and voice will betray you if you stay longer, so you leave.

and shouto stands there, wondering if he should give you space and watch your figure disappear into the dark hallway, or run after you.

he chooses the later.

scenario (pt. 2)

you heave when you finally reach your room, fingers gripping your mug so hard it might just break. your vision’s starting to blur with tears of all the things you’ve been feeling these last few minutes, which is causing you to drop your dorm room’s key and miss the keyhole several times.

when you get the key in, you turn the lock and almost crumble right in when you feel a warm hand placed on your shoulder. you try not to focus on how it’s grip is firm enough to keep you in place, and blazing with familiarity.

he says your name with desperation, and you open your door more and step into your room to create space— the framing of your doorway practically being an invisible barrier.

“no, just no, i can’t,” you say, feeling pathetic when your face started to become wet with tears. you’re still unbelieving that he’d even do this, but the fact that these few months happened under not so standard circumstances was…

“i thought this was— this was something that’d happen out of those stupid teen movies we’d watch, i thought you’d never— i thought—” you hiccup, bringing a hand up to wipe your face with a hand.

he doesn’t say anything, and just breaks the barrier by stepping in and closing the door, setting your mug down on your desk. he then closes even more distance— the space between his brows creasing as he frowns, looking just as upset as you definitely look.

“when did it start? was it before we became close? was it before you asked me out? who else knew? was it all real—”

“it is real!” his voice booms with volume, clearly panicked that the idea of you thinking that his feelings weren’t real was present.

he settles his hands on your shoulders, an attempt to gather your full attention “it’s.. it’s real. if there’s one thing i’d ask you to trust in right now, it’s this. there’s some things i’d like to clarify.”

“please explain,” you practically plead, “i don’t know what to do with this information. i also.. don’t want to break up with you.”

“if you must come to that,” though he looks at you like he prays it won’t come to that. “it must be under the condition that you’ve hurt me instead. not because i’ve caused you hurt.” he lets go of you to sit down on his knees and at your feet.

“shouto, stand up—”

“i.. it’s true that i didn’t confess normally.” he starts off, ignoring your request. “i’ve liked you ever since we’ve became close friends. the moment i realized it, i assumed i was being obvious about my feelings, but kaminari betted that i wouldn’t have the courage to confess and.. someone would get to you first. i took that as a threat.”

you almost laugh at the idea of a jealous shouto, but you don’t— instead, letting out a strangled cough instead. “but i did not date you just because of a bet. i was challenged, but it was never a bet. it wasn’t a bet because there was no chance i’d never confess.”

you sniffle, bending down to be at his level. he reaches up to wipe his thumbs under your eyes— thumbs grazing at your cheekbones. “did you get anything in return? for winning?”

“i got you. that was all i needed.”

“i see..” you lean closer like you were going to whisper him a secret. but instead, you finally touch shouto by circling your arm around him— one arm wrapped around him, and the other flew to entangle your fingers in contrasting locks of hair.

“my drink became cold.” you mumble, rubbing his back when you feel him shake just as you did earlier.

he wraps strong arms around you, returning the affection.

“i’ll warm it up for you.”

[i-starcreamed]

could i have some angsty/comfort-ish headcanons about a gn reader who doesn’t feel like they deserve praise or affection, and tfp ratchet, knockout + breakdown (poly, if that’s okay), and starscream comforting them?

[ human!reader post includes: TFP Ratchet, Knockout+Breakdown, and Starscream

hii thanks for the request. this might be OOC and a little...idk, I'm not that good with emotions so I generally went with some things that might fit them, hopefully

TFP Ratchet

He's not a bot that's usually too affectionate, so when you express the way you're feeling he may think it's because of him. Very much in disbelief though, how can you feel unworthy of something you very much deserve?

Either way, he understands you need support when you have those moments of self-doubt

Really encourages you to talk about it if you want to, despite his gruff attitude on the exterior, with you, he patiently listens and tries to help you see your strengths and accomplishments

I mean come on, you're unlike anyone he's ever met and his favorite human + his significant other!!

Will pause anything he was doing to spend more time with you and give you the support you need. Preferably holding you near his chest, close to his spark or near his face. Generally lets you just curl up next to him

His reassuring isn't super lovey dovey but it's genuine

TFP Knockout + Breakdown

You get showered in compliments as soon as you're feeling down

Knockout is more direct and might scoff, don't be silly darling?? You're wonderful and both Breakdown and I love you,,

Breakdown agrees and gently picks you up to emphasize their point. He says you're stuck with the both of them and he wouldn't have it any other way

I feel like both of their love languages are pretty much physical affection, whether it's smothering you in robot hugs or simply vibing with you on their shoulder. To hear that you think you don't deserve it, they're in disbelief

Knockout is the busier one, constantly repairing bots in the medbay and such. Breakdown gets sent on missions too, however, they both make time out of their day to spend it with you. Not that they didn't, but they pay extra attention to their actions and make sure you're happy and secure. Insists that they'll do this for you ANYTIME!!

if someone on the Nemesis is making you feel this way, Knockout will make sure they don't wake up from their next appointment will keep you a safe distance away from them with the help of Breakdown

TFP Starscream

Not the most empathetic but he definitely gets how you feel. He probably feels the same way tbh. These are the few times where he actually acts sincere, or at least as much as he can

If you bring it up to him, he'll stay quiet and listen. Honestly, he understands how vulnerable this moment can be and will keep his comments to himself

Insists how you've not only earned his respect, but he's literally in love with you and that means so much already (he actually thinks you're great, brave and so kind to him...pls he thinks does not deserve you)

"You.. deserve all the affection I give you. And I'll make sure you get it, whether you think you deserve it or not." (he does that little awkward smile he did with knockout in that one episode idk)

Certainly isn't the most...graceful with his words but can occasionally say something genuinely sweet ^

Depending on how long you've been together, his physical affection may seem a little awkward or either very intimate. He's either barely figuring out how to hold you close or holds you up to his faceplates, servos carefully shielding you from falling somehow.

Personally he knows these things take time to get over so he reminds you that you're loved and appreciated..in his own ways

Also if these emotions/thoughts stem from someone else's faults...the revenge has already been plotted and is currently in progress

[rrenzwrld]

secreto de amor XI

chapter 11! read chapter 10 here

ever since jean came home you thought things would go back to normal and your feelings you thought you had for connie would subside. but they didn’t. in fact, it seemed as if they got stronger in the midst of his absence around the house because he wasn’t coming around as often as he was before. you didn’t know what changed on his end but today would be the first time you cared enough to find out.

“hey,” jean looked up from his laptop as you walked into his room.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

“did you and connie like…fall out or something? he doesn’t come over like that anymore.”

“no we’re still cool, we just haven’t been talking as much. i hope he’s okay though, why?”

“just wondering, bye.” you left before he could ask you anything else. you had work later on that day but all you could think about was connie. it was like something in you ached for him and his presence and you hated it. you haven’t felt this way about anyone since your ex and you saw how that turned out.

but then you remembered you still had his number so you texted him and got a response immediately.

he was coming over after his shift and you hoped you’d be off work by then but then you had to get your thoughts straight because the only reason you were hoping to be off was to see a man. emotions and feelings genuinely scared you.

but unfortunately connie came by while you were finishing your shift at work so you didn’t get to see him. but you didn’t trip over it because you knew you’d see him some other time even if it was months from now until he showed up at your job while you were closing. you didn’t even remember telling him where you worked or what kind of hours you had.

“wassup.” connie walked in greeting you.

“aye man, we closed.” your coworker announced.

“i’m with her..” connie gestured to you, finishing up your task and walking over to him. from connie’s perspective, he didn’t know if you were happy to see him or not because your face was so unreadable.

“how’d you know what time i got off?”

“jean told me. went to see him today, remember?”

“right right, i forgot.”

“forgot? your memory is actually terrible.” he laughed and earned a playful shove from you in response.

“so you gonna introduce us or keep cupcaking in front of us like kids?” you introduced connie to your coworkers and gathered a great response to him collectively. since you’ve been working at your job for a while, your coworkers were like your friends because you talked to them whenever you had the time in between work tasks about whatever and they did the same to you.

when everyone exited the space for the night, you and connie were conversing by your car.

“i’m sorry for being gone for so long. i hope you didn’t think i was ghosting you or anything.”

“i just assumed you were busy anyway, it’s cool.” you lied. it wasn’t all that cool for you but of course you wasn’t gonna mention that to him.

“why do you do that?” he looked at you inquisitively

“do what?”

“brush off how you really feel. because i know it wasn’t cool that i just stopped talking to you like that.”

you debated on whether or not you should’ve told the truth about how you really felt for a change or if the situation was even serious enough.

