#it’s certainly something i need to hear so maybe someone else does too

[i-say-stupid-things]

psa: you actually are worth it. you are worth the trouble. you are not too much to put up with. your disability doesn’t make you unlovable. you’re not too much of a burden to “put up with”.

you are amazing and lovely and the right person will come and see just how wonderful of a person you are. your disability changes nothing about that

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

[verycoolusername1]

Don't think you understand

Summary: Quinn can't get ahold of his feelings, which leads him to push you away unintentionally.

Track 8 of short n' sweet - dumb & poetic

Warning! Slight miscommunication

A/N: This does have a happy ending :) and it's short. I apologize for that!! I just wanted to post something for the short n sweet masterlist(been delaying it)

And I gave you guys a bridgerton love confession kinda so enjoy that lmao

You haven't talked to him in weeks. The man was your best friend and you haven't talked to him in two months, how did this even happen?

Hmm, maybe when you had confessed your feelings to Quinn around the same time, you left without an answer, analyzing the blank look on his face, bringing enough of one for you.

This was your fifth tub of ice cream in two weeks, while on a call with Luke(and Jack, who also joined the supposed gossip session).

"Wait, so let me get this straight." Jack said, collecting his thoughts. "You told him you were in love with him, and he didn't say anything or have any reaction which led to you two not talking anymore?"

"Well, it certainly helps hearing it out loud." You grumbled.

"Sorry! I just need to recap so I know why I have to slap him when I next see him." Jack mutters the last part.

"You know, for him being the oldest, he sure is stupid." Luke chuckles.

"Pretty sure I'm the stupid one here, I mean, I thought he actually liked me back." You smiled Sadly.

"You think he doesn't like you in that way?" Jack asked, you nodded.

"Yeah, no, Quinn's definitely in love with you, Y/N. Have you seen the way he looks at you? The way his eyes seem to shine brighter when he talks about you." Luke shrugged.

"Okay, now you guys are feeding into my delusions." You rolled your eyes. "I lost my best friend because I couldn't control my feelings about him. And now I'm sitting on my kitchen floor, crying to Conan Gray while eating Ben & Jerry's."

There was a sudden knock on your door. Who could that be? It was late in the night in Vancouver.

"I'll be right back guys, don't hang up." You warned.

You walked up to the door and looked through the peephole and saw the man of the house standing on the other side. You unlocked it. How could you not?

"Quinn? What are you doin-?" You were cut off with Quinn kissing you passionately. You melted in the kiss before slowly breaking apart.

"I'm in love with you too." Quinn confessed. "I think I've been in love with you the moment I saw you falling off the swing when we were kids, if I'm being honest. It's very easy to fall in love with someone as special, charming, kind, heartless, caring, and comforting as you. I can't imagine being with anyone else other than you. And I don't even want to think about how sorry I am for not realizing it until now. But I love you Y/N, and I don't think I can ever stop - No, I know that I can't and won't."

Now it your time to be in shock.

"I understand if I'm too late, I just wanted you to know. I'm sorry for kissing you. I just wanted to know what it felt if it was the only time -" You cut Quinn off by kissing him.

"I love you too." You whispered. "Gosh you're so dumb and poetic."

Quinn chuckles. "What does that even mean?" He followed you into the house.

"Y/N!!! Did you get kidnapped? Omg Luke what if we gotta call the cops and tell them what happened and we gotta tell them she was crying about our idiotic brother-"

"Jack shut up." Luke looked at his brother bewildered.

"I'm just saying, could be a possibility." Jack mutters.

"I'm not dead guys." You picked up the phone.

"Y/N! You're alive. What happened? Who was at the door?" Luke asked, Jack chuckling behind him.

"Oh you know just this really hot guy." You answered simply.

"Okay? How hot was he? Is he gonna make you get over Quinn?" Jack asked.

"Very hot and no." You answered.

Quinn came into frame behind you, kissing you on your neck.

Jack and Luke's jaw drops. "No way!" "What the hell?"

"There are children present in this conversation, you guys are disgusting." Jack gestured to Luke who shoved him in response. "I'm 21!"

"Bye guys." Quinn hung up the phone.

"That was rude, you know." You looked back at him.

"I know, I just wanted to kiss you without them bickering." Quinn mumbles.

"And to think I was just crying over you not too long ago." You recalled.

"I'll make up for every tear you shed for my stupidity, I promise." Quinn's nose brushes yours.

"I know you will." You leaned in closer.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Silent Treatment

SUMMARY: How would they react to you giving them the Silent Treatment?

CHARACTERS: Demon Brothers (Lucifer; Mammon; Leviathan; Satan; Asmodeus; Beelzebub & Belphegor)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader 

WORD COUNT: An average of 540 words per character.

COMMENTS: I remember I had this idea after reading that Mammon had stolen and sold something from MC. MC used STAY on him, but if he did that to me I would be so upset that I would want him to suffer more than that. And I thought about the silent treatment, which would certainly be his worst nightmare. And that's why I thought of making this post. Beel's part is the shortest, but you'll see why.

I hope you enjoy 🤫

CONTEXT: This takes place in the Original timeline and not Nightbringer. So, to make matters worse for them/him, you live with them in the House of Lamentation.

Your argument was probably about Lucifer working too much and you wanting to give him a break. But his stress mixed with pride made him deny this offer in a rather mean and perhaps even disrespectful way.

Does he not want you to bother him? Very well then. What if you never bother him again?

At home, you ignore him. He tries to talk to you, but seeing how stubborn you are he ends up giving up. But this is already bothering him a lot.

At school, if necessary, you will talk to him about importante matters related to RAD as if he were any other student at school. And that's it. Anything else outside of that, you will continue to ignore it.

And that just makes everything worse for him. To have YOU of all people talk to him like he was just any student?! Not only does this hurt his pride, but this small sample of conversation with you makes him miss you more and more. But he will continue to hide it.

The last straw will be at home, when he asks you something directly and you ask one of his brothers to answer for you. Bonus if it's someone from the Anti-Lucifer League. But he must have lasted two or three days without talking to you.

He will lure you to his office, where it all started. Maybe he'll tell you to go get some important papers. You won't see him inside, but as soon as you're close to the desk you'll hear the door closing and locking. And that's when you see him calmly walking down the office stairs to meet you.

“So you decided to give me the silent treatment.” Lucifer says as he walks down the stairs.

“Didn't you want me to leave you alone?” You say, still not looking at him.

“I never said that and you are perfectly aware of that.” He finishes down the stairs and walks over to you. “I just didn't want to rest because I needed to finish that.” You don't answer him again. He already knows what you think about that. Your back is to him and he stops right behind you. “*Sigh* I'm sorry. I know you only want me well. I was just... I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I promise that next time I will consider the break.”

His voice is sad, so you know he was being sincere. But you wanted to see how much he missed you, so you remained silent and with your back turned to him. And he knows you. He knows what you want. He sighs again, more deeply, as if you're making him admit something that hurts his pride.

“Please... I miss you...” You haven't turned around yet. That wasn't enough and it bothers him. You had his desk in front of you.

He rests his hand on the table, leaning on it, and leans in to bring his face closer to yours. “Now you're just teasing me, aren't you?” He was now with that smug on his face. And he sees you give a little smile, which was the sign he understood to move forward. He holds your chin and makes you face him. “You missed me too, didn't you?” he whispers near your lips “You little tease.” And he kisses you passionately and provocatively.

Mammon probably sold something of yours. Or maybe another things of yours. Of course, you hate it when he does that. So you decide to give him the silent treatment, because you know, you know perfectly well that he won't handle it. There is nothing else you can be so sure about as this.

The moment he realizes what you are doing, he collapses. The day wasn't even over yet. In fact, you were on break from classes.

He even gets kicked out of class for constantly trying to talk to you.

You know how much he hates being ignored and being ignored by you breaks his heart into pieces.

He wants to resolve this as quickly as possible, but not in front of his brothers. He waits for you to be alone in your room.

You hear a knock on your door and you ask who it is.

“It's me, the Great Mammon. I got your stuff back. All of them. Open the door and see.”

You decide to open the door, even if it was just out of curiosity and you see Mammon holding so many things that you can barely see his face. You can see your stuff that he sold and some gifts like a teddy bear, chocolates, clothes, accessories, your favourite nerd/geek/otako related stuff, etc... You let him in and put all that on top of your bed.

“I got it all back! But, um, you don't mind if some of them are new right? I also bought you more things. These are your favourite chocolates, right? And you really wanted this plush, didn't you?”

You remain silent, looking at him with your arms crossed. This already happened once and he sold your things again.

“I won't sell your stuff again, I promise. You can hit me with your stay if I ever do it again.”

You turn your back on him and go do something, like homework for example. You went back to ignoring him because he used that excuse before.

“Please hang me upside down like Lucifer, use your stay on me at full power, but please stop ignoring me.” he sounds desperate.

You sit at the table you have in the room behind the bed. Continuing to ignore him. The next scene you see is him kneeling next to you, his head at the same level as your thighs, and looking at you like a puppy with tears starting to come out of his eyes.

“Please. I never thought this was so bad. I can't stand not having you anymore. I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. Damn it, I miss you yelling at me.” He places his chin on your thigh, looking at you. “Please, talk to me again~”

You can't take so much cuteness anymore. “Don't sell my stuff again! You hear me, you idiot?!”

His face lights up. "Am I forgiven?"

“Yes, for now you are.”

He gets up and hugs you, showering you with kisses. He won't leave you alone for the rest of the day.

Levi would hardly do anything that deserved the silent treatment. He practically idolizes you, he would never do anything to hurt you. So, something like this would definitely have been an accident.

He had arranged a date with you. But then an Ruri-chan's event came up and he ended up going to it instead of going to you. He got the dates wrong and thought the date with you was the next day.

And he only realized this mistake when the next day he sent you a message asking where you were and if you had forgotten about the date, and you replied that he was the one who forgot that the date had been the day before.

After that, you are bombarded with messages apologizing and saying how much of a complete idiot he is and doesn't deserve you. You don't respond anymore, which leaves him in a dilemma to decide whether to go to you or never see you again because you don't deserve to hear the excuses of someone as pathetic as him.

But he has to do it! He has to apologize to you in person! Even if it means you telling him to his face that you never want to see him again. He would deserve it anyway.

You hear a knock on your bedroom door. The moment you open the door, Levi kneels down and places his forehead on the floor.

“I am so sorry! I'm an embarrassment of a partner. I don't even deserve your forgiveness. But I needed to show you my regret.”

Maybe you were already feeling a little bad for him, but you were also curious to know how far your silence could take him. You turned away from the door, gesturing for him to enter your room.

He enters with mixed feelings, on the one hand he was afraid of what you could do if you wanted to punish him. On the other hand... wasn't he kinda into those things?

But no, you just sit on the bed and use your cell phone to send a message to Levi, asking why he missed the date the day before. You still needed to talk to him, but not yet with your voice that he loves so much. When he happily tells you that it was because of Ruri-chan's event, you look even more upset.

“N-N-N-N-NO WAIT! I'm so sorry! Exchanging you for anyone else, even Ruri-chan is unforgivable! I should have warned you. I wanted to tell you, but it was all so short notice.”

You still didn't say anything and even crossed your arms with a sulky expression. He kneels at your feet and gets so close to your legs that he could even hug them.

“I know that what I did was a complete betrayal, and a wretch like me doesn't deserve another opportunity, but please, just let me hear your voice one last time, even if it's to say that you hate me.”

And you finally break. You know he didn't do it out of spite and you've already punished him enough. You know you're practically torturing him at this point.

Regardless of how you say or show that you forgive him, he will praise you, maybe even cry and if you let him hug you, he will cling to you desperately.

Satan was probably on a bad day. A really bad day. That kind of day where anything irritates him, even you trying to calm him down. And he ended up saying what he would regret the moment you left his side: He told you to shut up.

And that's what you did, but for longer than he was expecting. He realized you were giving him the silent treatment when he came up to you to ask if the two of you could talk alone, so he could apologize to you, and you acted like he wasn't there. He was upset at first, but soon after he realized that that was exactly what led to this situation.

He won't try to talk to you in public again. He's prideful too. He'll wait until you two get home, and you are alone in your room.

You hear a knock on your bedroom door. When you open it, you see Satan with a big bouquet of flowers in his hands. Either they're your favourite flowers, or your favourite colour or anything he knows you would like.

“Would you allow me to speak to you, please?” He wasn't angry, he was sorry and you could see it in his eyes.