“you’re right, it wasn’t cool. plus you stopped talking to jean too and

he—“ connie grabbed your hand, holding it softly like a delicate flower and caressing it with his fingertips.

“this isn’t about jean. you know that.” how he was looking at you really didn’t help your feelings outside to either. even in the dark, slightly brightened up by dimly lit street lights in the area, you could follow connie’s hazel eyes as they roamed you.

“then what is it about?” you pulled you hand away.

“you. how you feel.”

“it doesn’t matter. you’re talking to me now, right?”

“yeah—“

“then there’s nothing more to discuss. i’m just glad you saw jean today, i’m sure it gave him a peace of mind.”

“i’m glad i saw you today.” if you were a few shades lighter, the blush on your cheek would be more than visible.

“good…you going home right?”

“yeah, i was gonna ask if you wanted to come over my place.” you stared blankly at him.

“for what?”

“i don’t know, just to chill out i guess. i know you’ve never been so…” he was right. you barely went anywhere outside of your own space, let alone another man’s house.

you hummed before answering with words. “sure. i’ll follow you out.” a bright smile appeared on connie’s face which made you begin to wonder if there was a reason why he wanted you to come over.

you followed connie to his apartment, got out and went inside. you didn’t know what to expect but you hadn’t expected it to look so neat. even though it was a smaller space fit just enough for him, he didn’t make it look cluttered at all.

“¿te gusta?” he turned to you but you looked at him with confusion because of the spanish.

“what?” he laughed.

“do you like it?” you nodded.

“yeah. cleaner than i expected.” connie was visibly offended.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he crossed his arms.

“i expected you to be messy and unorganized. proved me wrong, i guess.” you shrugged.

“you guess…” connie plopped down on his couch and your body moved to follow him. “you’re so nonchalant. like have you ever given a fuck in your entire life?” no one has ever said anything like that to you before. you’re so used to people saying the opposite so this was a new observation.

“i have. and i’m not nonchalant, i just don’t be having a lot to say.” your voice got quiet towards the end of the sentence as you looked down at your hands.

“i understand. you just seem like you don’t really care for a lot of things.”

“i don’t.” you said bluntly

“but you just said you weren’t nonchalant.”

“that’s different.”

“no it’s not.”

“yes it is.”

“well…do you at least care about me?” connie looked at you as if he was making sure you wouldn’t escape his question, using only his eyes.

“in what way?” you met his gaze.

“any way.”

“any way?” you didn’t know if it was you or connie but your bodies were drawn closer to each other to the point where your nose nearly touched his and you could point out every freckle on his face.

“yeah.”

“i do…” connie’s hand moved up to gently caress your cheek. without even touching the rest of your body, that one movement shot bolts through you. you haven’t felt anything like that in a long time and you wondered how long it would last. why it was happening.

“really?”his voice adopted a softer tone as his face moved closer to yours. “show me.” as if it was on instinct, your lips moved to connect with connie’s. the kiss felt as magical as your first one was supposed to feel but then you realized that you might actually really love connie. more than you’ve ever really loved any man outside of family. his lips were soft like small peaches on his freckled face and his tongue swiped over yours effortlessly, as if any of this was meant to happen. at the time, neither of you had a care in the world and you wanted this moment to last forever but…nothing lasts forever.

“shit..” you picked up your ringing phone to answer jean. connie watched as you had a small conversation with your brother and hoped that you’d have enough balls to tell him you were staying longer instead of feeling guilty about upsetting him. now that he finally had a taste of you, he wasn’t sure he was willing to let it go.

“i’m gonna go…” a pout formed on connie’s face and you instantly felt bad. “jean was bout to worry himself to death when i didn’t call him when i got off. i’m sorry.” you gathered your things and stood up off the couch, walking towards the door with connie following behind.

“i understand, i’ll see you again tomorrow right?” you weren’t too sure.

“i don’t know, connie…” he grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, gazing at you with pleading eyes.

“please?” you playfully rolled your eyes before standing on the tips of your toes to place a kiss on connie’s cheek.

“you’re such a child.”

“love you too. drive safe, text me.” you nodded before getting in lola and driving off.

love?

[mvltisstuff]

so sorry to bother you! how’s summer going so far?

could i request a buck x reader inspired by the song “what was i made for?”, like in particular the lines “im sad again, don’t tell my boyfriend, its not what he’s made for”. i’m struggling with some stuff and this song bring me comfort, i thought that maybe you could combine the two things that make my day less heavy.

if not its completely fine! thank you anyway🫶🏻

what was i made for - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

gif from @housewifebuck <3

a/n: my summers been going well, thank you for asking! i hope your summer is going beautifully, and i hope august brings you the best! the barbie movie actually touched my heart so bad… i hate you greta gerwig (i love you thank you for barbie and little women pls never stop making movies) i kind of made this as my interpretation of the song, but i hope you feel connected to this as well <3 i’m not too sure how i feel about this yet, but i wanted to get something out for you.

bucks filled with glory every day. he walks into a room with a bright smile on his face, making everyone feel safe and loved. y/n loves his lovely grin, savoring every minute she can get with him. the moment she met him on shift, she knew that he was someone incredible.

she works at another station near the 118, and she also lives with buck in his apartment. missing him everyday, she comes home into his arms and everything goes away. he seems so calm, and she doesn’t understand how he does it. all he’s been through, and all he sees on the daily. it’s starting to feel like she could crumble up at work, and it’s formed a new branch of displeasure in her life.

when y/n got her new placement in california, she thought the station would be more of a warm welcome. when she walked in, the masculine energy was almost overwhelming. she didn’t want to get her hopes up, maybe it won’t be that bad after all.

the small comments were what did it. their humbling chuckles afterwards were the cherry on top. they weren’t outright degrading her for her gender, but the hints of misogyny peeked their way through.

it made every single day hell, her not getting to work to her fullest and being held down by the other firemen. she fought to get into the academy, and she worked her ass off every day. she’s as good, if not better, as everyone here, but they’re too blind with ignorance to see it. the worst part is that they seem like genuine people to everyone else. y/n felt like she had to fight to get a grain of respect, but the rest of her team accepts everyone else effortlessly.

she never once thought about this as a teenager, thinking about her dream job. she never imagined that she’d be tied down with ropes over something she could not control. y/n longed for that naivety again. when she could go about her life, not worrying about what anyone else thought. she wore her clothes however she wanted, and it stopped too early. she watched the men around her, and slowly realized that they’re not her friends. reality set in and took its course, slowing her down with the weight of society. she just wishes it could go back to the way it was when she was young and uneducated, and she never realized how quickly it ended.

she doesn’t say a word to buck about her days. she replies with a single word and she lets her boyfriend talk about his day. she’s sure it’s better than his, and there’s a part of her that envies him. their line of work isn’t easy for anyone, but somehow, it looked much easier on her boyfriend than it did for her.

firefighting once was her dream, her passion. now, it was her burden, her chore.

y/n didn’t want to fall into the stereotype of the ‘weak’ women who couldn’t handle the pressure. she stayed, letting herself fall behind as the others moved ahead. every single day was exhausting, and she wondered why she ever was told the saying, ‘you were born to do this’.

the days became monotonous, the same bullshit every day at work and then going home to sleep. it’s insane how words can hurt more than anything else, as they stole more of her energy with every remark and joke. she tried so hard not to let it get to her, but it just wore her out. was it really worth it if she was being treated like this?

buck noticed the changes in her attitude whenever they were to meet up again. he didn’t want to bother her, so he never mentioned it. he was so scared to make it worse. he’s gotten too much backlash from trying to make things better, so he tries to keep more to himself.

it became more visible to him the pain y/n had. she looked disappointed every morning, any mention of work, her face dropped. he never heard good things about where she worked, but he didn’t question it too much.

the five-alarm fire was the day buck finally pieces together the puzzle. he crossed paths with her, stopping to see her as the fire was settling down and was now under control. he had just ran back out, throwing his gear onto the engine and moving over to y/n.

“y/n!” he beams, seeing a corner of her mouth creep up. he was the sunshine in her dreary days, and she couldn’t help but feel a little hope when she saw him. it wasn’t enough of a cover for buck not to notice though. “how are you doing tonight? i think i’m off after this, if you wanna get drinks before going home?”

y/n wants to agree, to see her real friends at the 118, but she has a premonition that she’ll be exhausted anyway.

“sorry, buck,” she sighs. “i’m kind of tired already, and i just wanted to go home tonight.”

“that’s ok,” he tells her, still off about her mood. “hey, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“yeah, why?”

“i just feel like somethings wrong. i don’t want to make you upset but i don’t want you to be hurting alone.”

“i’m not hurting, buck,” she says through laughs, but he sees right through it.

“hey, what’s goi-“

“y/l/n!” her captain yells out. “did you get those files from earlier about the last five alarm?”

“not yet, sir,” she turns. “i was out on a call. i asked derosa to grab them for me before i left.”

her captain turns to face him, who just shrugs and comes up with an excuse. “sorry, cap, i forgot about getting those.”

“don’t worry about it,” he groans. “i told you to get those asap, what have you been doing?”

“i’ve been working, cap,” she replies back to him. it’s a clear answer, no lies or attitude.

“i don’t need the sass, y/l/n,” he sighs, looking down at her. she’s done what she’s asked, she’s saved lives and somehow it’s not enough. “i’ll be expecting those when we get back.”

he walks away, boots stomping and crunching on the cement beneath him. y/n turns back around to buck. “i guess i’ll be in a little after than you.”

“but didn’t the other guy forge-“

“buck, stop,” she tells him. “it’s nothing to worry about.”

“no, it matters to me if they’re not treating you right.”

“i’m being treated fine,”

“he just rolled his eyes at you and let the guys mock you. if derosa said the same thing, he’d be moving on,” buck throws one of his hands up, increasing y/n’s anxiety as he gets more and more upset. he can see it now, what’s been going on. he doesn’t see another woman with the same number on her helmet. y/n tries to deescalate the matter, but buck only wants to persevere and help. he knows he can, and he’s confused why she doesn’t want him too.

“i know what you want to do, but trust me, it only makes things worse. they don’t need to see my boyfriend defending me, it’s just another thing they can throw at me.”

“y/n, please-“

“no, buck!” her voice grows in volume, making her team look at her more. “just… i’ll see you at home, ok?”

he can see the slight shine in her eyes and she shakiness in her hands. he knows she gets like this when she’s anxious, and he feels even worse. he never, ever wanted to make it harder on her, and he can sense that he might’ve. when y/n turns to walk back to her engine, he overhears the little comments again.

“c’mon, y/l/n!” one of the men teases. “do you need a shoulder to cry on, sweetheart?”

“a smile would look nice on you,” another says. buck has no clue what to do. he knows anything he does will just fall onto her lap. he curses that it’s this way, but he knows he has to try and make a change.

he gets settled at home, the late hours of the night settling in. he’d been home for a while, y/n walking in with a folder in her hands and a weakened expression on her face. he stand up instantly, walking over to her and taking her bag to set it down. he lets the silence fill for a moment before speaking again.

“why didn’t you tell me they were like this?”

“you wouldn’t get it, buck.”

“i know that i don’t, but i want to hear you,” he tries to get her to open up, wanting so badly to comfort her through this. the reminders only aggravate her, and she feels guilty for feeling this way toward buck. he’s never done anything wrong, but she feels like everything is on her right now.

“fine,” she drops her phone down on the counter as he sits on one of the barstools. “that’s not even the worst they’ve said. i get shit like that every single day because they’re threatened by me. i have been getting through all my testing to get the hell out of there because it never stops. how i work, how i clean, how i look, if i wear make-up to work, i’m trying too hard, if i don’t wear any, i don’t look professional enough. if i try and intervene to give them the best option, i’m abrasive and bossy. if i don’t say anything, i’m submissive and that’s exactly what they want! i am nothing but a decoration for them. i am treated like a probie when i have probably been working twice as hard to get to where they are. maybe, if i had a dick, they’d say im a hard worker and i’d be praised, but im just a woman. and there is nothing anyone can do about it.”

buck looks into her eyes, seeing them fill with self-pity and hopelessness. he sees the tiredness in her eyes, his heart breaking even more. he fumbled with his fingers, not sure of what to say. “so, i have to help myself. on my own, buck. or the loop will start all over again.”

“i- um, i don’t-,” he mumbles, not really knowing what to say. “im so, so sorry, y/n.”

“you don’t have to be sorry, love,” she says. “i love you more than anything, but i never knew how sick i could get of men being this way.”

buck stands, walking over to her and taking her hands in his. “i want to help you. i’ll never understand what this feels like, but you have to know that i’m here for you.”

“i know, buck,” she smiles a little, starting to disintegrate the pain in her face. “i just didn’t know this was a competition.”

the night moves on, nothing at work changing despite bucks efforts. he texted his whole team, ranting and complaining and being taken aback by the way his sister and hen said, “that’s just how it is sometimes.” y/n pushes through the next few weeks, as well as cramming in any exams she has to move up and out of this station that can’t handle her.

when she’s alerted about a new position at the 118 from a retired firefighter, she knows what she has to do. she knows what she’ll say, but she knows the truth. she is worth more than any of what those men might say to her.

the last shift she has, she packs up her things as everyone leaves their usual stuff in. she has an extra bag, stuffing her belongings that she usually leaves there. “you finally fleeing, y/l/n?” her coworker says, gaining laughs from the rest of the men in the locker rooms.

“they all do, eventually.”

“actually, i got a job somewhere else,” she grins, looking down at them, watching them slip their shoes on as she stands up. they barely look at her, not a care in the world that she’s leaving. she’s reminded of the rankings at the 118, and how all of these firefighters would kill to be working at the highest station around.

“where, dispatch?” one jokes.

“the new lieutenant spot at the 118 is mine,” she tells them, turning heads as she picked up the rest of her stuff and started to head out the door. y/n can sense the jealousy on each of them creeping up. she peeks her head in one last time. “have fun here, firemen.”

as she drives home, she knows she has buck waiting for her. when she walks in, she knows she won. she has one of the highest spots in the city and the most loving man in her arms. buck noticed the change in her, seeing her at work finally content in a workplace free of scrutiny. she feels whole again, knowing that she’s wanted and appreciated here. it’s a family now, and it’s everything she’s wanted.

when buck sees that bright smile that he missed dearly walk back in the front door, he knows that he’s won.

[red-writes]

Enji Todoroki x Reader

Summary: With your marriage arriving so soon, you and shoto needed to gain the approval from his father but with his approval came the old todoroki tradition: the father must sleep with the child’s future partner

Warnings: dub-con/non-con, forced sex, fucked up family dynamics, step-cest (reader is enji’s soon-to-be daughter in law)

Red’s notes: I’ve had this in my drafts for uber long and it’s so fucked up yet so hot I couldn't not share 

You’ve heard little about your soon to be father in law from Shoto. Little hints about him were sprinkled throughout your conversations over the years—but nothing important or noteworthy was ever shared. Having no information about the man you were about to meet was, for the lack of a better word, scary. Enji Todoroki. His name was shroud in mystery. Shoto could go on and on about his mother, brothers and sister. But when it came to his dad, not much was said.

Shoto seemed restless on the drive over. His jaw clenched, thumbs tapping away at the steering wheel. It threw you off, knowing that your usually stoic and calm fiancé was so nervous. Even now as you sat on the couch waiting for your father in law’s arrival his leg was bouncing up and down anxiously. Anxiety was a virus, it spread so easily and infected anyone nearby. Fear that lie dormant in your gut before began to bubble, you could feel the bile rising in your throat as the only door in the room opens.

You heard several pairs of footsteps walk in and your head rose to look at who entered. It was all of the Todoroki siblings. A sigh of relief escaped you as fuyumi, touya and natsuo join you on the couch. 

“Nervous?” fuyumi asks, her face genuinely concerned and you let out a nervous chuckle, “Like you wouldn't believe, Sho doesn't tell me much about my almost father in law so..” 

Touya, who is seated next to Shoto shoves him playfully, “Jesus baby bro, you're scaring my sister in law” he jokes and Shoto says nothing, eyes still planted on the floor. Natsuo mumbles something under his breath before getting up and leaving the room. It seems as if no one else heard with the way fuyumi and touya carry on about how they wish mom could meet you. It seemed like you were the only one who heard Natsuo. 

you should be scared.

The topic of marriage arose and fuyumi casually mentioned how she tied the knot a few years back and touya did as well mere months ago. 

“Is marriage an important family value or something?” you ask fuyumi and she hums thoughtfully, “I wouldn't say that, our family is more traditional than most, before a certain age we must get married” her clarification only makes you more confused. 

“How come Natsuo isn't married then?” you wonder, the room is quiet, the air is stagnant somehow it feels as if gravity is pressing down on your very soul at that moment. 

“He doesn't want to follow tradition.” Shoto states simply. You're turning to face him, you're eager to know more. 

“What could possibly be so frightening about marriage?” You say, voice lighthearted and curious. 