You don't answer, but you let him into your room. If you pick up the flowers, he'll be a little more relieved. But if not, he'll put them on the table and get a little more worried.

“I'm so sorry. I should never talk to you like that. I regretted my words the moment you walked out the door. I realize what you are doing, you are doing what I asked you to do, and it tears me apart. I'm not mad at what you're doing to me, I deserve it and worse.” He kneels in front of you and bows his head. “But please tell me what I have to do for you to forgive me. Because no words can mend the ones I used.”

If those words weren't enough for you and you're feeling like he deserves to "suffer" a little more for the way he treated you, you send him a message (he still doesn't deserve to hear your voice) saying that if he's really sorry about that, he could be your cat butler for a day.

He lifts his head and looks at you, blushing slightly. “With a condition: It will be for your eyes and your eyes alone! No making me go to the kitchen or something while any of my brothers is there!”

And if you agree, he will do it. Any request he will fulfill. If you tell him to end his sentences with "Nya" he will do it, partially embarrassed but partially enjoying it.

And at the end of the day, when you finally let him hear your voice again saying that you forgive him, but that you hope it doesn't happen again, he smiles, kiss your hands like a gentleman and asks permission to hug and kiss you again, after so long.

There's a good chance you decided to do this because you started seeing Asmo with more and more succubuses and incubuses.

Well, if he likes being with them so much instead of you, let's see what happens if you prefer to talk to the other brothers instead of him.

He starts the day with no idea what you've decided to do, so he compliments everyone, especially you. And the moment you don't greet him back he knows something is very wrong.

He cannot, nor does he want to, hide how devastated he already is. Of all the demon brothers he is the one who loves attention the most and not getting it from YOU is the worst thing that could happen to him.

In return, you will have ALL his attention. He won't leave you for a second. He needs to know what happened, even if he has to make a dramatic spectacle at your feet.

He will speak to you in the sweetest of voices, calling you all the affectionate names he knows of, even if he has to do so in other languages. Hon, honey, love, darling, Mon cher, mon amour, mi amor, amore mio...

If you just want to talk to him at the House of Lamentation, you'll have to ask the other brothers to basically be your bodyguards. Which will only make the situation worse for Asmo. And more fun for his brothers.

When you get home you tell one of the brothers to tell Asmo that when you are available to talk to him you will send him a message.

You were alone in your room when you sent the message to Asmo saying that you could "talk" in your room. Not a second had passed when he knocked on your door, almost as if he had been waiting in the hallway that entire time.

He’ll walk in like a happy puppy whose owner has finally opened the door for him. He will try to hug you, but you can't give in. You stray, cross your arms and looks in any direction other than at him.

“Why are you being so mean to me?” he asks in that cute, sad voice. “What could someone as cute as me have done to deserve this?”

To continue guarding your voice until he deserves to hear it, you write and send him a message. In it you talk about the succubuses and incubuses with whom he took a ton of photos and posted a bunch of stories, and it started to be much more than normal.

“Aww, my little sheep is jealous, that's so cute!” You turn your back to him. “HA! NO! Wait! I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry! I thought you knew that you are the one I love the most in all three worlds. I love you almost as much as I love myself. I couldn't say no to my fans. Oh, I know! What if we spend a whole day together? What if we went on a special date? I can prepare everything! I'll reserve a table at your favorite restaurant. I can even buy you new clothes if you want.” You turned back to him, but still didn't say anything. “Pwease, talk to me again~ I'm sowwy~”

If you accept his apology and tell him so with your voice, he will hug you and kiss you al over your face. “Ahhh! I missed you so much~!”

Honestly, I can't imagine a single scenario where Beel would do something that would deserve the silent treatment. He's the type to apologize even if it's not his fault. Even if he ate something of yours, he would apologize in the next second.

So, most likely, you and Belphie were just curious to know how Beel would react. And this would probably happen after you had done this to everyone else but him and his brothers wanted to know how he would react.

At breakfast he greets everyone, but you're the only one who doesn't greet him back. And you already feel horrible because you can feel his sad gaze on you.

"(Y/N)? Is everything okay?" he asks in an already apologetic voice. You still don't answer him, and that hurts so much, poor thing.

The other brothers tell Beel to start eating otherwise everyone will be late. But he says he doesn't want to. And everyone looks at him in amazement, except you. He is looking at you and only you, no one else matters, not even the food.

“Are you angry with me? I'm sorry. I'm not sure what I did this time, but I'm sorry. Did I eat something that was yours?” You still don't respond but you're almost at your breaking point. “(Y/N)?” He says your name in the cutest regretful voice that only he could do and you break down.

You turn to him and hug him, apologizing. You explain that he didn't do anything and explain that everything is fine. If you offer him the rest of your breakfast he will be very happy.

But he will be much closer to you for the rest of the day. It hurt him a lot and he just wants to make sure that everything was really okay. He will really like it if you two cuddle a little when your back home.

What could he do to make you mad at him? *cough* Lesson 16 *cough*. Anyway. There's a good chance he's been a little more selfish lately. Always wanting your free time to be spent with him, and try to convince you to fall into the temptation of laziness and exchange your responsibilities for him.

He needed to learn a lesson. He needed to value you more and realize that you are not a guarantee. Let's see what happens if he no longer has you.

He realizes something is wrong when you don't respond to him.

He tries to convince you to talk to him by being cute. That younger brother cuteness that he always uses against his brothers.

When he realizes that this isn't going to work, he isn't exactly going to give up. He will stop trying to convince you with words, yes. But he won't leave your side. He will be almost like a ghost behind you. At least until you all get home.

You'll have to lose him or convince his brothers to help you if you don't want him to follow you to your room the moment you get to the House of Lamentation.

If you manage to do this, you will be bombarded with messages until you finally respond saying he can come talk to you in your room.

He knocks on your bedroom door like he normally does. As soon as you let him in and close the door he will get extremely close to you, but he won't hug you no matter how much he wants to. He knows that could make the situation worse.

“So, what happened?” he asks close to your ear and in his calm voice. “Why are you upset with me?”

You poke your head in a gesture.

“Do you want me to think? To guess? *Sigh* Fine...” he says pouting sadly. “Um... I know you get upset because I make you late with your work. Sorry. I promise I'll stop being so pushy about that. But, you know I want to be with you.”

That was a good start, but it still wasn't enough for you. You had your back turned to him without speaking.

“You know, it really hurts to see you mad at me like this. I miss you.” and then it hits him. “Oh... that’s it, I miss you. I don’t think anyone likes to be seen as a guarantee, right? I'm sorry, for being so selfish with you. You always try to make me happy by giving in to my whims, I should do the same for you more often... I mean, I will do the same for you more often. I promise.” You turn to him, but still don't say anything. “um... What if... tomorrow, I have to give in to whatever whims you have? But go easy on me, okay?”

You accept the deal, and tell him so. He laughs, saying that he already missed hearing your voice so much. And if you let him, he'll hug you.

“We still have a lot of time until dinner, and I miss your cuddles. You're not going to say you didn't miss me too, right? Come on, just a few minutes. I promise I'll spoil you more than you spoil me, he he.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Must Confess

Eddie x shy!bestie!fem!reader

This is a continuation of Do Me a Favor?

summary: you finally tell Eddie that you’re in love with him and he has the exact opposite reaction you’re expecting

cw: hurt/comfort

You and Eddie were snuggled up in his bed just like always, watching the tv that was across the room. Neither of you wanted to admit that almost having sex has affected your friendship, even if it had been for the better. You were practically a couple, but neither of you wanted to be the one to give your relationship that label.

You had shared multiple kisses since then, every once making you fall even more in love with him. Every time you tried to say the words, they wouldn’t come out. It was like they got caught in your throat, like bile that wouldn’t come up. Why couldn’t you say it? You had told him you loved him many times, just not in that context.

The worst he could have said was that he didn’t feel the same way, but at least he would have known. The truth would be out and the ball would be his court and that terrified you. That you would no longer have control of the situation.

But you needed to do it. You couldn’t let your friendship continue without telling him that you were in love with him. It felt like an ache in your chest and you needed to get rid of it. You couldn’t go on any longer with the feeling even though telling Eddie the truth terrified you.

You looked up at him and the words felt so heavy on your tongue. If you were going to get rid of them, you were going to have to do it soon or else you wouldn’t do it at all.

“Eddie?” You got his attention and he looked down at you with his big brown doe eyes.

“What’s up?” He asked, his voice so casual. He was so unaware of what you were about to say and your heart rate picked up, pounding in your chest. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out. Maybe you could say something else.

“I-” you paused, the words getting caught in your throat.

“You’ve been acting weird all week, honey,” his hands moved up to your shoulders as his eyes bored into yours. “What’s going on?”

“I-I-”

“You what, hon?” Eddie was so patient as he waited for you to get the words out, hating to watch you struggle to speak. Whatever you were going to say had clearly been hard for you to say and he just wanted you to be able to get it out since it had obviously been bothering you.

Maybe you could have made a run for it. That definitely sounded a lot better than admitting you had feelings for him. You had always been a coward and apparently nothing had changed.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He was giving you an out, but you didn’t want to take it. With a little more encouragement, got could tell him. You were convinced.

“No,” you said maybe a bit too harshly. “I need to get this out.” You took a few deep breaths and Eddie was almost convinced that you were going to hyperventilate.

“Whatever it is, honey, you can tell me.” His hands traveled down to yours and he pressed a soft kiss to each one.

“I’m in love with you.” The words came out so quietly that Eddie almost hadn’t heard you. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, he let out a soft laugh. Not exactly the thing you wanted to hear when telling someone that you were in love with him.

“Honey, I know.” Eddie had known pretty well early on. You had been super obvious, after all. With the way you looked at him like he hung the moon and hung onto his every word. He knew when you had stared at his lips when you thought he wasn’t looking.

But the good news was that Eddie had loved to you. He was head over heels, in fact. So down bad for you that he didn’t know what to do with himself sometimes. He had wanted to tell you as soon as figured out they got had feelings for each other, but he felt like the ball should have been in your court. He hated waited for years, but it had been so worth it.

“You know?” He had known and hadn’t told you? That was certainly embarrassing. How long had this gone on and he didn’t tell you?

“Of course I know, baby. I mean, sorry to break it to you, but you’re pretty damn obvious.” He straddled your waist and took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Wish I wasn’t,” he shrugged. “But guess what? I’m in love with you too.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“So that means I could be your boyfriend. That is, if you wanted me to.”

“Of course I want you to be my boyfriend.” You rolled your eyes. He was so ridiculous sometimes.

“Good,” he smiled. “Because I want you to be my girlfriend.” He pulled you into a sweet kiss and you both smiled into it, eventually laughing into each other’s mouths, knowing that your friends weren’t going to be surprised in the slightest at your new relationship status. It had just been a long time coming and little did the two of you know that they all had a bet going to see who would confess first.

[flowercrowngods]

this wouldn't leave me alone, so have my thoughts on a steve-centric "who did this to you?" steddie concept inspired by @imfinereallyy (i hope this is okay, even though it's uhhh nothing like what you mentioned)

When Eddie gets to the boathouse, he immediately notices that something is off. The door is cracked open but he can’t hear anyone talking or moving stuff around. No one ever comes here — it’s been his hideout spot since the ripe age of thirteen when he’d had hist first real fight with Wayne. 

No one comes here. But now the door is cracked open and Eddie stares at it for a good minute as though that would make it come to life and tell him who’s inside so he won’t have to look and deal with whoever decided to steal his spot. He’s really not in the mood to start any shit today, or to be called all sorts of names — most of which aren’t even half as true as people fear. 

His first instinct is to leave, find somewhere else to hide from this miserable world today, when he hears it. The sound of sniffling, followed by wet, heavy breaths. 

Oh. It sounds like someone’s crying. In his spot.

Maybe it’s some girl who got her heart broken, some dude who lost the last bit of faith in his family, or some kid who— 

Ah, fuck it, he’ll just come back later. Not his problem. Definitely not his problem. And it’s definitely not guilt or worry that gnaw at him as he turns on his heel to leave. 

But then there’s a groan. A pained groan. Someone’s in pain, and crying in his spot, and Eddie really shouldn’t make that his problem. He shouldn't. Nopbody cares when he's crying and in pain either! But fuck if he won’t be thinking about it for the rest of his life if he turns his back on whoever it is. Maybe they need help. 

They most certainly sound like they do.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie is already at the door before he can think about it too much. 

“Hello?” he asks the darkness, and immediately the sniffling stops. 