“It’s not tradition he's afraid of, it’s dad” touya says, fuyumi  glares at touya from across the couch and at that very moment the door is opened rather harshly. The handle bangs against the wall and the jarring sound makes you jump. There he is. That monster of a man is standing in the doorway, arms folded in front of his chest as he walks over to where the two couches are settled.

He takes a seat in the one in front of you and the three todoroki siblings stand and bow, you fumble to follow behind them, your bow was late and sloppy while theirs was clearly organized and practiced. Enji Todoroki looks a lot different than you imagined. His hair was short and spiked upwards, blue eyes beady and cold, his frame muscular; outcome of having trained it up for years. 

“Shoto, I’m glad you decided to come, I’ve missed you my son” Enji says, his voice gruff and deep. It sends chills down your spine. 

“Father- there is much I want to say to you..” Shoto begins and Enji allows him to continue speaking, “I simply came here as a formality, I just wanted you to meet her, not for the ritual to take place” he says and you're confused, head turning to Shoto for some answers. 

formality? ritual? 

“If you think you intend to leave here without it taking place, you're mistaken.” Enji says, he stands and walks around the couch, his large hands rest on your shoulders.

“E-excuse me, Mr.Todoroki, what is the ritual?” you squeak out, you're sure if he was in front of you, you'd never have the courage to ask.

“Shoto, what the hell? You didn't even tell her about it before coming here?” Touya says, voice raising at his younger brother.

“I was trying to protect her..” Shoto whispers and that terrifying gut feeling you have is back, it gnaws away at your stomach until it twists into knots, you feel sick.

“The ritual, is one which takes place every todoroki wedding, to truly become a member of the Todoroki household you must become one with the name itself, to do that one must give themselves over completely to that names original owner” Enji says, his hold on your shoulders is released as your mind tries to desperately make sense of the words.

“What..I don't..”

“Put simpler, you must conjugate with me.” 

“Dad please...I love her..” Shoto begs and Enji huffs out an amused puff of air. 

“This is the only way, if you want to be married, then you’ll do as the tradition says”

Enji walks around the couch and stands in front of you, he holds out his hand and you place your smaller one in his, Shoto’s fingers run through his hair and pull on it anxiously. Enji slowly walks with you out the room. He takes you to a room that seems oddly placed compared to the others. You’re confused, you want to find shoto but his grip is so strong it silences any thought of rebellion instantly. He unlocks the door and inside is nothing, the room is completely empty except for a single bed.  

You’re completely unnerved. He let’s you go and shuts the door, he sits on the bed and pats the space next to him, encouraging you to sit. You do.

“Mr.Todoroki...I...I’m scared, what’s going on?” you ask, your eyes glued to your hands that stay perfectly folded in your lap.

“We’re going to have sex” he says straightforwardly and you lift your head slowly, waiting for him to say it’s a joke. But he doesn't.

“But- I’ve alway had plans on saving myself for Shoto...o-on our wedding night, I don’t want to disrespect your traditions but..I won’t have sex with my fiancé's father” you state, voice gaining a little bit of confidence at the end. 

He grips your chin in his hand, your eyes meet his and the look in them makes you want to run and hide, he isn’t a man. He’s a monster. 

“My dear, the moment you stepped foot in my house was the moment you lost your right to choose.” 

A knock on the door makes you jump as the Todoroki siblings file in one by one.  Shoto is last, his hair is messed up as if he’d been pulling on it relentlessly, his eyes are red and his cheeks are visibly wet. 

“Sorry..y/n I’m sorry, but this is the only way” Shoto whispers and he turns around, defacing you as his siblings approach where you're sitting and begin undressing you. Shoto flinches as he hears your screams of struggle and panic. He can feel his heart sinking into the depths of his gut and tears fill his eyes once more. You fight desperately to keep your clothes on but they tear them off of you, leaving you in nothing but underwear. Your eyes begin to water as you cover yourself up with your arms, trying to hide as much as your body as you can. 

“Now now, you should know who I am and what I’m capable of, surely you don’t think hiding yourself with those twigs you call arms will stop me” Enji gloats, narcissistically parading about his own strength. He tears your arms from in front of your chest and pins them above your head. The Todoroki siblings tie your hands with a dark red rope that feels itchy and rough against the skin on your wrists. 

Enji pries open your legs and leans down to be eye level with your pussy. The man’s serious face is enough to still your writing for a bit as he hums. One of his thumbs pulls at the lip of your cunt, exposing more of the sensitive flesh to the man’s beady cerulean eyes. His thumb presses down against your clit and you jump, a soft mewl escaping shamefully from your lips at the sudden touch. 

You hear a thud and see Shoto leaving the room and disgust for yourself fills your gut and all of sudden you could hardly breathe. You in took and exhaled shaky breaths and fuyumi takes a seat on the bed next to your head, she shushes you and pets your head softly. 

“It’ll be okay..shh don't worry” she says in a soft voice with a gentle smile and you look past her with tear filled eyes to see Touya standing against the wall with a hard-on pressing against his pants. 

“Please..help me I-fuyumi please” you beg and she presses a kiss to your forehead. Enji begins rubbing circles over your clit and your hips raise off the bed, against your own will. You shake your head back and forth with small pleas falling from your mouth as the coil of heat tightens in your tummy and just as you’re about to cum he pulls away and you whine. He chuckles, 

“Silly girl, don't you know you're only meant to cum for your husband?” 

You hardly get what he means but even so, the fact that you were going to cum just from having your clit played with a bit by the father of your soon to be husband was extremely humiliating and taboo, extremely taboo. And yet, here you were, cunt slick with your own arousal, pussy clenching anxiously around nothing as the desperation, the need, to be fucked was eating away at your morality.

Enji shuffled out of his pants and suddenly you felt a wave of anxiety pass through you. You peered down from between your legs and saw the monster that was his cock resting between your folds. It was huge. Thick, with veins lining the shaft. The head of his cock was cherry red and angry, it leaked a few drops of pre-cum from the slit and you could feel the bile once again rising in your throat. The previous haze of arousal you had simmered down into a deduction of pure horror. You squirmed. Fat globs of tears and snot running down your face as an attempt to stop what was happening. But your movements were meaningless as he pressed the head of his cock against your weeping cunt and pushed in. You yelled. You screwed your eyes shut as he pushed in until he was fully seated inside of you. It burned and it hurt, felt like being torn apart. You yelled out for Shoto. You screamed his name as his father began roughly fucking you, not minding the calls of his son. 

After a while however, you cried not because of the pain but because of the pleasure. His cock was so thick he had no need for precision because he seemed to hit every spot that managed to melt your mind into a puddle of goo. Shamefully, your cries turned into ones for “Enji! Oh gods! Enji fuck me harder!” and less for your beloved Shoto. 

It felt sinfully good, sex with your fiancé’s father, the thought alone had your cunt squeezing down on the girthy cock like a vice. Your vision was blurring from the tears that began form in your eyes, every thrust he made rocked the bed into the headboard. Slick drooled from your cunt and formed a pool under your ass, the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot with every thrust and you couldn't hold back the desperate plea to cum. Enji hissed as he announced the arrival of his own orgasm. You were teetering on the edge right as he came inside of you, leaving your cunt throbbing and unsatisfied as he pulled out. He stood up with and walked around the bed to untie you. 

He kissed your cheek, 

“Welcome to the family.”

[bachissidehoe]

lovely

chapter 10 of it's classy, not classic [bachisagi]

“One week!” Bachira barges into Isagi’s apartment, no different from how he usually does it.

Isagi stands in front of him, his eyes shifting back and forth, wondering how Bachira continues to remain unfazed by everything that’s happened between them in the past couple days. He shouldn’t be so confused, Bachira is always like this. His dream of playing soccer was ruined and he stopped wallowing and turned it into something new- Isagi would never be that resilient. 

“One week,” Isagi says with a breath, sounding much less excited than Bachira is. “Until you leave.” He finishes. Yeah, he’s definitely not excited about it. 

This one week they have together marks one week left of their fake relationship. Bachira will move back with his mother, out of Tokyo, and away from Isagi. Potentially forever. One week and this will all be over. 

Isagi’s been thinking about it for the past couple days since the art symposium, and he’s come to the conclusion that he doesn’t even think he’s gay or straight. Perhaps he’s Bachira-sexual. When Bachira leaves and Isagi makes the crushing announcement that their relationship has ended, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want anyone else. 

But he’s already been too selfish. 

“Exactly.” Bachira grins, taking Isagi’s hand in his. 

Just the slight touch makes a blush creep across Isagi’s cheeks. It’s not subtle either, because the grin on Bachira’s face only gets bigger. 

“One week for me to do everything I’ve wanted to do with you.” Bachira pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, almost like he wants to pretend like he shouldn’t have said that. 

Isagi gulps. “That’s- true.” 

Bachira’s hands go from Isagi’s wrists to his shoulders, guiding him to the middle of his couch. Isagi messily sits down, now having to look up at a standing Bachira Meguru. 

“You know how fantastic this is?” Bachira leans forward, his hands resting on the back of the couch on either side of Isagi. He’s very close. It always feels like this, so sudden, yet so right, the way those feelings rocket through Isagi’s body and take up every single neuron in his brain. 

“What do you mean?” Isagi rushes through his sentence, saying it almost in a whisper. He doesn’t have to speak much louder than that, his breath is already dancing over Bachira’s pretty lips. 

“You wanna keep doing stuff with me, don’t you?” Bachira asks, though he already knows the answer. It may as well be written across his damn forehead in sharpie marker in big black letters: “PLEASE FUCK ME BACHIRA MEGURU”.

“Well, yeah.” Isagi breathes. 

“We had those few kisses, and then I sucked you off in a dark room, but we have plenty more to do.” Bachira fully stands up, releasing Isagi from the erotic prison he created on Isagi’s own couch. 

Isagi lets out a breath. “Why are you saying it like it’s an assignment?” Isagi mumbles. 

Bachira giggles, then pauses. He turns around, facing Isagi with a gorgeous, genuine smile. “I guess I’m just excited.”

Isagi’s not sure if he’s ever felt this exact feeling before, but he feels like his eyes just turned into glitter and the world around him turned into a sea of butterflies and rainbows circling around Bachira. The only thing he can think at the moment is: “ohmygodhessocuteohhessocuteplease”. 

“You seem pretty excited too, after being pinned to your couch.” Bachira winks, taking a quick glance at Isagi’s crotch area.

Isagi reddens, quickly pulling a throw pillow onto his lap. 

But Bachira’s right, he did like that. He liked getting pushed into the door too. He liked being tossed around a little. 

“I always had a feeling you were more on the submissive side.” Bachira sticks his tongue out. 

“Huh? No way!” Isagi argues. “I was the one who told you to get on your knees, remember that?” He huffs.

“Hm, after I told you to tell me what you want.” 

“But- you were saying that because you needed my direction! You’re the submissive one.” Isagi scrunches his nose. 

“I was being a service top.” Bachira giggles. “By the way, you look so cute when you’re arguing with me about who tops.” 

Isagi squeezes the pillow harder into his lap. Truly, Bachira’s words are enough. “What’s even a service top anyway?” He mumbles, knowing he’s already defeated. The submissive one is the one who gets flustered, the dominant one is the one who does the flustering. 

“Like the opposite of a power bottom. Still in charge, but giving you what you want.” 

“So like…” Isagi breathes. He’s getting quite heavy down there. “The one that puts it in is always the top, right?” Isagi can’t even make eye contact, he’ll probably pass out if he watches Bachira’s lips curl up into that cute little smirk. 

“Not always.” Bachira answers honestly. “But generally, yeah.” 

“But weren’t you-” Isagi takes another breath. “A bottom? Um, before?” 

“Sure, in that relationship.” 

“Then why are you insisting on topping me?”

“Because look at you!” Bachira approaches Isagi again, standing with his legs trapping Isagi’s. He reaches out, lifting his chin with his pointer finger. “You deserve to be topped.” 

Isagi lets out a nervous breath, though it comes out as more of a light whine. He’s absolutely the submissive one. 

Bachira leans in, holding his lips just a few centimeters away from Isagi’s. With a smirk threatening to appear across those perfect, pink lips, he refuses to close the gap. Instead, Bachira prefers to watch Isagi fall apart, to watch his eyes flutter closed with the anticipation of that gap being smothered shut, to watch him push his own head slightly forward, hoping that Bachira will meet him there. Bachira loves watching Isagi open his pleading eyes, only to be met with Bachira’s bottom lip caught between his teeth and zero intention to kiss him. 

“You want me so bad.” Bachira whispers. 

It’s unfair to be in this position, Isagi believes that. He’s frustrated, even embarrassed. And yet, he still finds himself shifting, thanking the throw pillow for concealing his painfully hard erection. He considers simply lurching forward and taking it from him, but in his submissive state, he just can’t bring himself to do it. 

“Yeah.” Isagi admits with a single breath, his eyes half lidded and dark with lust. It’s amazing how Bachira can have this effect with only a single movement, one that doesn’t even result in a simple touch. 

“You like being teased.” Bachira observes. 

As usual, there’s nothing Isagi can hide from the insightful Bachira Meguru. 

“I don't know if I like it.” Isagi grumbles. “But I guess my body does.” 

Bachira reaches down, lacing his fingers into the collar of Isagi’s shirt. The number one soccer player in the world, someone who can go up against any player and win by a landslide, is squashed under the thumb of Bachira Meguru. 

“Megu-” Isagi protests, watching Bachira lean in for what’s likely another tease. Isagi’s heart pounds against the walls of his chest, and once again that hot breath sends him into an erotic hypnosis. “I have to kiss you, sorry, I have to~” 

Isagi uses his own hands, forcing Bachira forward until he loses his balance, falling into Isagi’s lap. The gap closes, finally indulging the striker in a long-awaited kiss. 

Isagi holds onto Bachira for dear life, quickly lacing his fingers in his hair to keep him from pulling away. He’s unapologetically desperate, sloppily licking at his glistening lips. And those noises Bachira makes, those perfect little breaths, they slide over Isagi’s body like a blanket. In no time Bachira figures out his mechanism for control, sliding over top of Isagi and forcing him on his back, never once breaking their kiss. 

There’s the switch that flips when Isagi’s on the field, the one that turns him into a force to be reckoned with, something so different from his normal, kind personality. Isagi expected that a similar switch would flip when in a situation like this, turning him into a dominant lover with a fiery passion. Instead, the switch that flips is a new kind of switch. 

“I need to~” Isagi moans, tugging Bachira’s bottom lip between his teeth. “I need to make you feel good.” He almost whines it. The desperation in his voice is obvious, he’s not attempting to hide those feelings of submission. 

The fire and passion still exist when this switch is flipped, that much is clear, but this is focused on a deep desire to please someone else. Any strong passion Isagi has ever felt has existed for himself only, his need to score goals, to be the best, to take down every opponent that stands in his way. But this one is so much different. 

“That’s good, I was going to ask you to.” Bachira chuckles, pulling his head against Isagi’s tight grip on his messy locks of two-toned hair. “Fuck, I love when you pull my hair.” 

So Isagi pulls it harder, forcing Bachira’s exposed neck toward his lips. Every little inch of Bachira’s skin should be kissed, Isagi believes that with every fiber of his being. Nipping and sucking pretty purple marks into the sensitive skin of his neck isn’t enough. Every inch of him should be covered in hickeys, drooled on, worshiped. 

“People are gonna see that, you know~” Bachira taunts, his eyes snapped shut as Isagi tugs at his shirt with his teeth. 

“They should.” Isagi growls, looking at him with pleading eyes and his shirt caught between his teeth. He looks like a puppy. “Let them know you’re mine.” 

“I wanna feel good, Yoichi~.” Bachira switches gears, sitting up to force his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He smirks, grabbing Isagi by the collar and forcing him upright. 

He reaches for the hem of his shirt, holding eye contact with Isagi as he pulls his shirt over his head, the touch of Bachira’s fingers against his bare skin sending a shiver down Isagi’s spine. Isagi doesn’t miss the shirt, not when Bachira looks him up and down wearing that signature smirk of his, his tongue poking between his sharp teeth. 

“I want you to feel good.” Isagi lurches forward, eager to continue tangling their lips together, potentially until the end of time. 

“Ah-“ Bachira stops him, pressing his hand to Isagi’s bare chest. “Get on your knees.” He directs. “It’s your turn this time.”

Isagi obeys, he has no reason not to. This desire to please Bachira well surpasses his desire to be viewed as dominant. He’d bark for Bachira if he asked.

Bachira slides his bottoms down his perfect thighs, calmly sitting on the couch with his legs on either side of Isagi’s frame. And all Isagi can do is stare, watch as Bachira’s thick cock springs upward, slapping against his stomach, twitching and pulsing with every movement. His tip is plump and eager, a bead of precum situated just inside the slight divot of his hole. And it’s so thick, and long. 

“You’re-“ Isagi gulps, his jaw slacked as he tries to imagine fitting even half of that thing in his little virgin mouth. 

“Go on.” Bachira leans back, resting his arms calmly on the back of the couch, proudly showing off his big dick. 