Silence falls, but only for a moment before whoever it is has to draw shaky, wheezing breaths that make Eddie swear under his breath. 

“Listen, I know you’re here.” He’s taking slow, deliberate steps, his eyes roaming he mess of boats, tools and tarp he knows so well.  “And I’m not trying to start anything. Tell me to go away and I will. But I have a first aid kit in my car and, uh, you sound like maybe you need it.” 

There’s no response, but the wheezing breaths turn into whimpers with every second that whoever it is tries very hard not to make any noise, and Eddie’s heart starts to race in his chest. He can feel worry and panic starting to rise. And overshadowing it is an overwhelming sense of dread.

What the fuck is happening? 

He tries to be careful but his mind is racing and his limbs are starting to feel like lead. His wary steps become heavy and clumsy, and then he accidentally boots something that makes a terrible, horrible noise, breaking the eerie silence. Eddie cringes and is about to apologise, when finally there is movement in his peripheral vision. 

And then he sees him. There, hidden in the shadows between a boat and the far wall, his face breaten and bloodied, his eye swelling around a nasty bruise. Wait, do bruises bleed? Should they look black like that? Is it a cut? Something worse?

Even after years of constant bullying and goading in middle school and high school, he has never actually seen someone look like this. With their face completely smashed in. It makes him freeze for a horrible, horrible moment before he saps out of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, hurrying over as fast as he can, stumbling over tools and tarp as he does. Something falls to the floor with a loud clunk and it makes the boy flinch again. Eddie curses. “Sorry, shit, sorry!” 

He makes it to the boat rather quickly, crouching down in front of the boy a few feet away so as not to spook him, not to crowd him. And then his heart only plummets further, because he knows this one. 

Steve Harrington. The boy who’s come to school with many a black eye over the past two years — but never this bad. The boy who’s been looking like the world might be about to end each time he rounded a corner in school; ever since things started happening around Hawkins. Since the Holland girl died and the Byers boy disappeared. 

It fascinated Eddie, the way Steve fell from grace. The way he turned quiet, and showed up with healing bruises. There are stories woven around it, because teenagers like to gossip and word spreads fast, and Eddie always listened with rapt attention as Harrington turned into a bit of a myth. A legend. A ghost story.

But fascination is not what he feels right now, seeing Steve like this.

His eyes are unfocused and Eddie knows about the danger of head injuries. He knows about the consequences of blood loss, he knows that Steve will be warm to the touch even though he’s shivering already, and… Fuck!

“Shit, Steve,” he rasps, not daring to speak louder lest he spooks the boy. Of all the reasons he’s had to be afraid of talking to Steve Harrington, this one might be the cruellest. "I..."

He takes in his wounds, his bruised and scraped knuckles where his hands are wrapped around the knees he’s pulled to his chest, and his split lip that he keeps biting. 

Eddie swallows before he asks, “Who did this to you?” 

But Steve just shakes his head clumsily. Sniffles again, and then his breath comes in wet heaves, and Eddie worries for a moment that he’s going to throw up now. 

He doesn’t. 

Steve’s just staring. Eddie isn’t even entirely sure he can see him, or maybe he did and then forgot, or maybe he’s fading. Eddie should do something, he should get help, he should— 

“Steve,” he says, and dares to touch him when he doesn’t react. 

A light touch to the knee shouldn’t make anyone flinch like that, but Steve’s whole body jumps, and then the shivers and the wheezing get worse. It almost sounds like a whimper, and Eddie curses again. Feels like crying now, scared and helpless as he is.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay, I— Jesus, okay.” He swallows hard, trying to think, willing for the panic to subside and a plan to form. “You’re okay. I... I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab the first aid kit. I have it in my car. It’s not, it’s not far. And a blanket. So you'll be warm again. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move, don’t…" He gestures wildly, caught between reaching out and pulling away. "Don’t move.” 

Eddie takes a wavering breath and moves to stand on numb, tingly legs, nearly missing Steve’s, “Can’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper, hardly even a wheeze. It’s like he’s just breathing out words because everything else is too much effort. 

Right. Right. This is messed up and Eddie’s panicking, but Steve will be okay. Because things like that don’t happen, not here, not today, and not to Steve Harrington. 

Except this is Hawkins. Where Will Byers disappeared and Barb Holland died and many people are missing and weird shit just ends up happening everywhere even though they’re all just kids. They’re just kids. And Steve’s not even conscious enough to realise that right now. 

Eddie all but runs outside, sprinting to his van with a speed that would make the coach swallow his stupid whistle if gym class only mattered right now. It doesn't. Nothing matters, because Steve is... He's hurt. And there's no one else around to help.

Grabbing the first aid kit, a bottle of water and a thick blanket he always keeps spread out in the back of his van, he makes it back to the boathouse in no time. 

He wasn’t even gone for three minutes, but still he sighs in relief when Steve is still awake. He even looks up. Blinks. Frowns in what can only be confusion and makes Eddie's heart fall.

“Munson?” 

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. That’s messed up, it’s fucked up, it’s— Focus, Eddie! 

“The one and only,” he says, voice shaky and his smile not fooling anyone. He wraps the blanket around Steve, whose eyes are unfocused again, though he tries so hard to blink it away. 

Brave boy, stupid boy. Head trauma isn’t blinked away. Though Eddie is inclined to let him try. Maybe he’ll find a way. 

“Here.” He hands the bottle over to Steve, who grabs it with clumsy hands. He can hold it, but he can’t get it open — again, not a good sign. 

Eddie opens it for him, then turns to his first aid kit. It seemed like a great idea five minutes ago, but he’s petrified now. It’s too dark in here and he can’t really see the wounds, he doesn’t know what to use, what’s in there, he doesn’t, he can’t, he— 

The bottle, empty now, is handed back to him, bumping into his hand, tearing him away from his spiralling thoughts. 

“Thanks,” Harrington breathes, and there’s a small smile visible in the darkness. Eddie just nods and takes it with hands that are still shaking.

“I wanna help you,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “But I don’t know how. You gotta tell me where it hurts, Steve.” 

A beat. “Everywhere.” 

Eddie sags, falling back to sit opposite Steve, frantically rubbing at his face. “Shit.” 

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles, but it sounds so wet with tears and pain, Eddie never wants to hear it again. “Thought I could do it.” 

He’s talking. That’s a good thing, right? He can’t pass out as long as he’s talking. That’s how that works, isn’t it? So, Eddie asks, “Do what?” 

“Doctors told me,” Steve sighs, his voice slow and slurring. “Told me to... to stay out of fights. Stay out of them. Said I had to make sure my head won’t—“ 

He makes a motion with his fist, and Eddie thinks he’s simulating a punch, disoriented as it is. It makes his heart fall. Is that what happened? Someone beat Steve to a pulp? Again? Just like that?

Eddie is so stuck on that thought, trying to piece together the puzzle, that he almost misses Steve’s mumbled speech. 

“Y’know, th— Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.” He says it to matter-of-factly that Eddie’s heart stops for a second.

What the fuck happened to Steve Harrington? Not just today, no. What happened to him?

What happend to make him look up at Eddie Munson, out of all people, with glistening eyes so endlessly scared, and say, “I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture. I can't—” A wheeze, a keen, a whimper, and Harringtin pulls at his hair, uncaring that he's making things worse.

Meanwhile, Eddie is stuck on his words. Because what. 

“Can’t, can't die now ‘cause Tommy thinks he’s so… He’s… He’s just sad, man. Griev'n' and confused. But Billy’s gone, an'— And now I’ll…”

Steve looks at him now, his eyes shining with tears and something that Eddie’s written poems about and created characters around. This expression, like the world will end. And inspiring as it is, it fucking breaks his heart now. 

“They said my brain is hurt, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows the hurt and the fear and the complete overwhelm he's feeling. Steve is telling him things that Eddie doesn't know how to handle.

“You won’t die, Steve,” he says in as gentle a voice as he can muster right now, because that's the only thing he knows.

And he won’t, right? People don’t just die. Not from taking a punch, not when they just graduated high school, not when they’re Steve Harrington. Right? 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Steve breathes. “That’s good.” 

Eddie wants to hug him in that moment. He never knew that this was possible, wanting to hug Steve Harrington, wanting to wrap the blanket around him even tighter and keep him safe and convince him that he won’t die. 

And then the rest of what he said catches up with Eddie and leaves anger in its wake. 

“Hagan did that to you?” 

Steve nods. “Started going off about Billy.”

Eddie’s blood freezes at that name. "Hargrove?” 

Another nod, though Steve doesn’t look too happy about moving his head, and he groans quietly. “They were friends. Tommy is angry. Grieving. Con— Confused. He was just saying shit, like it’s my fault. And it is. Kinda. But Tommy’s, he, he’s... Just saying shit. And then he punched me. A lot. And he didn’t stop. And now… is now.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes dumbly, carefully bandaging the glaring wound at his temple, needing to start somewhere. “Now is now.” His blood is still frozen as he tries very hard not to listen to Steve. Nothing that Harrington says has any right to matter anything to him; they live in two different worlds. If Harrington confesses to murder while severely concussed under Eddie’s watch, then there are no witnesses to drag either of them through the mud for it. Eddie is just gonna forget about it. Or try, anyway. “But you’re… Shit , Steve, you’re really hurt.” 

Steve blinks. Pauses. And Eddie thinks he’s lost him. But then, “Yeah. I’m always hurt.” 

And that, in this little voice, is like a gut punch. Because Eddie knows something about always hurt. “What?” 

“What?” 

There is ice in his veins as he asks, “Who’s hurting you, Steve?” 

Steve looks at him, opening his mouth once, twice, like he’s about to say something and Eddie holds his breath. But then Steve’s eyes droop and he shrinks in on himself a bit more. 

“Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.” 

Know what, Harrington? Eddie can barely breathe anymore.

“’M tired, Eddie,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt anymore.” 

“Hey, hey, no!” Eddie reaches out, catching Steve’s head and preventing it from colliding with the floor as he’s slumping and falling over. 

And just like that, the panic is back, frantic but determined this time. He’s going to get help; there’s nothing he can do with his lousy first aid kit, not when Steve keeps going in and out of consciousness like that. Not when he can barely see anything or clean the wounds properly.

He’s going to get Steve to a hospital and allow them both to forget this ever happened. Because Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson don’t breathe the same air or share traumatic stories in a boathouse like this. 

He’ll get out of Steve’s hair the second the hospital doors close behind him, and get out of whatever trouble someone like Harrington could be in. Eddie doesn’t even want to know. He doesn't want to be part of his ghost story.

But as he’s scooping him up and helping him out of the damned boathouse, clumsily preventing him from stumbling over his own feet or tools or tarp or planks or whatever fucking shit is littering the floor of this godforsaken place, he can hear Steve speaking quietly. 

"Where‘re we going?"

And even though a second ago he was determined to take Steve to a hospital, there is only one place on Eddie's mind right now. Only one place he knows where he won't be scared anymore.

"Somewhere safe," he says, tightening his hold on the boy even though his hands are shaking now, too. He looks over his shoulders the moment they're out of the boathouse, stupidly worried that whoever did this to Steve – Hagan, apparently – would still be around, would follow them and do the same shit to Eddie.

"Safe?"

"Safe."

"Okay," Steve sighs, like he believes him. Like he trusts him. Hell, they've never even spoken before, but something inside Eddie breaks at the little sigh, at the way Steve goes slack in his arms. And even more at the little, "Thanks."

If Eddie's eyes are filled with tears and the hands around the wheel are clenched so tight to hide the way they're shaking, then Steve is not conscious enough to comment on it.

(addendum 7 december) onwards to part 2

[ronearoundblindly]

okey dokey, I've had *a day* and will use this glorious...🥴 idek which body part to reference 😮‍💨...and merge it with your previous ask about cooking or baking for Steve and giving him a nice, comforting, home cooked meal. And his response to that act of service and caring. Because this is me, I will obviously be starting with ::gasp:: an argument. Don't you love how predictable I am?!?!

To Tire Is Human

No warnings, uhhh, canon language (sh*t)? Written in drafts so no exact word count. It's not long (2k maybe, very much unedited)!

"The hustle? What does that even mean?" Steve gripes as he finishes up various chores around the property.

"It means I do the work."

Your boyfriend rips apart the wood log he was about to start chopping. "Do the work? Do the work? For nine hours? After leaving home early enough to be at work for an hour before the actual work starts? Then staying at least a half hour to clean?"

"Unless I also have to restock," you add quickly just to really turn the knife.