“So pretty.” Isagi leans down, placing a kiss to his tip. He never thought of describing a dick as pretty before, but Bachira’s somehow fits that description perfectly. “And really fucking big.” He breathes. 

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to fit the whole thing.” Bachira chuckles. “I like a hand on the bottom and a lot of tongue work on the top.” He explains, reaching down to caress Isagi’s face with the back of his hand, almost tauntingly. 

“Okay.” Isagi slowly wraps his fingers around his shaft, reveling in the feeling of a cock in his hand that isn’t his own. It doesn’t feel weird at all, not like he thought it would. It feels- powerful. 

“That’s it~” Bachira sighs, his fingers already lacing themselves in Isagi’s hair, kindly holding his long black bangs away from his face. 

Isagi’s confidence is at an all time high despite this being his first time doing anything like this. When Bachira lets out those little gasps and praises, Isagi can only get more excited, his own cock seated heavy in his boxers, twitching at the thought of pleasuring Bachira like this. 

He swirls his tongue around the tip, recalling what he liked when Bachira did it to him. He replicates motions he assumes would feel good, hollowing out his cheeks to create suction on Bachira’s thick shaft. Every time Bachira makes a noise, Isagi makes a mental note, learning what he likes best in no time at all. All the while, he uses his hand, jerking the base into his mouth like he’s thrusting it into his own throat. 

Bachira’s thighs twitch and tense, squeezing Isagi’s shoulders. His head remains back against the couch, lazily rocking from side to side as he moans for more. 

“I could fuck your throat, make you choke-” Bachira rasps, his voice hoarse and tired. “Aren’t you worried?” He taunts. 

Isagi slides off his cock with a pop of his lips, forcing eye contact with the pretty boy on the couch. Isagi’s lips and chin glisten with his own drool and Bachira’s precum. He’s so messy, unapologetic about it too, with his wet tongue loosely hanging out of his mouth. 

“I don’t think I’d mind it much,” Isagi admits, suddenly taking interest in Bachira’s bare inner thighs. “But you’re really big, and my jaw needs a break.” 

He continues pumping his cock with his hand, spreading his drool over the entire pulsing shaft. But his mouth clamps onto Bachira’s inner thigh, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin. 

“Ah~ fuck~” Bachira gasps, tugging harder on Isagi’s hair in response to the unexpected stimulation.

Isagi can’t help but moan as well, biting and sucking on the exposed skin until he’s sure those pretty thighs are covered in deep purple marks. Every tug on his hair and gasp that escapes from Bachira’s lips is a sign to keep going, to keep pouring everything into pleasing him. His thumb traces over the tip of his cock, forcing those milky clumps of white precum to squeeze through the small hole. 

“That’s- holy shit~” Bachira becomes more vocal with every bite, writhing under Isagi’s touch. “I’m getting- fuck I’m close~” Bachira forces his eyes open, weakly pulling Isagi’s mouth away from his sore thighs. “Need y’to swallow.” He’s much less dominant seeming now that he’s in this position, in fact, it looks like he’s the one begging now. 

This time it’s Isagi smirking, holding that eye contact as he takes the tip back into his mouth, sliding his wet lips down his shaft until Bachira spills his load, his jaw slacked and a string of curses and moans escaping with his thick stream. 

Isagi jumps back in surprise- he did not expect the volume of cum that rocketed down his throat. It surprised him enough to pull off Bachira’s shaft entirely, forcing some of the white substance to dribble out of Isagi’s mouth and down his chin. He swallows the rest, but he’s certainly surprised by the texture. It definitely doesn’t go down as easily as he expected it to. 

But god damn. He can’t help but love it, love the taste, the feeling of it all over his face, the fact that he made him do that. 

Bachira grabs his crumpled shirt and holds it to Isagi’s chin, wiping the drool and cum off his pretty face. “Holy shit.” He breathes with a light chuckle. “I didn’t expect to cum so fast.” 

Isagi tilts his head to the side, watching as Bachira examines the bites on his inner thigh, blooming a sea of beautiful bruises. He traces over them with his fingers. “Nobody’s ever done that before. I didn’t know I liked it so much. It got me close so fast.” 

“Oh, really?” Isagi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, resisting the urge to pounce on top of Bachira and keep leaving little marks just like those pretty ones on his thighs. 

“Fuck. Yeah.” Bachira nods slowly, meeting Isagi’s sparkling blue eyes with his half lidded, post orgasmic gaze. “You’re good at all that.” 

Isagi only stares back, flushed and trying to maintain control over his own body. He sits on his knees, slowly moving to rest his head in Bachira’s lap, hoping that when he recovers he’ll still want to kiss him. 

“Well you deserve a treat after that, hm?” Bachira pets Isagi’s head, his hands still weak from cumming just seconds ago. 

“Really?” Isagi looks up with those puppy dog eyes, Bachira can’t help but want to squeeze him. The best striker in the world, wrapped around his finger. 

“I mean I wanna fuck you.” Bachira chuckles.

Isagi gulps. “I don’t know if that will fit-” He starts nervously. The thought is exciting of course, bent over his own couch with Bachira’s thick cock slamming into him, maybe he’d even jerk him a bit while he fucks him, that would be amazing. But truthfully, Isagi has no idea how feasible that is, and how painful it would be. He’s dazed just imagining it. 

“No way,” Bachira laughs. “Yoichi- you don’t start with a dick. I’ll rip you in half.”

Even that post-orgasm laugh is gorgeous, laced with a little rasp and a hint of tiredness. It makes Isagi want to force his tongue down his throat to coat it in his saliva, maybe that’ll help clear that rasp, or maybe Isagi just wants to keep kissing him. He’s still hard, after all, he hasn’t exactly calmed down like Bachira has after getting sucked off.

“You start with smaller toys.” Bachira explains. 

“Oh, gotcha.” Isagi buries his face into the couch, hoping to prevent Bachira from seeing the redness creep back across his cheeks. 

“And I brought some.” 

Isagi’s head perks up, meeting Bachira’s cute smile and scrunched up nose. 

“Do you want to try?” Bachira asks, standing up and grabbing his bag. “I bought a couple vibrators of different sizes-” He pulls out some still-wrapped dildos. “Figured I’ll work you up until you can take me.” He winks. 

“I-in a week?” Isagi stutters, unable to prevent himself from looking Bachira’s naked body up and down, paying special attention to the budding bruises on his neck and thighs. He looks so pretty like this, with remnants of Isagi all over him. 

“If it works out, it works out, if it doesn’t it doesn’t.” Bachira shrugs. He’s very easy going about this for such an intense person, but Isagi should expect nothing less. Bachira is overall the most kind and caring person he’s ever met, of course he’d be caring more about Isagi’s pleasure than his own. 

Isagi just nods. He’s nervous, but eager. Plus, his cock still pulses heavily in his boxers, he’d be willing to let Bachira do just about anything to get him off at this point. 

“Then to the bedroom we go!” He exclaims, skipping away. 

Isagi can only giggle, that’s just Bachira. Nothing phases him, and no matter what, he’s always his authentic self. Isagi can only hope he’s enough for him, or at least, that he’s been enough for him in the time they’ve spent together. Like Bachira said, they only have one week left. 

But he’ll make the most of it. Even if this is the last week they ever spend together. 

Within minutes, Isagi wishes he’d just swallowed his pride and told Bachira how he felt sooner. He should have told him right after that first kiss, if this was what he’d been missing out on. With his face shoved into his pillow and his ass in the air, taking repeated thrusts from the vibrating dildo. 

He whines and groans into the fluffy cotton of the pillowcase, hoping it swallows enough of the noise to make it sound normal rather than guttural declarations of pleasure. 

“That’s it, see? Not so bad, hm?” Bachira coaxes him through it, his hand wrapped around the base of the dildo, guiding it in and out of his tight little ass. 

Sure, it hurt a little at first, but the second it reached that spot, the pain completely washed away. And this is only the first size, Isagi can surely take more, he wants to take more. At this point, with his cock twitching and pulsing as it slides across the fabric of his bedsheets, he hopes it hurts a little. 

“Can take more- please~” Isagi begs, suddenly unbothered by the prospect of being a bottom. Right now, he’ll be whatever Bachira wants. He’ll be a dog, he’ll put on makeup and dress like a schoolgirl, he’ll-

“We can go up a size, I think.” Bachira speaks in a softer voice than normal, almost teasing in how calm and peaceful he sounds. “You have such a pretty hole.” He places a kiss to Isagi’s back. “So tight, I can’t wait to fuck you myself.” 

“Yeah- fuck.” Isagi whines. “Up a size, but I’m not gonna last.” He says honestly, his body nearly shaking from the feeling of his full balls begging to burst at any moment. 