"You have got to be shitting me," he nearly snarls, eyes down toward the pile.

You don't blame him for not understanding. He's from an era where people worked to live, the point was the living. This...is not longer that era, and you are not of that generation.

Of course, it frustrates him, too, because your work makes living almost impossible. With all that he just mentioned, the commute, and attempting to offer yourself the basic self-care of eating and washing, you don't have the energy to do chores, and you've certainly struggled to find energy enough to show Steve love.

"That's the gig nowadays. That's how us super-average humans do it."

The thing is that you are also so tired of having this conversation. You are tired of the guilt for not magically considering yourself the center of your universe because, despite jokes about every kid receiving participation trophies, it is deeply engrained in you that you are replaceable.

If you don't perform above and beyond, fired. If you ask for too much and offer too little, gone. If you don't constantly learn how to outpace others, useless. It never ends.

And, finally, Steve Rogers might not get this but you age. You aren't powerful to begin with, but day after day, you get weaker and older, while someone else on Earth gets smarter and stronger.

You don't want to hear the spiel. You can see from his pinched face that Steve wants to give the spiel.

You sigh in exhaustion and prepare to hear the whole Cap speech before you two go pick up dinner in town.

One day later that week, your work schedule falls apart and lands you back at home hours before Steve is due to return. Antsy to accomplish something--and looking for a snack,--you notice the perfect combination of ingredients, something saucy and salty, hearty, just like Steve melts for, and a fruity baked good.

It's a lot of steps, there's a lot of mess to clean up as you go, and then there's still a lot left behind. You're hastily rushing around to set the oven timer and yank a skillet off the burner. Perhaps the whole endeavor has gotten you in over your head.

Steve appears out of nowhere.

Well. Not nowhere, but all the chaos in the kitchen is making enough noise, you didn't hear the door.

"I have everything under control," you automatically say.

His expression morphs from one of surprise and concern to utterly overwhelmed. His eyes look glassy as he approaches and scoops you into a quick hug, hands tucking themselves beneath the hem of your shirt so he can feel your skin as he breathes you in.

He quickly releases you at the sounds of oil popping and sniffs, reverting to Cap mode.

"What do you need? What can I do?"

All you can think is that the table hasn't been set.

Steve eats his whole meal--entree and dessert--with his non-dominant hand just so he can hold yours.

He had one of your days.

He spent the drive home listing all the things he needed to do in his head, more energy for each tick, more time for sitting still, more of him to give...

...and then he got to enjoy a lovely dinner with you.

You spent your energy on him, on you both. You spent energy specifically to spend time with him, and Steve could cry but he won't. He keeps smiling, making happy, pleased noises with each delicious bite.

An hour ago, he wasn't sure he could feed himself or wash up. He's simply too tired.

You start playing with his hand, drawing patterns in his palm, lightly dragging your nails on the sensitive inside of his wrist. It makes him shiver.

There were at least four things he was supposed to do outside before it got too dark, a load of towels and sheets needs done, a basket of clothes waits to be folded and put away. He does not want to do any of it.

His fingers close around yours.

"Thank you," he interjects softly, "I was so tired."

You lean forward and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, whispering in his ear, "you wanna leave the dishes to soak and watch a movie instead?"

Steve chuckles, turns his head to quickly kiss your lips, and nuzzles his nose to yours.

"Oh, you're a naughty minx, aren't you?"

Playfully racing up the stairs, ignoring the plates and glasses still on the table, you call back to him.

"Show some hustle, big guy! We got a whole lot of nothing to do."

He twitches, just for an instant, before finally deciding that grabbing the spare pillows from the guest room will add more to the movie experience than doing the dishes.

You're both going to do the work tonight: the work of taking care of each other, enjoying each other, and being human together.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[footballffbarbiex]

player: virgil van dijk (ft trent alexander arnold) type: kinda smutty. kinda fluffy. request: The reader being Trent’s sister maybe she a couple of years younger too, and he’s protective over her and she’s sneaking around with virg, and at every moment they are always making out or somthing.

_

"Where you going?" trent asks from where he lays on the couch.

you thought you'd tiptoed downstairs quiet enough but it seems his hearing is better than you thought. "out," you reply, already hugging your arms over your chest instinctively.

"no shit sherlock," he says, expression changing to a stern one as he pads out of the lounge and towards where you stand, phone slipping back into his pocket as he does so as it makes an audible sound for it locking too. "I asked where you were going. and don't -" he cuts you off as you open your mouth to give him a vague answer, "give me some crap about 'just going out'."

"you know I'm only a few years younger than you right? I don't need to explain myself. I'm not a kid anymore," you mutter then instantly regret it. you know Trent's intentions are good, but you also realise that he's constantly having to look out for his own image too. whatever you do, it reflects on him and the way he arches his eyebrows as he stares you down is something else. Trent's not dumb, despite what people may think, and you know he's onto you. it's almost like he can smell him on you.

"I know. I just...you're being careful right? I don't want to see you get hurt."

"trust me T, you'd be the first to know."

-

the feeling of guilt almost choked you as you walked away from the house and though you try to rationalise that you weren't actually lying to him, you couldn't deny that you were certainly hiding something from him. trent had never explicitly asked "are you dating one of my teammates?" and so you hadn't held anything back but it still felt as though you were lying to his face every time you snuck away.

would he understood if you told him? you didn't think so. there were almost 10 year between you both and if trent was worried about you dating someone who is your age, how would he react to who is hooking up with his lil sister? yeah. there was very much a reason the two of you weren't being open.

You're lost in thought, walking and talking while acting on autopilot. You're still not fully taking anything in until you hear the car beep and you snap out of your trance like state. there's no need to see the license plate or the driver to know who it is. opening the door, his aftershave immediately fills your nose and your core clenches at the thought of being near him.

cautiousness has you looking around instinctively before you climb in and take your spot next to him.

"you took your time." comes the deep voice from the drivers side. he waits until you've put on your seatbelt before he leans over for a kiss, one that you happily accept. the moment your lips touch, butterflies erupt within your belly and you feel the smile that's manipulating his mouth.

"and yet you wasted none," you comment when he allows you to pull away for a second. it's the fastest sentence you've spoken in a while before his large hand cups the back of your head, pulling your face and mouth back to his. there's the very tip of his tongue searching for yours to momentarily deepen the kiss and you feel a second pulse developing down south when you remember just how good he is with his tongue.

"how long do you have before he's messaging you?"

"you make it sound like I'm cheating on him." you chuckle to yourself as he grins. "but I'll give it a few hours."

"I'll make sure you get back before he leaves for training then. I do want you to stay over soon though." he tells you as he starts the car and pulls away from where he'd parked.

"how much do you want that?" you find yourself asking out loud rather than keeping it to yourself, though part of you is kicking yourself for putting it out there. but you've asked it now, so you keep your eyes ahead and don't turn to look at him, even though you can see him looking at you from the corner of your eyes.

"enough to want to give you space in my bathroom cabinet for your lil toothbrush and a drawer for your things in the bedroom."

"just a drawer?" you ask, facing him now as you give him a smile while hoping that he can't tell just how much your heart is pounding against your ribcage with such force, you can feel it in your eardrums.

"you'll get everything once I can drop you on your driveway myself without worry."

"you scared of my big brother?" the thought amuses you tremendously.

"pffft. not scared scared. I could still pick trent up and throw him over my shoulder." your gaze drops to where his hand sits on the bottom of the steering wheel, and the other lays in his lap. there's something strangely arousing at the casualness of it all. "but it would make things difficult for you. I don't want that." you can hear that he's talking. you've listened to the words and are momentarily touched by his concern for you, but it quickly fades away as you focus on his fingers. "are you ok, baby?" he asks but it sounds as though you're under water and his words are fuzzy to your ears.

"hmmm?" you half ass ask him.

he looks down, trying to see what's got your attention in such a way and gives a laugh that's as dirty as the thoughts running through his mind. "you're going to make this hard for me to leave you and go to training."

you shift your body in the seat, turning to face him as you lean forward a little. "might see what I can do then" you begin as you shimmy forward a little more, lips connecting with his neck before rubbing over his earlobe, "about getting an overnight bag. I might have to stay at my friend's tonight..."

"there's no maybe about it. you're staying tonight. start thinking of your excuses, have a nap while I'm gone because you're going to be tired tomorrow."

[dabisbratz]

I GOT WHAT YOU NEED — yuta okkotsu x male reader

w.c: 2.1k

WARNING: jealousy, semi-public sex, praise, degradation, finger sucking, kissing, doggy-style, creampie, undepicted aftercare, possessiveness, exhibitionism

a/n: they are not highschoolers!! jjh is a college in this:)

There’s something about the high blush on the apples of his cheeks that makes people believe he’s vulnerable. Maybe it’s the curve of them, the way his naturally wide eyes blink. Maybe it’s his timid nature, the way he carries himself alongside his peers. Sure, he doesn’t exactly exude confidence, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. In fact, Yuta is confident in his abilities, he understands his limits. He understands intentions.

So when he sees you, his pretty boyfriend speaking to a few guys, he sees red. He knows there’s probably nothing malicious brewing in their minds, but he recognizes those looks. The lingering gazes, eyes stuck on your lips as you smile and laugh, subconsciously leaning forward. His perfect boyfriend, too popular for his own good. You have a habit of breaking people down, seeing past their exteriors and embracing them from the inside out. Clearly, you’ve gotten to these delinquents.

He hates it.

Yuta likes to keep to himself. He keeps his hands to himself, stuck in his pockets or to his side, you won’t catch him latching onto anyone, even on a good day. So why does he want to touch you so badly? The men are handsome, he can admit that, with slim faces and piercing eyes. He’s not insecure, Yuta knows you love him, he knows you only want him. But the lines are blurring, everyone’s just too close, too shameless— had he not made it known you were taken, perhaps? That you belonged to someone already?

His mood is souring, eyes narrowed into slits as he bristles. It irks him. The closeness, the leaning in, the trailing eyes, the hands reaching for what’s his. Yuta’s never been this bold before, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets as he walks over, pushing past the small crowd until he gets to you.

If your face wasn’t bright then it certainly is now, twinkling in the sunlight as you grin at him, all pearly teeth and plump lips. He wants to kiss that dumb look right off your face, press his lips against yours until you’re breathless and ditzy. He wants to show you off, his boyfriend. No one else’s.

Then there’s an arm digging into your waist. It certainly isn’t his, clearly belonging to an individual much older than him. Much more bold. Heat bubbles in his veins, straight through the ones protruding in his forearms, cascading into his bloodstream. Some nerve. He’s sure you can hear his teeth grinding, with the way you wince at him as they dig into his gums. It’s clear you’re uncomfortable, just too kind to say anything.

“What?” His voice is mocking, he stares at Yuta through the bridge of his nose, but it’s more like a glance. As if he’s not worth the eye contact. “He’s busy.”

“C’mon,” It’s clear he’s talking to you, but his eyes are glued on the man trying to pull you in closer. Yuta’s vision swims, his strong hand clasped right over the stranger’s to squeeze until it hurts, searing hot pain in his wrist as he tears his arm away from your waist. He wishes there were more, more screams of pain, more evidence that it hurt, but all he gets is a clenched fist and an equally clenched jaw. “I want to teach you a new training technique.”

The walk around campus was tense. The air was thicker than blood, despite being outside. Yuta lugged you along, squeezing your hand when you trail too far behind. Truthfully, you didn’t expect him to hold your hand. Not in public, anyway, his warm palms clasped over your own was almost sweet. Whatever it was, it’s enough to make you smile, knees turning to jello as he dragged you toward an empty space between buildings.

“Yuta? Are you—”

“Whose are you?” You nearly trip over your feet, jaw going slack as Yuta pulls you into the alleyway, pressing your back against the cold building walls. He’s dead serious, eyes blazing as he holds you by your shoulders, breath panning over your face. You blink. Once, twice, again.

Whose are you?

“Yours, I’m… Only yours,” The sincerity lacing your voice nearly breaks his resolve, the furrow of his brow briefly dropping because you’re just that sweet. His sweet boy. “Always.”

“Did he touch you anywhere else?” He asks, already unbuttoning your shirt to inspect your bare body, warm hands tracing the skin until you’re squirming. Sly bastard. You shake your head, wary of your voice, by now it’s surely not trustworthy. Yuta tilts his head, a small smile spreading across his face as his thumbs brush your nipples, tutting when the silky skin hardens beneath the pads of his fingers. “Here? Seems sensitive… Did he bruise you?”