Bachira takes the next size up, lathering it in a thick layer of lube before poking the tip at his entrance. 

Isagi mumbles into the pillow, trying once again not to be too loud. 

“Do you want it?” Bachira taunts, whispering in his ear, his hot breath sending shivers down Isagi’s spine. 

“Mhm~” Isagi moans. 

“Are you sure?” Bachira continues to tease, clearly back to his normal, devilish self. He loves watching Isagi squirm, knowing he has such an intense effect on him. 

“Please~” Isagi lifts his head up, whispering his plea. 

Bachira leans down further, holding the vibrating tip against Isagi’s ass. “I love it when you beg.” He says, slowly forcing it inside him. 

It doesn’t slide in easily, but Isagi’s okay with that. He loves when it hurts a little, sending painful shocks up through his body only makes his cock twitch harder. There’s something about that pain that makes Bachira excited too, those thrusts only get more forceful when Isagi whines out. 

“M-more-” Isagi chokes on his own breath. “More-more more~” He whines, his fingernails nearly ripping through the sheets as he stuffs his face into the pillow.

Bachira reaches under Isagi’s frame, gripping his desperate cock in his free hand while maintaining control over the vibrator. 

“Ah-!” Isagi gasps, instinctively grinding into Bachira’s hand as the vibrator makes contact with his sweet spot. 

He doesn’t even have time to warn Bachira before he releases, spurts of hot cum shooting into the blank canvas of the mattress, decorating it with creamy white strings. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever felt, with his ass squeezing tight around the vibrator and Bachira’s hand squeezing tightly around his cock. He feels lightheaded, breathless, desperate to hold onto the feeling. 

“Fuck-” Bachira reacts, slowing his hand, feeling Isagi’s cum drip down and ripple through between his fingers. 

Isagi can’t even hear himself as he rides out his high, his brain foggy with the feeling of ecstasy coursing through him. But Bachira can certainly hear him, whining and mewling like an animal in heat. If Isagi wasn’t so new to all of this- he’d flip him over and fuck him right now. But compared to the 3 inch vibrator that Isagi’s puckered hole is already so tightly wrapped around- Bachira would still rip him apart. 

Instead, he lays him down in the puddle of his own cum, slowly removing the vibrator and wiping him clean, softly kissing his chest, raking his fingers through Isagi’s messy hair. 

“Is that what I’ve missed?” Isagi speaks after what feels like ages of Bachira watching his chest sputter as it rises and falls. 

“Mhmmmm~” Bachira hums. “You’re awfully desperate.” 

“I feel so exhausted but I feel like I want more too.” Isagi grumbles. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.” He says after another moment. The post orgasmic state fills him with a feeling of appreciation and sentiment, like he just wants to float on a sea of flowers. 

“This is for me too.” Bachira snickers. “We’ve got the whole week still.” He lays next to Isagi on the pillow, his hands behind his head, strategically lacing his thighs between Isagi’s. 

“Right.” Isagi says, his feeling of ecstasy suddenly being overcome with a feeling of sentiment, even disappointment. “The week.” 

They could lay there for ages, and maybe they should, but the world still moves forward. Isagi still has practice, Bachira still has meetings. They have to work, and eat, and sleep- though in this moment Isagi feels like Bachira’s presence counts as basic human needs. 

He shouldn’t tell him he loves him. 

He can’t tell him that. 

“I should shower.” Isagi says instead, finally finding the strength to sit up, looking over his shoulder at Bachira, dressed only in his boxers with his hair messily spread across the pillow he rests his head on. All those marks are forming into lovely purple bruises. It makes him look even more beautiful. 

“Okay.” Bachira smiles. A genuine one. 

And that’s enough. It has to be.

[vrisrezis]

Rocket raccoon hcs . Just kinda . Interactions and stuff I guess I’m not sure? I just would like to see how rocket interacts with his partner LOL

OK I TRIED IM NOT GOOD WITH DIALOGUE BUT I LOVE SEEING LIKE .. IN CHARACTER DIALOGUE IN FICS SO !! Also . These r just little interactions between the two in random scenarios lol

- You groan as you look inside your bag, “rocket what the hell?!” “What?! What’d I do?” “You know what you did why the hell is there a prosthetic eye in my bag?!” And then all of a sudden, rocket no longer seems pissed your once again accusing him of something he didn’t do, he starts howling with laughter. “Oh my fucking god is that why those crazy assholes were shooting at us?!” “Yes- ah-HAHAHA” he laughs even louder, doubling over and holding his stomach. “It was funny, right?!” “God I’m going to actually kill you.”

- “you cannot seriously be on Gamora side! Cmon!” “Don’t Cmon me rocket. You and quill could’ve gotten us killed because your egos are so fucking huge.” You sigh, “and!! You stole some fucking battery’s we don’t even need!” your ears flop down in a manner that seems more sad, rather than angry. “Why don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

- “what is that?” “A bomb.” “Oh. Okay.” you shrug, walking off as quill raises a brow at you. “What?” “You’re just gonna say ‘oh okay’ to a freakin bomb!” “Not a big deal quill” rocket says, tinkering with something else entirely. “It is!!!”

- “merryyyy christmasss my beloveddd!” You sang in a singsong voice, that maybe was a little too cheerful for your boyfriends liking. He rolls his eyes, “thanks hun,” he says with a smile, and although it sounds sarcastic you know it’s genuine. “But never do that shit again.” he says with now with a frown on his features.

- “so your dating this little rabbit?” the Norse god questions you, and you shrug. “I guess so” “you guess so?! The hell!” “Well, you still haven’t kissed me yet!” Rocket looks at you completely exasperated.

- “why don’t we ask the captain… oh wait! It’s me!” “Psh! Hahahaha!” “Babe Cmon don’t laugh! Do not laugh!”

- “wow. I’ve known you for like.. 10 years and you still can’t dance.” You said with a cocky grin, something the male was not used to seeing on your face. “Oh Cmon, give me a break.” “No way dude, I gave you 10 whole years to get your shit together.”

- “it’s not like I like you!” “Uh huh, sure rocket!” “I do not! I did not save you because I like you, I saved you because your useful and quill would be mad at me. I don’t feel like dealing with his shit today!” “Keep telling yourself that.”

- rocket was just starting up the ship. Ready to take off. He told you, if you ever needed him, he’s one call away. But for emergencies only. He won’t be gone long. Two days, tops. Super important mission he needed to go on. You call him, and he looks down wondering what the hell you could possibly need before he’s even taken off yet. “Hey.. something wrong?” “Yes.” You say as a matter a factly. “I miss you.” “Oh for the love of-”

- rocket laughs right in your face. “Holy shit! You’re jealous” your eyes widen and you puff your cheeks in embarrassment. “That’s so funny! Hahaha!” “Ugh!! I’m not jealous why the hell would I be jealous of some broad anyway!” “Doesn’t explain why you started growling! Hahaha!” “I’ll kill you!”

- “I love you” you say with a happy sigh as you give him a quick peck on the lips. He smirks, “I know.”

- “I love you!!!!” rocket screams in your face, and you’ve honestly never had him scream in your face before. “Rocket- I know but wh- mmf!” He cute you off with a kiss to the face. He was very emotional that day. For whatever reason…

- “what is this?!” “A hug, moron. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll seriously kill you.” Rocket threatens, “Got it… but uh… can you do it again?”

- “you’re so goddamn lucky I don’t bite your hand off.” Rocket says as you pet behind his ears, you smile at him dreamily, “yeah, I know.”

- “don’t you dare go in there! You’ll die idiot!” Rocket yells at you, and in all the time you’ve known him you’ve never seen him so emotional. Even when you both thought you lost groot in the battle with Ronan. “I have to! Quill is out there!” you say, “and you better not shoot at me too!” you say, referring to the fact he just shot gamora to keep her from chasing after Peter. He grabs your wrist, and you see tears in his eyes. “Please.. you can’t… I can’t… you’re the one person… I can’t lose..”

- You are everything to rocket. He’d never tell you that, but you’ll certainly tell him. It leads to you wondering if you care more about him than he cares about you. As you confess these feelings to Rocket, he sighs deeply, grabbing your hand. “I… you’re… you’re the whole galaxy to me.. I’m sorry I never knew how to tell you that.”

- you dragged Rocket around, which to him felt like forever. It wasn’t a bad way to spend the day, but he made it seem like an eternity was passing by. “Why are you dragging me around with you anyway.” “Because I like dragging you around. Cause I like you.” He groans. “You’re such a freakin sap.” “You love it.” You smile at him giddily. And for once, he smiles back. “Yeah. I do.”