An animalistic sound leaves the back of his throat, surprising the both of you. Just the mere thought of someone touching you, hurting you, leaving a mark on you… He growls. Yuta’s hands are quick to pull your pants down to your ankles, watching the fabric fall until it’s bunched up and holding your legs together.

“Nobody else’s,” He repeats, pulling your cock free to fist at the head, marveling when precum immediately beads at the tip. Your gasp is just as sweet as you, hands shooting out from your sides to grip his wrist, knees buckling under the weight of his iron grip around your cock. “This cock too, right? So pretty, isn’t it? Whose is it?”

“Yours, yours,” Your head is swimming, nails digging into your boyfriend's wrist as he twists his fist along your shaft, steady and tantalizingly slow. You feel yourself clench the second he spits down on your cock, lubing it up to pump faster and faster, until you can’t tell your pants apart from the wet, rhythmic squelching of spit and precum. The head is so sensitive, twitching in Yuta’s grasp as he lets out a breathy chuckle, locking eyes with you. “S’all.. all yo—urs!”

He nods in approval, swatting your wrists away so he can thumb your slit, circling the precum at your tip with his thumb. He lets go, briefly tasting you on his tongue before hooking his thumb into your mouth, letting you have a taste too. You hum around it, eyes blinking rapidly when he presses it against your tongue, moving it deeper into your mouth until you’re almost gagging. Your complaint comes out gurgled, but it’s obvious you’ve let out a frustrated, “Yuta!”

“Need you to cum for me,” His Aegean eyes are full of warmth, despite the last remnants of dark circles resting beneath them. Your boyfriend has always been so cute, under a different circumstance you’d have kissed him silly. “Can you do that for me? Make this pretty cock cum while I feed this hole my cock? Huh?”

Maybe you relied on the cute part a bit too much.

“Uh-huh,” You nod, twirling yourself around on shaky legs. You’re not sure how long you have, soon it’d be time to get home before they start kicking students out of public areas that aren’t the library. Yuta’s hands ghost your waist, careful to catch you in case you fall. But you don’t, instead arching your back toward him until he’s digging his nails into the soft surface of your ass, hard enough to leave indents on the skin. You shiver. “I can— I can do that. For you.”

“Goood boy,” His hands are back on your dick, enveloping it with an overwhelming amount of warmth until you’re drooling onto your arm, hips rutting into his palms. Your hips move so you can fuck into it, cock throbbing so hard you start to wail. It’s too much, the hands relentlessly pumping your cock, the squelching in your ears, Yuta’s teeth nipping at your earlobe while his hardon presses against your ass. He sighs straight into your ear, open mouthed and breathy, feeling your cock jump in his hands. nearly out his hand. You can hear his smile in his voice, body rocking to and fro as he slides his clothed erection between your cheeks. “My good boy.”

His fingers end up finding your mouth again, pressing against your lips until you swallow them down, sputtering all over them as you moan and whine. He has to shut you up somehow, keep you from alerting anyone who may walk by. Keep those cute sounds you make to himself.

The sound of his zipper falls on deaf ears, had it not been for the weight against your rim you wouldn’t have noticed it. You wish you could see it, the dusted brown head of his cock sliding down the space between your asscheeks, wet with precum and— oh, did he just spit on your hole? — saliva. The trail dribbling off his cock must look obscene, and part of you wants to pull away and catch it in your mouth before it can go to waste.

“Ahh, look! Your sloppy hole is drooling on my dick,” He sounds just amazed as you do aroused, your ass fluttering around air as he slaps his cock against your tight rim. If he could just push, impale you on his dick already and bounce you on his cock. “But this isn’t really your hole, is it?”

“Uh-uh,” You sound like a broken record, but it’s all you can say as your mind starts to fog and your brain feels floaty. “S’yours, Yuta. Belongs t’you.”

Your rambling is cut short by the stretch of his cock, longer than it is thick, but enough to make you feel worn out and thoroughly stretched open nonetheless. Yuta goes back to shushing you, pushing himself deeper inside, inch by inch. He could cum now if he focuses too hard on it, on your gooey walls gripping him like a vice. On the spit pooling at his shaft. On your eager efforts to thrust for him, your ass jiggling as you wiggle on his dick.

But that’s not all, it’s the approaching footsteps. The gradually rising voices. The familiar ones from earlier, at that.

Fuck.

He just can’t help himself, pistoning his hips into yours until he hears that delicious clap of his balls against the back of your thighs. Sweat gathers at his brow, Yuta’s free hand bunching up the fabric of your unbuttoned shirt so he can hold it up and watch your hole take his cock like it was made for it. It’s hard to suppress his own groans, a pure erupting from his throat when the realization slowly enters your eyes, slow and delayed because you were too focused on getting fucked silly by his throbbing dick.

“Keep crying like that and the whole school will know all it takes for you to be happy is some dick.”

Your eyes roll back, slutty and shameless as he pulls you closer, getting his cock inside you as deep as he possibly can.

“Don’t want everyone to know how sweet my pussy feels around a cock, do we?” His grunts spark electricity straight down to your cock, which twitches and jumps against your tummy until your toes curl, warmth rallying in your stomach. “S’right, it’s mine. And it’s gonna cum for me.”

He can’t make out what you’re saying, not when his thrusts cut you off every time and his fingers are stroking your warm, wet tongue. Your thighs tremble, finally giving out, as you fall back on Yuta’s cock. He smiles, holding you close until his thrusts are choppy and rushed, voice raspy as you gag on his fingers. You shoot at the same time, his cum reaching deep inside you, thick, creamy ropes of cum leaking out your sensitive, used hole.

Maybe it was the excitement of it all, the thrill of nearly getting caught while you were getting pummeled within an inch of your life. Maybe it was Yuta’s words, driving you crazy and emptying your brain. You’re not sure, but it has you spraying hard against both your stomach and the wall, dollops of cum sticking to your shirt and trailing down your abdomen.

Everything is fuzzy. Your brain, your hearing, your sense of touch. You can barely register Yuta pulling out with a hiss, or the way he gently peppers kisses across your face until he reaches your lips, but you’re absentmindedly melting into the plush skin with no complaints. Beneath it all, though, you can see the way your boyfriends aegean eyes brighten in admiration, his pink lips moving in what you assume is the sentence:

“Wow…you’re too cute..”

[anyxis]

I know Kalim is a goofy character in nature, but hear me out. He is the heir of the most powerful family in Silk City, one of the most powerful in the Scalding Sands and I think maybe of the whole world..? I don’t know, maybe I’m reading too much into that last one, but from the way the other guys talk about him it’s really like he is something else, you know?

Anyway, being an heir, like Leona said in book 6, he is learning to manage his influence. But, what if it was a game of some sort. I’m not going at it like « oh no! He is more powerful and smart than Jamil! He was just playing dumb all along! What ever will we do😩😩 » no. Not at all. The angle I’m going at is that he fakes being this naive, easy going type of guy.

I mean, people have been trying to either kidnap him or kill him since he was a kid. He doesn’t have any real friends, because everyone is either looking down on him for getting everything too easily or they want to take advantage of that fact. The only person he really considered a true friend ended up trying to kill him too.

So what does he do? Cry about it and give up on life or fake it till he makes it? He just fakes being happy-go-lucky until he tricks himself into believing he truly is and that everything happening really isn’t that bad. But behind the smile and the laugh and the friendliness, there is still the heir to the Al Asim family.

So what if at some point, during a party hosted by his family, someone says or does something that’s just… too far? His limit was reached and his smile falls from his face and he goes full on heir mode. The aura that starts coming from him is intimidating and his tone is calculated. He is the heir of the Al Asim family and apparently you needed a reminder of that fact. He starts talking about facts, laws and contracts. Starts talking about how such things won’t be tolerated, especially in his home. Starts talking about punishment and the sorts for those who will dare cross them. And so on, and so forth.

And then, he sees a friend. Maybe a guy he had invited from NRC, maybe Leona who acts as a representative for his royal family. And he gets back into his goofy self, all like « oh my god guys! You’re here! Are you enjoying yourselves right now? Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you? »

And everyone just… stares… absolutely terrified to make a wrong move or say the wrong thing. They had never seen Kalim that way and they certainly didn’t want to get on their futur colleagues bad side.

Anyway, food for thought?

[gilverrwrites]

I am such a sucker for characters experiencing kindness after being hurt for so long…and I bet Bruce ‘Consent is Sexy’ Wayne does too, the man *is* a professional white knight. Like yes Mister Wayne, stroke my face and tell me I’m pretty, compliment my intelligence randomly and not just to love bomb me like my crime lord ex-husband, kiss me soft before you kiss me hard. Bruce would treat you with kindness regardless, but there’s something that really pulls him in about the way you look at him every time he does or says something nice…maybe because he knows you’ve never looked at someone else like that. The way you’re trying not make it obvious that you’re desperate for his touch is certainly something - don’t worry baby, he’s not gonna make you chase or work for anything. And even though he doesn’t care about this stupid rivalry as much as Roman does, he does feel a little victory knowing that he doesn’t need need to drug you to get you excessively wet and babbling.

Good golly you came with the big guns babe.

Like my every time I read this to try and come up with a response worth reading I come out speechless cause im

I will say, the transition of being in your first ‘good’ relationship after a long term unhealthy one, for me at least, does contain those little moments.

My bf occasionally likes to bring up how for like the first 2 years of our relationship, and sometimes even to date, he’ll catch me looking at him in awe for offering me basic human decency. Just opening doors, or helping me carry my bags.

If I’d realise I’d been talking for a long time I’d stop and apologise, and he’d be like “no, no, no I like when you talk, I want to hear what you have to say.” And that was so fucking weird to me.

I was projecting when I mentioned that aftercare and the cuddling in the fic, and I’m totally doing it again now but yes, the “way you look at him every time he does or says something nice…maybe because he knows you’ve never looked at someone else like that. The way you’re trying not make it obvious that you’re desperate for his touch is certainly something - don’t worry baby, he’s not gonna make you chase or work for anything.” Has me by the neck.

Also, “he does feel a little victory knowing that he doesn’t need need to drug you to get you excessively wet and babbling.” Knocked me off my feet, you went for the throat, and I live for it.

[yuri-is-online]

Hi, there (again)!

If it's not too much trouble, make a second and last request, I can request

Pronto: (5) seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

With Trey, Silver And Sebek?

In case of passing me orders you can discard my order. Take your time and at your pace, bye 🌠🌌✍️💐

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

Hello again yourself! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this was the most popular prompt huh (ﾟωﾟ；) Sorry I took so long to get back around to this one, I hope it was not too frustrating a wait I find it a bit difficult to wrap my head around Sebek.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Rook is a bit dramatic (Trey), light injury but nothing descriptive (Silver), some misunderstandings quickly cleared (Sebek). The rest of the event requests can be found here.

Trey

"My beloved, hath thou truly forgotten me? Tis I! Your sweetheart!"

In a scene out of a particularly annoying, tropey rom com, the thought dead lover throws themselves into the... indifferent arms of a most unwilling extra around whose shoulders have been draped a lab coat to serve as a makeshift cape. Trey should be focusing on his strawberries, or maybe the grip he has on the watering can, but it is getting much more difficult to ignore the farce going on just out of his line of sight. Sure, Trey trusts you, he isn't worried you are going to leave him for Rook of all people he's just worried that you're uncomfortable. That's it. That's why he keeps glancing at the lab coat and not listening to the dialogue.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee?" You know you're supposed to put effort into line delivery, but you literally just got this script ten seconds ago so you hope Rook' expectations are low. "I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine-" your face immediately wrinkles "Rook I'm not saying this shit."

"Non non," Rook shakes his head, dropping character only for a second "You will not be saying them, your character will be saying them." He settles back into his role making doe eyes up at you as you swear you hear the sound of something snapping just behind you. Probably your patience.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee, I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine embrace." the script calls for Rook to dip you, but instead of Le chasseur d’amour you find yourself gently pulled back by your makeshift cape into the arms of a knight.

"Sorry," the "cape" falls to the ground as Trey spins you into a dip, complete with the lengthy kiss the script called for "but I don't have anything cool to say." And yet the way he holds you, the strain in his smile and the angry slit his eyes have slimmed to is very cool. Very rare is the sight of genuine frustration on Trey Clover's face, rarer still the glare. Rook is well and truly enraptured, and now it's your turn to feel jealous.

"Chevalier des Roses! I certainly hope I did not overstep-" That bastard is grinning, almost like he was deliberately trying to poke the bear.

"Of course not." Trey pulls you up, arm wrapped firmly around your waist. "I just need to get a new watering can from storage and was wondering if Yuu wanted to come with me." Ha "ask" as if he is intending on letting you go, his grip hasn't loosened one bit.

Silver

"I'm sorry we weren't able to be of more help, prefect." The kitchen ghost's mournful face looks painfully out of place, you're so used to seeing their big smiles you almost feel like you're the one who screwed up.

"It's ok, really! Please don't feel bad, I'm not going to quit just because we had one little accident." Technically, it was not a little accident, otherwise you would still be wearing your clothes and not a master chef approved chef's jacket, but in pursuit of enlightenment one must be willing to make a few sacrifices. If making coffee could be considered a culinary pursuit.

"I'm very glad to hear that," some of the ghost's usual pep returns, along with it his seriousness as an instructor "but no more attempts today, you hear me? Make sure to put a compress on your arm when you get back to Ramshackle and put some ointment on it. I'll never forgive myself if your burn gets worse." You give a mock salute, carefully cradling the single thermos of coffee you had managed to salvage from your lessons close to your chest with your non injured arm.

"Aye aye captain, I'll make sure to come back to pick up my shirt after I've changed." And you did fully intended to do that if you hadn't run into the exact person your little delivery was for on your way back to your dorm. Silver pauses when he sees you, with a strange tight look on his face you don't recognize that doesn't disappear as you get closer. If anything it gets worse, and he doesn't snap out of it even when you're directly in front of him.

"Silver?" You try one more time and he startles, face slipping back into his normal listlessness.

"Sorry, I don't really know what came over me." So he says, but his attention remains firmly fixed on the coat even if his look is passive. "I didn't realize there were Master Chef classes going on."

"Oh there aren't, I just had a small accident." You say, subconsciously reaching for your sleeve as if you can hide a burn by drawing attention to it. It's a reflex, much like Silver's reach, his fingers careful not to irritate the bruised skin. "Silver?" You ask, trying to find the words you need to reassure him.

"I don't like red on you." He says, so oddly serious it takes you a second to realize he isn't really looking at the burn, no his attention is on your chef's jacket and it's offensive Heartslabyul badge. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me... I should be more concerned about the burns."

"Funny," you laugh ignoring his embarrassment "I think green looks nice on you."

Sebek

Sebek isn't very good at saying what he means. You know this, you love him in spite of this. It makes him feel very lucky, and he has no real problem telling people this. Silver was by far the person who heard him brag about you the most, even if he attempted to downplay just how happy he was to be with you it wasn't like he could hide very much from his friend. Which was what made this situation so... confusing. Hurtful even, Sebek doesn't have words for what he is feeling because "jealous" just feels petty but "distressed" feels pathetic. And he is neither of those things. In his opinion. Because being jealous is something insecure people do, and he is not insecure nor does he not trust Silver.

So why then why is he in so much physical pain?

"Hmph, I expect short sighted napping from Silver, but I was starting to expect better from you." Sebek can't tell who is more surprised that he isn't shouting, you or him. Hell, his tone is so normal Silver hasn't moved from his slumped position against one of the courtyard apple trees. You had been lying on the grass, waiting for him he knows as a fact even if his hammering heart is doubting it.

"Sorry, I couldn't wrap my head around some of the figures Crewel went over in class so I was up late studying." You sit up as you answer him, Silver's jacket falling off of your shoulders and taking Sebek's narrow gaze with it. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Did you ask Silver for help." It's a question but he doesn't voice it as one, there's genuine hurt on your face that pushes him back from anger into embarrassment and shame. You just look confused, looking down at the coat crumpled across your legs then back up at his still on his person and-

Laughing. You start to laugh and the lightest twinge of anger returns firmly setting his face into a cross between a scowl and a pout.

"H-hey I'm being serious. I'm Lord Malleus's retainer, diligent study is not something I will scold you for! I can help you stay awake!" His begging just makes you laugh harder, which should make him angrier but you're smiling. You are smiling and the silliness of the situation really settles on him. Sebek talks to Silver about you all the time, of course Silver would be just as worried as he would if he found you asleep on the courtyard green. There is no challenge to his honor or ability as a partner here, just the friendly concern over the partner of a brother knight.

"I know you are Sebek." You stand up, scrambling over to return Silver his coat before falling naturally into you place at his side and returning his smug pride to his posture. "Can I ask you some questions about those equations? I remember things better when I picture them in your voice."

"Of course!" Said voice booms back to life, the shout finally doing it's job in cracking Silver awake. "Make sure you don't take your eyes off of me for a second, Yuu!"

[kalims]

Oh my goddess, orders are open! Ahem, ANYWAYS— I wonder if I could have an Idia with a fem or gn s/o who is introverted and generally closed-faced, being a sweetheart and even shy with him, pretty please?

• Remember to drink water and take care of yourself correctly, kisses <3

– Mel 🌙🩵✨

dress,

premise.

idia forever thought his cause of death would be the permanent termination of his end game account—which in theory, is now proven wrong at the existence of a brand new thing that just might obliterate his heart.

note. thank you mel <3 you too. i, for one will gladly accept kisses from u and idia (he's downbad here LOL)

idia is having a strangely, familiar sensation.

for example—the fact that his heart is palpitating so fast is making him afraid that he'll get the same sense of doom he frequently gets whenever this happens. like when he's the one that the professor chooses to answer a question up front. just his luck cause it absolutely sucks in real life just as much as his chances of winning that rare character.

but no, there isn't an impending sense of doom that sends him to the edge. no cold sweat forming on the skin of his neck, nor does it protrude from his clammy hands. it's weird, he feels warm rather than the cold it usually accompanies.

he needs to visit a doctor.

he gulps thickly. sending a lightning fast glance at your direction then averting it even faster. oh my god, your hand just brushed against his.. was it intentional? no, no—it mustn't be. you wouldn't waste your time doing that.

but you might even look more tenser than he is.

despite the attempt at flushing down the tightness in his throat, his words still break off into a croaky stammer that just sends his face into a grimace because, did he sound like that? "I'm.. I'm really sorry, you didn't have to do this," he says, looking away with those eyes that just screams a mixture of 'I hate it all.' and 'I'm so scared.'

his eyes in comparison to yours, dull significantly in terms of greatness. cause as rare as it is for your eyes to meet, he'll always marvel at the lush hue your eyes are colored with—and god, your lashes. so pretty, so, so pretty.

he sulks. he doesn't deserve this.

"it's alright," you answer in response, voice quiet but it's the only thing he ever hears despite the myriad of people quite nearly squishing the both of you. the crowd is large, and noisy. so he isn't sure why he's suddenly the greatest listener when you speak. "I'm glad you thought of... inviting me along, I know you're quite passionate about it."

passionate is not a strong enough word, it could be an incorrect word to use even. he supposes it's just a nice feeling to excel—be good at something.

but with how hot his heart is probably burning, maybe passionate really is the right word.

for you that is.

most likely idia's ideal type of player two <3 someone he can keep up with, not too fast and certainly not too slow. but either way, he’s probably having a heart attack at whatever you do. literally just sleeping? his heart… playing with him? please match avatars at once or he will combust. (and yes, he is hinting even though you already match everywhere else. had a house in a game, got married in a game.)

don’t even pull out the fact he buys you the currency to match and you feel bad cause he thinks it’s too cute. you need to stop or else he will buy you more.

speaking of more in game terms, he surprisingly garners a lot of attention online maybe because he’s endgame in every single account he’s made and many people like money so… there are many attempts at ‘rizzing’ him up but in the end he’s provoking them to screenshot it and report them as online daters.

^ says THE online dater.

still reports people if they flirt with you, but compared to his. not only is it a file for online dating he somehow dug up the dirt, the monstrous things they did like… 3 years ago and now they’re gonna get suspended. It’s concerning since he was talking with you animatedly during it and he somehow also exposed them all in 10 minutes.

did the see you again trend in secrecy cause he would rather leap down a hole to hell than let people see it. In any case… if it isn’t obvious he’s the lala, you the okok.

deluded himself, is convinced that he’s actually the nonchalant, ‘cool’ one but all he is, is a literal puddle. is still solid when standing but will be putty in your hands in SECONDS.

idia is secretly really proud of himself whilst being like: how did i even pull them. cause when he looks at your face when you’re talking to other people. he’s actually kind of scared cause it’s a really wondrous thing you never once looked at him like that… (please save his mind too. he’s trying to convince himself that you must be like this, soft person he knows to other people too and not just him because that’s just crazy right haha.. hahahaha…)

the type to tell you to stand back during raids, challenges, boss fights, etc…  that all you need to do is be there, and that he’ll solo it for you and you can claim your rewards even though he gave you the rarest, strongest equipment in respective games which won’t be much use at this point cause he insists he do it for you, and sulks all day if you don’t let him.

stay at home couple >>>

will order every single thing you crave during those times he’s too shy to consider date nights, and you too so it’s like an unspoken thing. he honestly plays better when you’re inside his room, even if it’s just laying on his messy bed scrolling on your phone or munching on something.

it’s just complete, comfortable silence.

except for the time one of you accidentally makes an indirect flirty comment and now the room could be considered a sauna from the literal steam only two people emitted. 

really, really, really, REALLY, likes it when your head is on his shoulder.

“─ean.. no one really asked for it, the nerf was completely unnecessary and─” the words poured out of his mouth, something uncontrollable that he couldn’t stop. there is something about you that just kicks down the layer of anxiety on him. comfortable might be the right word, even if you don’t talk that much (which is surprising cause he ends up being the talkative one and you always assure him that you like to listen.) somehow the thought: am i too annoying? doesn’t really pop up like usual.

in fact, he’s excited to ramble all about it. excited to hear your thoughtful hums, excited to see your attentive eyes on him since the first word he’s said─but it isn’t. because he looks up and you’re blinking haphazardly, thrice in a second and before he panics to shut his mouth he feels the soft slump of your head against the curve of his shoulder.

oh my god, oh my god, oh my g─

if idia had half of his mind he would scream instinctively at the weight he isn’t really accustomed to feel. actually, even if he did have his entire brain connected, and his thoughts coherent he still would. but he bites the inside of his cheek cause despite the chaos that just erupted in his mind which is somehow simultaneously blank, and swirling.

and he remembers midst his confusion that you are,

asleep.

you’re asleep on his shoulder

you’re asleep.

asleep on his shoulder.

on. his. shoulder.

he resorts to the screech in his head.

his shoulder─is so terribly stiff right now to the point where he thinks that sleeping on a hard, wooden surface would be surely more comfortable rather than where your head lays. he makes an effort to relax his muscles, tell himself that it’s only you and that there’s nothing wrong but there is something wrong because it’s you! idia dares to sneak a peek at you and your closed lids only confirm your unconscious state.

and careful with each nudge his movement makes sends to your head. idia can’t resist the hands that creep up his face and bury it, to hope all the embarrassment and whatever he’s feeling right now absorbs it right out of his face because god. he knows he looks like he just ate 10 bowls of lilia’s cooking.

he would scream, he really would. a second thought but you’re on his shoulder!

you, who rarely touches him too much.

on him.

him, who gets too flustered to be touched by you.

so he feels pretty obligated to just suck it up cause he’s enjoying the moment even if you aren’t conscious right now and he sure as hell is going to, for as long as he can.

idia releases a deep sigh, long and wistful because he’s gonna die before you even wake up.

[milaisreading]

🌱🩷: Smn requested a pt2 of the U-20 team meeting crossdresser!Yn. So here it is!

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. In the story the boys will be using he/him when addressing Yn. Requests for this series are open.

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"Hmmm?" Sendou squinted his eyes as he observed the Blue Lock team.... well, the starters more than anybody else. They were all somewhat interesting, but also boring to some regards, yet he couldn't stop looking at them. Or, better yet, a certain person in the team. The (h/c) haired striker of the team certainly stood out, as he looked way more... softer(?) than the rest of his team. Even his movements weren't like those from the other guys.

"Hey, Sendou. Stop staring into space and listen to what Aiku is saying." Hayate said lazily as Teru and Teppei nodded their heads.

"Yeah, we need to win this game."

"Sae is already being annoying with how 'lukewarm' we are." Cho rolled his eyes as Niou sent the older Itoshi and Shidou death glares.

"Sorry... it's just... that Blue Lock striker over there is very odd." Sendou said as he discreetly pointed at (Y/n), who was busy talking with Hiori and Kurona about something.