- you felt a rope wrap around your ankles and pull you to the ground. You land straight on your face. Instead of being nice to you for once and being a good boyfriend, Rocket simply laughs in your face. “Rocket if you keep laughing at me I will cut your nails!” making rocket shut up pretty quickly. Works like magic.

- “wake up!” You say, slapping your boy right in the face. “Ow! What the hell was that for!” “Saw it in a show Peter watches! Thought it would help!”

- you push Rocket into quills ship, as he tries to converse with a man from the nova corps as to why he should be allowed to literally steal. “Get in you big moron.” “Who you calling the big moron?! Drax is right there for you to insult!”

- “don’t worry babe, I’ll get us out of here” Rocket says with a smirk and a wink, before literally getting tossed away by drax straight into the enemy. By the time he comes back, surprisingly in one piece, you look down at your boyfriend who’s crawling on the ground back towards you. “I’m sure.”

- “I’m working on my anger, really I am. But can you please for the love of Christ stop letting drax in our room.” Rocket says, clearly exhausted. “I didn’t.” “Well I know I didn’t! Why are you lying?!”

- “I could never be mad at you groot.” You smile, giving the baby a light hug so as to not hurt him. “I am groot?” “Rocket is a different story baby.” “Oh Cmon!”

- “y/n I love you but there’s literal plants growing from your shelves because you haven’t cleaned them.” “No there isn’t.” “Oh am I supposed to believe groot is growing mushrooms now?”

- “aww! Rocket you softie!” you grin, scratching his head affectionately as he tries to get you off of him. “No I’m not!! Get off!”

- Rocket gives you a noogie, as you beg him to knock it off with a smile and a giggle on your face. “Not until you admit you like me!”

- you hold your hand out to rocket, giving him the widest grin he’s ever seen on your face. No matter how much he doesn’t want to, he allows it, because he’d give anything to see you smile like that forever. He grabs onto your hand, “just so you know, I can’t dance for shit.” you giggle, “I know.”

- you hear Rocket purr, and man he purrs loud. Your almost positive if anyone walked into this room, they’d hear it even from the door. You purred yourself, but it’s rather quiet especially when in comparison to your boyfriend. “What’s with that dumb grin on your face?” Rocket mumbles, sleepily, taking in your features. “Your purring.” “Tch no I’m not, that’s you.” “You cannot lie straight to my face about this one, it’s not working.”

- “why did you come back? We both know I don’t matter. Not really..” you say, looking down. And it’s the first time ever, rockets ever hurt you physically. He slaps you right in the face, and you widen your eyes, holding onto your cheek. “Ow! What was that for?!” “That was for being a fucking idiot. I was knocking some sense into you!” “Well you didn’t have to slap me!” “Listen to me!” he grabs onto your shoulders, an emotion in his eyes is one you don’t recognize, but it feels raw and powerful. “You matter to me. You are the most important person in my life. I would come back for you, again and again, every single time, if it meant keeping you safe.”

- “I hate you.” “That means I love you, in our own secret language.” “No it doesn’t.” Rocket denies, “Yes it does!!”

- he chases you around on all fours, as do you, around knowhere. He finally catches up to your speed. “Where the hell are you taking me?” “You’ll seee!” You say in a singsong voice, running off, with him trailing behind. “God I hate when you do that.”

- “we should have a cool secret handshake!” “What? No!” “Why not? We’re dating right?” “What the hell does us dating have to do with a secret handshake!”

- it’s been years since he last saw you. Finally, thanos was gone and his family was back, you were back. You finally saw him, and with a soft smile you waved to the person you fell in love with all those years ago. Watching you, he felt himself falling in love all over again. He ran towards you with insane speed, tackling you to the ground in a big hug. “Miss me?” You laughed, hugging back. “Shut up.”

- “are you… perhaps… jeaaaaloussss?” you say in that singsong tone you use so often around him that he seems to hate so much. At this point you can’t even tell if he’s genuinely annoyed or if he’s playing it up. His ear twitches in annoyance. “I am not jealous I was protecting you from him! That guy was totally gonna eat you for dinner!” “Yeah! Okay!” You laugh.

- you vividly remember something about drax saying he literally ate you and rockets species for .. dinner. “Not helping!” Rocket yells back, but you look up at the muscular male with concern. “You ate my kind too?” “Do not listen to him y/n!” Rocket yells back.

- “Cmon sweetie, did you ever have any doubt I had a plan?” “Psh. Yeah I did.” “Oh Cmon let me have this! I totally impressed you with my awesome plan!” “Yeah yeah…” you smile, crossing your arms. “I guess you did” giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Hell yeah I did.” He smirks.

- “hate to cut you short on your little ramble about how much you love me hun but can we kill these guys first?” “Ugh! You always shut me out!” “I swear I’m not doing that this time babe there is a literal space monster after us!”

- “Psh! I’m not dumb..! Am I dumb?” You turned to your boyfriend, who would normally agree that you’re a fucking moron but for once, for your sake, he’s nice. He pats you on the shoulder, “Cmon they’re just jealous baby.” “Awwwwww” you smile giving him a hug. “Nevermind I take it back! You’re a fucking bigger moron than drax!” “Cant take back what you said!” “Yes I can!”

[wafflerageface]

Top 5: Favorite Durgetash headcanons

Like my personal headcanons or ones I’ve seen?

Personal headcanons:

1. Durgetash were head over heels in love with each other, even if they expressed love in ways that seemed fucked up to everyone else. They were two incredibly lonely people that just clicked in all the right ways to make each other feel like at least one person out there cared about them, and they did.

2. Enver Gortash is autistic/ADHD and Durge was his favourite person to info dump on. I mean look at him. My wife is autistic and they have very similar mannerism and ways of thinking. (In the logical sense anyway my wife hasn’t killed anyone) Especially with how his parents described how brilliant he was even as a child, I can just imagine child Enver coming off as annoying and needy to everyone around him because he wanted to talk about his inventions and no one cared to listen. Durge, on the other hand, grew up in a temple where they were expected to behave a certain way and was essentially treated as a puppet, even if they could’ve called the shots how they wanted to. I can’t imagine being a child taken into a murder cult and feeling anything but fear, even if you don’t need to be afraid. Durge knew nothing but blood and death for years, and along comes this funky little guy that wants to rant for hours about the kind of metal he wants to build his steel watch out of?? Yeah. They loved that shit.

3. Enver is a pansexual monster fucker that will love your Durge no matter what. This man has been so lonely for so long that I genuinely think he doesn’t care what package the love comes in so long as he isn’t being used anymore. You’re a Dragonborn? Cool he can work with that. A tiefling? Excellent he’s gonna use those horns as handlebars. A cute half-elf that has a surprising appetite for blood? Absolutely and can he join the next blood bath please?? He loves seeing you work

4. Durge did not want to be Bhaal’s scion. I know a lot of people don’t like how the Durge opening makes it seem like they’re trying to “erase” that Durge was evil, but I view it more as perhaps Durge was never willing. Just because you’re fathered by a murder god doesn’t make you a murderer, and amnesia doesn’t really change who a person is, they just forget. Your brain literally just won’t let you recall memories. Now personally, I’m all for if you think your Durge hates everything about being the Chosen, or (like for my Durge) you think they just hated not being in control of themselves or allowed to kill as they please. Both are great mechanics for a well-rounded character, but I really think either way, Durge hated being what their father made them into, and would have jumped the moment they could escape. The prayer of forgiveness? A classic here’s my fake apology abusive parent so I can spare myself more abuse.

5. Enver whored himself out as a young man to get lots of power and money and he hated every second of it. We know it’s canon that he slept around a lot before the present day setting of the game, but I don’t think he ever enjoyed it. Not really. He grew up in the HoH where he was beaten and abused and nearly tortured to death on many occasions. He finally escapes with nothing to his name and once again he’s at the mercy of whoever he can convince to give him food, shelter, money, etc for the price of his body. This man absolutely has two wolves inside of him and one is a god complex and the other is an ego so crippled and fragile it’s a wonder he ever comes out of the house. When he meets Durge, he’s willing to manipulate them however he must to secure their alliance. He’s done it before, he’ll do it again. I think he’s so very surprised when Durge catches feelings back, when they go out of their way to take care of him, compliment him, even if it’s in their own fucked up fashion. I think the real sticking point for him would be when he and Durge are attending some high society to do together and they run into an old fling. Enver being upset and uncomfortable enough that they leave early and he tells Durge everything. The next day, and the following weeks, he finds severed hands, fingers, bloodied jewellery, all placed at his desk or beside his bed and he can’t help but smile. Durge bringing him pieces of their kills like a cat is so endearing to him.

I’ve got so many more but I think those are my favourite.