"Odd? He is just standing." Niou pointed out.

"Also, you being distracted resulted in him scoring the 2nd goal." Itsuki added in.

Sendou blushed in embarrassment and glared at his teammates.

"Shut it! And he is odd. Even the way he is standing is odd. It's as if I am seeing one of those idol girls."

"You have completely lost it." Teppei said calmly.

"Maybe we should limit your TV and internet access." Teru suggested.

"What are you all talking about now?" Oliver raised an eyebrow as he and Miroku approached them.

"Sendou think that (L/n) guy is a girl." Hayate simply stated.

"I never said he was a girl! I just said he reminds me of those idol girls!" The boy flushed a bright red.

"Oookkay..." Oliver said as he looked over at the said player.

"Regardless, let's just play now. Sae is already being an ass to me."

"Deserved." Miroku and Niou added in.

"Hey!"

As the 3 bickered, Sendou turned to look at the striker again. Sadly, this time, he wasn't as secretive, and Hiori noticed his staring, drawing (Y/n)'s attention to it. The two made brief eye contact, and Sendou swore he could feel his heart doing a flip or two as he stared into the player's eyes.

'Just what is it about you?'

Sendou thought that his encounter with the striker would end when the match ended, but no! They actually met up again at that karaoke bar, and again, Sendou had this weird feeling about the striker.

'He is just too perfect with girls... as if he knows first hand what they want to hear.' Sendou thought as he watched the boy's interaction with the two older girls. Meanwhile, Hayate, Teru, and Miroku were making fun of a pouting Oliver. Sendou watched as the striker's friends pulled him away from the girls.

"Stop being weird, Sendou." Cho warned the redhead.

"What?"

"You are staring at the dude like he killed someone." Teppei noted.

"Please, whatever sort of weird feelings you have for him, sort it out. It's getting stressful to watch." Niou added in as Sendou flushed a deep red as he tried to deny that statement. Itsuki snickered a little.

"You do have a weird fixation." Miroku said, walking over to the group.

"Bachira, please don't make a scene!" (Y/n) yelled as he pulled him away from an argument with Oliver.

"He does remind me of a idol tho... I have to give it to Sendou for noticing it first." Hayate added in.

"Please don't tell me you have been staring too." Niou groaned.

"In my defense, he is cute." Sendou grumbled at the statement Hayate made, and got even more agitated as Miroku and Teru agreed.

"So, a bowling match it is!" Oliver exclaimed, getting the attention of the rest of the team.

"What?" Niou wondered.

"We agreed to a bowling match with you guys." (Y/n) spoke up as she tried to get Bachira off of her arm.

"Losers buy the winners food." The (h/c) haired striker finished.

"Well, in our case Reo is buying the food." Chigiri and Isagi snickered.

"Aiyah... I guess. Bachira, can you let go of my arm now?"

"No." The bicolored boy said, which caused Chigiri and Isagi to grab onto Bachira to pull him off of (Y/n).

"There goes my hoodie." She sighed as the U-20 team watched in amusement... well, except for Oliver.

"And you! Blue Lock's number 12!"

"Ha?" The four looked at him in confusion, as the U-20 team sighed in defeat.

"Here we go." Cho and Teru said quietly.

"When the bowling game ends... how about you be a good brother to me and tell me your tricks on how you swooned those two girls soe easily." Oliver grinned, putting a  arm around (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"What?" The girl asked, dumbfounded by the statement.

"Why is he touching (Y/n)?"

"I don't know... doesn't he have a disease or something?"

"His breath probably smells, too." Isagi, Chigiri, and Bachira commented among themselves, trying to hold themselves back from ripping Oliver away from their striker.

"Eh... I don't know." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Oliver pulled her out of the room.

"Hey!" The three Blue Lock players protested.

"Hold it right there! Where are you going with (Y/n)?!" Otoya's voice was heard from down the hallway.

"That's not how you hold a bowling ball, Hayate-san." (Y/n) noted as she watched the white-haired boy struggle holding the ball.

"What?" The taller raised an eyebrow.

"You need to grab tightly onto it with all 3 fingers... that's way too loose." (Y/n) showed the shaky hand that was holding the ball. Although she didn't play or like this sport much, she knew some rules.

"You might injure your hand like that." She said simply finished as Hayate observed her hand for a moment and then repeated the same hold.

"Thanks."

"Welcome, let's have a fair game then." (Y/n) said as Hayate was about to say something, but the girl got pulled away by Nagi. The U-20 player watched with some new found interest the striker.

'Odd... but Sendou was right... there is something about the number 12 that isn't like the rest...' The white haired boy thought.

"You think that something is weird about him too, don't you?" Sendou suddenly spoke up from behind Hayate, who slowly nodded his head.

"There really is."

"Hey, you two! Focus! I need those tips from (Y/n)." Oliver warned the duo, who looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"I made (Y/n) promise to give me tips about girls, if we win." Oliver simply stated.

"You... are getting dating tips from your junior?" Cho asked in disbelief.

"This is gold. I wish I had my camera with me." Miroku chuckled as Niou held in a laughter. Teppei tried to calm everyone down, but he did find this whole ordeal funny.

"Shut it!" Oliver yelled with an embarrassed blush as Teru and Itsuki patted their captain's back, silently laughing as well.

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Lance keeps his word — it doesn’t take long for him to really get the hang of his telepathy thing, and then he really is in Keith’s head more often than he isn’t.

That’s not entirely fair, Keith supposes. He has a pretty good hang of the telepathy thing too, and Lance showed him early on how to put up a pretty thick mental block if he needs some privacy, or even just a break. He knows how to keep his mindscape quiet and personal, if need be.

But the thing is…he rarely bothers.

He likes having Lance in his head, or vice versa. It’s crazy, and he never would have expected it of himself, but having the constant presence of his best friend in the back of his head; talking, humming, or just being, has turned into a massive comfort.

The desperate loneliness he grew up with, although slowly disappearing over the years he’s had Voltron, has faded into almost nothingness. He likes Lance’s noise in his head. It makes communication during battle a lot easier, too.

He’s yet to feel the rest of the team as strongly in his head — he certainly can’t hold conversations with anyone else — but he feels as if the connection that has been constantly present since they formed Voltron for the first time is stronger, maybe. As if he feels a little closer to all his friends.

That’s really mushy, Lance informs him in his mind. You’re a massive softie marshmallow. I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool.

Keith sits up, abandoning his fourth set of push-ups to find Lance across the training room, doing some sort of gymnastic routine (blatantly showing off for some of the younger members of the Atlas. He’s not even trying to pretend he isn’t, smirking whenever they point at him and whisper to each other in awe when he does a quadruple in-air backflip or something that serves no actual training purpose).

Keith frowns at him. I am so cool.

Are not. You’re a squishy softie marshmallow that cries during Finding Nemo.

Everyone cries during Nemo! Keith defends huffily. It’s a heart-wrenching movie!

Lance doesn’t say anything back, but Keith can feel the impression of his laughter. It’s a hard thing to conceptualise, because he’s not really laughing, and there’s no sound of laughter even in his mindscape, but Keith feels the teasing joy bleeding from him. The best way he’s come to describe it, after weeks of trying to put words to the feeling as he falls asleep, is the feeling he gets when a joke lands, combined with the kind of raw freedom that comes with running in a dead sprint for no reason other than the pleasure of running. Something concentrated and all-encompassing and heart-turning. That’s what Lance’s laughter feels like.

And Keith won’t stand for it. It’s one thing for Lance to tease him with his words, poking fun at him with his wide, sparkling grin, but to make fun of Keith for the thoughts he’s thinking in his own head?

He will not lie down at the dishonour.

Grinning in anticipation, he scoops up his luxite blade, lining up the shot and throwing with deadly accuracy. The blade spins through the air, so fast it whistles, directly at Lance’s head. If he doesn’t dodge, it will kill him.

But Lance will dodge. He knew Keith was going to throw the blade before he even made the decision to throw it.

Gasps ripple through the training room, several people shouting in alarm as the blade comes closer and closer to killing the Red Paladin of Voltron. Milliseconds before it hits, just as someone opens their mouth to scream a warning, Lance moves, faster than the eye can track, pulling out his bayard and transforming it in the same moment, batting Keith’s blade out of the air with his broadsword like it’s a baseball.

He grins, wide and manic and jumping to the challenge, to the spar.

“That all you got, Mullet?” he calls, swinging his blade like the cocky shithead he is. Keith can hear the impression of his laughter again; he’s dizzy with it, drunk off the heady feeling.

“Not even a little bit,” he says, activating his own bayard. Without needing to say a word, they both charge forward at the same time, arms drawn back and swords heavy with potential energy, meeting in the middle of the training room with a clash of their blades, so hard it sends vibrations up their arms.

The shouts of alarm from the rest of the crew turn into whoops of excitement, as people fan out into a circle to give them space. Keith is relatively certain he sees Pidge and Matt organizing bets out of the corner of his eye.

Ready for a show? Lance’s voice echoes in his head. Distantly, he hears Red’s howling roar, the proud lion wrapping her energy with her paladin, gleefully telling Keith how much she looks forward to seeing her cub wipe the floor with him.

She is a very competitive entity, Red. It sparks something in Black, too, who gets up from her perch in a rare display of headstrong pride and wraps her energy around Keith to match.

You’re going to lose, Keith taunts.

Fat chance, Mullet.

Their strikes are less choreographed, now that a real challenge has been issued, and more than their own pride is at stake. There is no real fight here — whether or not Keith wins, he doesn’t truly care.

(But he’d fuckin’ love having something to hold over Lance’s head for a bit. Better if he could be smug in Lance’s head, where he can’t stomp away with a sulk and a claim that Keith was cheating.)

Swordplay with Lance is difficult. It’s always difficult, because Lance uses a sword in every way except how a sword is meant to be used — Keith has seen him use it as a javelin, a bat, even a vault stick — but it’s only gotten harder since Lance has had access to his mind, because Lance hears and feels his every move, anticipating his every trick. Neither of them have managed to win the upper hand for long, and it won’t be long before the other resorts to dirty tactics.

Keith eyes his forgotten luxite blade. He might be the first, actually.

Forcing himself to think of a flurry of random things, practically throwing a wad of unconnected, unsorted thoughts in Lance’s presence in his head to distract him, he dives to the side, reaching for his blade. Lance realises a split second too late to stop him, and his broadsword comes millimetres away from the skin of Keith’s ribcage as he dodges. He closes his fingers around the softened leather of the blade’s handle, and whips around to face his opponent, bayard in his right hand and luxite blade in his left. By the time he’s ready again to fight, even though he’s only taken mere seconds to grab his weapon, Lance has already flipped several meters back, bayard in his hand transformed to his blaster.

Cheater, the both think at the same time, identical smirks on their faces.

Lance fires six quick shots, aiming at vital places in his body. His shots are all true — Lance doesn’t miss — and Keith barely manages to slide out of the way, one of the laser blasts grazing the side of his neck, burning him.

Lance hasn’t bothered to set his gun to stun. Keith can’t blame him. It’s more fun with the risk.

He rushes at Lance, both swords extended, aiming a slash at the Cuban’s arm with one blade and a stab through his torso with the other — he’ll only be able to dodge one. He’ll either have to yield or take a slice, get a painful hit that will slow him down.

Somehow, though, Lance contorts himself, bending his body in a way that it honestly should not be able to bend and narrowly avoiding both blades, hitting the floor with a heavy slam and aiming a sweeping kick for Keith’s knees to take him down with him. Keith jumps to avoid his powerful legs, somersaulting over his head.

“Oh, boo!” someone, who is most definitely Shiro, calls from the crew. Keith almost forgot they were watching, he’s so caught up in the fight. “Come on, Lance! Get his ass!”

If Keith had the time — that is if Lance let up his assault for even one second, which Keith knows he won’t — he’d roll his eyes. Since he doesn’t, he settles for making a mental note to raid Shiro’s room later and steal the last of the Reese’s he packed from Earth.

Oh, that’s diabolical, Lance thinks at him.

Keith grunts, swiping at the hand holding his blaster. If you help me I’ll give you half.

The offer startles a laugh out of Lance, distracting him for just long enough that Keith gains the split-second advantage, placing the blade of his bayard under Lance’s wrist and twisting until Lance is forced to drop his gun or lose his hand.

“Fuck!” several people yell at the same time. Next comes the unmistakable sound of money changing hands.

“Sucks to suck”, Keith taunts, because he can’t help himself.

But Lance looks undeterred. “It does, doesn’t it.” He aims a heavy kick right for Keith’s sternum, and since Keith is too close to move away and not flexible enough to dodge, it lands square where Lance aims it, the heel of his foot knocking the breath from Keith’s lungs and blurring his vision. He drops his swords when the sudden lack of oxygen makes his hands to weak to grip them.

Lance takes advantage of Keith’s momentary weakness, catapulting forward for an assault. Unfortunately for him, his intentions bleed loud and clear through their bond, and Keith hits the floor with a gasp so Lance can’t wrap his legs around Keith’s neck to choke him out.

Lance curses, falling forward with a flail when his assault doesn’t hit, momentum completely overshot. He barely manages to catch himself before his head smacks into Keith’s, and for half a second he stays there, hovering above where Keith lays flat and tense, ready for the next move.

You come here often? Lance teases, and it’s genuinely such a horrible line that Keith groans out loud. They tussle on the ground for several moments, each trying to gain the upper hand, but it’s literally impossible — neither of them is particularly stronger than the other, so there’s no advantage there, and not only are they completely matched, stroke for stroke, punch for punch, but every move they try is completely anticipated by the other. There’s no way that Keith can win. He can try to spend the next who knows how long exhausting Lance, but they’ve already been training for a while — they’re both tired as all hell. And as much as Keith kind of likes Lance’s hands on him, he can’t forget that there are people watching. He has a reputation.

Truce? he offers.

Yeah, Lance concedes, sighing melodramatically. I suppose I’ll let you call a draw.

Keith rolls his eyes as hard as he can — leave it to Lance to be such a goober about it, even though Keith can literally feel that he wants to call it as much as Keith does.

At the exact same time, they spring apart, setting some space in between them to catch their breaths. Once they’ve had a minute to recover, Lance stands, stepping over to Keith and offering his hand. Keith takes it, pulling himself up.

All the gathered crew groans out loud.

“Another draw?” one of the MFE pilots mutters.

“At least they’re wicked cool to watch,” her friend says.

Keith would be able to feel how much Lance preens at that even if they werent telekinetically bonded.

In minutes most of the crew has dispersed, no longer interested now that there isn’t a fight to watch. Some of them go back to whatever equipment they were training on earlier, but many of them file out of the training room entirely, moving onto other things. Keith and Lance make their way over to the rest of the team, collapsing down to the floor next to them.

“You guys are super duper lame,” Pidge informs them, offering them both a water pouch. Keith takes his gratefully, not bothering with the straw and tearing off the top, chugging them whole thing down in one go. Allura looks at him in mild disgust, which makes Keith grin, because if he’s being entirely, one hundred percent honest, he really only did that to get a rise out of her because he knows she hates it when he does that.

“You’re a liar,” Lance responds, sipping on his juice pouch much slower than Keith does. “We just provided you with what was essentially a full-stakes WWE fight, except Keith and I are both way cooler than any of those losers and there were weapons involved.”

“Weapons, but no drama,” Hunk argues. “You guys barely even spoke to each other. Just fight, fight, fight. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the nuance?”

“I didn’t hear you clown Keith even one time,” Shiro adds, because he’s safely out of range of Keith’s pinching fingers. “Two out of ten Keith and Lance fight. I’m disappointed.”

Keith snorts. “Oh, he clowned me plenty.”

The second the words exit his mouth, he feels Lance go rigid beside him, and a sense of panic comes through their bond.

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Lance tells him desperately.

Keith looks at him strangely, but Lance doesn’t provide any more context, looking at a particular spot on the floor as if it’s endlessly fascinating.

“He did?” Coran asks. He looks at Keith with a mix of intrigue and something he can’t place, something almost knowing. “I heard nothing of the sort.”

“Well, you wouldn’t hear it, per se,” Keith says slowly.

Lance screams unintelligibly in his head. Keith gets a distinctive picture of him in his own mindscape, yelling in anguish, as the Red Lion laughs herself to tears beside him.

What is your problem? Keith tries to ask, but mind-Lance ignores him in favour of his misery.

Pidge narrows her eyes at the two of them. “Clarify yourself immediately.”

“The mind bond?” Keith says, voice turning up at the end of the sentence like it’s a question. “You know, that Lance worked on with Red. So that we could communicate with each other using our existing emotional bonds with Voltron, just a couple steps farther. I know you guys haven’t used it much, but I just figured you weren’t into it.”

Silence.

Heavy, disbelieving silence. Each other member of the team looks at Keith with dropped jaws and wide eyes, like what Keith just said is something out of a science fiction novel rather than something they all should have been able to do for weeks, since that meeting with Iverson.

Keith suddenly gets the very distinct feeling that he has, perhaps, fucked up.

“Yeah, no shit,” Lance says, a little hysterically. His face is so red that he rivals his own lion. Keith can actually feel the heat pouring off of him, and the feeling from the bond is worse — Lance is dripping with mortification. “How am I in your fucking head and you still can’t follow my instructions?!”

“You didn’t tell me it was supposed to be a secret!” Keith defends, rapidly going red himself.

He can scarcely believe what is happening right now. Lance has told him that the point of the bond was to make the whole team get closer, but he’d only ever bothered to build something with Keith.

The whole time, from the very beginning, his goal was to share his deepest thoughts and feelings with Keith, no one else.

Oh, God.

“Oh, God,” Shiro repeats, but his tone is vastly different from the way Keith was thinking it. His expression can only be described as evilly and maniacally delighted, like every horrible hope of his has come true at once. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Oh my God,” Lance says, the third person to say it. His face is buried in his hands, body half-curled up, like if he compresses himself small enough he can disappear into nothing.

“So that’s why it’s like you two share one half a braincell!” Hunk exclaims. “You actually do!”

Pidge and Allura crack up at Hunk’s joke, or maybe it’s Lance they’re laughing at. Either way, Keith feels his head spin.

Lance has literally manipulated the quintessence of Voltron specifically and only so he can talk to Keith in his own brain, communicate the emotions he doesn’t have the words for.

Manipulated. The quintessence of the universe’s greatest and most mysterious weapon. To find more ways to talk to Keith.

Keith is generally kind of a dense person, but he’s sure as shit not that dense.

“Hey,” he says, shifting away from the rest of his team that has rapidly lost their minds and is laughing themselves hoarse, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

I am going to kill you dead, Lance threatens in his mind, too embarrassed to make his mouth work.

No, you’re not, Keith replies, and pulls Lance’s hands away from his face, yanking him close and finally pressing their lips together, no longer waiting for some obscure and future proof that Lance loves him. It’s obvious, with the way he softens, melts into Keith’s hands, and the way something warm and soft and floaty flows through their bond.

Lance changed reality for him.

His love could not be more clear.

[ofallthingsnasty]

Okay, okay - I have to elaborate on the whole ‘your fave discovers you spank yourself’ thoughts because I’ve been rotating them in my mind for the last few days. It’s just too perfect… So. Some little thoughts.

tw: spanking, dubious consent & bad dom/sub dynamics for Crocodile and Doflamingo (Buggy is okay though), gn reader characters: Buggy, Crocodile, Doflamingo word count: 1.2k

I feel like Buggy is the type to catch you in the act. Probably doesn’t even know what he’s looking at for a hot second - and then he simply gapes and promptly walks out of the room again, not believing his eyes. It’s not that it’s that scandalous or that he’s a prude (he very much isn’t, we all know that) - he just really didn’t expect to walk in on you doing that. Pretty much everything else would have been okay, maybe even met with a stupid, saucy comment. But you giving yourself a thorough spanking with his wooden hairbrush out of all things is just something that never crossed his mind, and it leaves the clown entirely speechless. You’re probably just as mortified as him - but the worst thing about it all is that he simply won’t talk about it with you for days. No, the moment you see your boyfriend afterwards, he turns as red as his nose, sputters and flees the other way.

It’s not really mature, it’s really, really silly - but it’s Buggy in a nutshell. At least him avoiding you quickly turns your embarrassment into irritation, which certainly is one way to deal with those feelings. You simply want to talk it out instead of playing cat and mouse as a grown-ass adults and even though you should probably feel ashamed a little bit (or should you? Is this really worse than knowing that Buggy has blown himself at least once?), you soon find yourself grabbing him by the scruff of his neck to finally address it. It’s then that he confesses - stammering, sweating, avoiding eye contact entirely - that he hasn’t been able to get the mental image of you punishing yourself out of his head, hell, that he’s been fucking his fists to it (but you didn’t hear that part, is that clear!?)- Well, that explains a lot of his odd behavior. Caught somewhere between relief, embarrassment and that familiar flicker of heat in your belly, it’s now your turn to stutter as you answer. Tell him you don’t even need some corny roleplay to go along with it (or do, he’ll be giddy with excitement either way) and he’ll happily but shakily provide. Tell him to go all out and use you as a stress relief and when he really, really needs it and he’ll do just that. Whatever it is you seek, you’ll get it from him - but don’t forget, Buggy isn't someone who only gives, he’s curious about taking, too. So humor him and treat him just as he does you and you’ll both be happy with this little discovery.

Crocodile is nothing if not attentive. Gray eyes notice the way you shift while you sit yourself down, rake over the hand that you put on your still-hot skin to soothe any remaining stings, and register that you’re wearing briefs instead of shorter options when all he’s ever known you in are more risque pieces. A sports injury, a strain, any other harmless bruise that could have you in pain for a little bit, his brain comes up with a dozen answers to the question as to why your ass is tender - that you’ve doled out a generous punishment on yourself the night before is nothing that crosses his mind. He’s more than willing to let it slide, to let you escape into the night with a sore ass and him none the wiser but when you refuse to let him dress you down fully - that’s when he gets suspicious. Crocodile doesn’t like it when others are in on something he isn’t, and it’s even worse when that ‘other’ is you, his most prized possession. So he’ll demand an answer - and when you sputter and fidget underneath his watchful gaze, he’s not above asking you to strip in that tone you know very well, the one that doesn’t leave any room for discussions; just like the two of you agreed on when you started this relationship. And once he spots the reason (or more like reasons, because there are multiple of them almost splattered across your ass) for your out of line behavior- he has his answer. The revelation certainly raises an eyebrow. Or two. But most importantly, it begs the question: why didn’t you just tell him, ask him to implement it into the already existing dynamic? The more he thinks about it, the more he comes to the conclusion that this has been nothing but an incredibly big case of misbehavior on your part. He’s almost disappointed in you, little old always-so-good-for-him you, who never as much as blinks without his permission. Maybe there are remnants of brattiness in that thick head of yours, he muses. Remnants he’ll have to carefully scrape out, it seems. No matter; he’ll have to punish you now, anyways - because you harmed what’s his without his permission and he’ll have to show you just how unpleasant a thorough spanking can be. Your measly little hairbrush might leave you sore - his belt will leave you bloody and crying.  

Doflamingo, however, is the one to spot the marks on you. That man has no sense for privacy or personal space - try as you might, he’ll barge in after you’ve taken a shower, straight up rips your underwear apart, gives you a wedgie just to get to the globes of your ass or grabs a full hand of your fat and laughs as you wince- There are a million ways for him to literally stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and they all end up with you beyond embarrassed and him laughing something awful at the revelation that his little favorite has a hang for masochism. My, why didn’t you tell him? He could have given you the beating of your life by now, if only he had known what desires you harbor. It’s cute to him, cute and hilarious and utterly tantalizing. The discovery makes his hands itch - the moment you fess up to your little ‘self made’ escapades, you’ll find the world spinning and you propped up rather uncomfortably right over his lap, his right hand already raised to deliver a just punishment. Doflamingo isn’t a man to ask for permission - you admitting that you like getting spanked is enough consent to him - and he isn’t afraid of rushing into things, either. You’ll get the most unorthodox, breathtaking punishment of your life right then and there, without any count, any broken rules or sobbing about anything you’ve done wrong. He just beats your ass as if it’s the most entertaining thing in the world, laughs like a maniac and all you can do is flail underneath him, never knowing when he’ll stop. If you were able to look at his face, you’d see nothing but unbridled joy, almost boyish amusement as he brings his palm down again and again, with varying degrees of intensity and strength. He loves surprises, loves entertainment more than anything - and you providing him with such a gift delights him, shows him just how perfect you are. You might be wailing and sobbing, begging him to stop, to give you a break - but he’s lost in those little sounds and jerks coming from you, in his imagination that is running wild with pictures of you spanking yourself while he didn't know all this time. How rotten you truly are, deep down to the core… He’ll make sure that your interior matches your exterior, don’t worry about it.