#just in a way that is less emotional and more on the side of keeping everyone in order

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, & Pt. 5 (final part!)

This chapter will contain smut! 18+ content!

Tags: Smut, Cunnilingus, oral, vaginal fingering, creampie

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Ghost used to believe he favored winter more than summer, despised sweltering days when sweat trickled from his mask. Gathered wet pools in his collarbone, dried sticky on his skin. At least during winter he could blame the cold in his home on the weather rather than the loneliness.

But now he isn’t entirely sure, not when he knows your warmth, makes the cold almost tenfold without you.

He decides it may just be when it brings you to his doorstep, rainstorm rumbling behind your standing figure. He lets you in despite running away from your home less than a week ago. Doesn’t let his pretty bird stand in the storm for long.

“My power went out, it’s dark and cold over there,” You explain, swiping your tongue over bitten dry lips, “Is it okay if I stay here until morning? I didn’t know where else to go.”

His girl was scared was she? Came to him for rescue.

Almost snickers at the irony, came to his home, the same walls he only felt alone and frigid in. Yet you stand at his doorstep, seeking refuge like he could provide you with the same warmth and comfort your home does, that you do.

So, he sets a kettle of tea for the both of you. Joining him quietly in the kitchen, leaning against the opposite side of the counter he is. He keeps his eyes on the stove, doesn’t exactly plan to fill the awkward tension with anything more than the boiling water. Small talk wasn’t his strong-suit, and he definitely didn’t want an explanation from you.

Why would he need one? The two of you were nothing but neighbors, friends if that.

However, the silence seems to bother you; he knows it does when you speak up, “How are you?”

“Been fine,” He huffs, handing a steaming cup of tea to you.

And because he doesn’t want to know how you and your new boyfriend have been he doesn’t ask.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Give him a tight smile in return.

The room becomes silent again, the sound of both of you drinking tea fill the kitchen. Even after the both of you are done drinking, no words are said, gazes avoided as the light tapping of your fingernails against the glass replaces the slurping, loud even between the pitter of the rain outside.

“Don’t you get it?” You finally ask, laughing remorsefully under your breath, continue once he tilts his head at you, “It’s you.”

He still doesn’t understand what you mean, brows furrowing together under his mask.

You sigh, “There’s no one else, I don’t have a boyfriend. I was talking about you, Simon.”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

“You’re who I have waiting for me at home. You’re who I want to spend time with. Who I want to come home to. Well I don’t mean it like you’re sitting waiting around for me, it’s just,” You begin to ramble, trying to explain your emotions while your face warms, turns the pretty pink he has grown to love.

The rest of your words don’t matter to him, his balaclava is forgotten on the floor, insignificant. A stupid barrier between him and his bird. Breaks the distance between the two of you in two quick strides. Has you hoisted on his kitchen counter in a second, lips stamped to yours. Your words swallowed down between his lips, dissolved into a muffled yelp.

It’s intense, cups his palms around your jaw so tightly you can’t even think about pulling away from him, but you kiss back with the same intensity. Makes his head spin at the sheer way you reciprocate, doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this before. Like your life depends on it. As if you intended to take the breathe from his lungs, trying to portray your emotions through your lips.

The past months poured out of his chest and into your pretty mouth, but your own desires fill his chest, leave him impossibly warm and full. The pain of just looking, watching for so long without being able to touch or taste had him digging shallow indents into your skin, didn’t want to let go. Though you don’t seem to mind his strong hold, only cling to him in turn, curling your arms around his neck. Trying to pull him closer as if your proximity wasn’t nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rasps against your lips, hot air blowing over your cheeks.

“Thought I was making it pretty clear,” You chuckle lightly, “Figured you didn’t want me like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Simon says, “You don’t get it.”

Presses his lips against yours again, even if he has more he wants to say. Doesn’t exactly know how to balance pouring his heart out to you and sealing your mouths as one. So, he tries to do both, breathing hushed words between kisses.

“Thought it was too good to be true. You don’t get it,” He repeats, because, really, he thinks you don’t understand.

Don’t understand that he thinks you’re too good for him. That it doesn’t make any sense that someone like you would want someone like him. Broken and damaged when you were anything but.

Accepted what you were willing to give him without pressing for more, even if he wanted to fuse himself with every dimple and blemish on your body. He almost doesn’t believe it. It’s not what he deserves, some educated man should be in his spot. A man that isn’t tainted in filth and blood.

A better man.

And yet, you kiss him like he is the only who deserves you. Look up at him like he hung the fucking stars. He would— if he could, string them bright and twinkly above your pretty head.

Doesn’t think you truly understood how much his fingertips ached everytime he forced them to clench onto something other than your soft body. How hard he had to dig his teeth into his knuckles when he climbed into bed after he shared dinner with you. Stomach still full, pretty voice still ringing in his ears, cock heavy in his palms.

“You’re all I wanted,” He confesses, “Wanted to come home to you every day.”

Don’t understand that he never wanted anything more.

“And what if I did have a boyfriend?” You ask, “Would you just let me go that easily?”

Can’t help the way he holds you a little tighter. Something possessive burns in his throat now that he knows the taste of your lips.

“Don’t wanna think ‘bout that. Doesn’t matter anymore. I have you now, don’t I?” He grunts against your neck, breath warm on your skin, “Riley and I were yours, always. Tried to show you that.”

Your next words— if you can call them that, are nothing more than breathless quakes. Make his cock throb painfully in his pants; you’ve been nothing, but sensible, sophisticated, but now you sound so frail, impatient.

“Show me then, Simon.”

The way your gaze sharpens is cue enough for him, doesn’t need to be told twice. Won’t miss another opportunity or wait another second to make you his. He wasn’t exactly eloquent, couldn’t express what he wanted with his words. Opts to use his roughened hands the only way he knows how.

Takes your plump thighs into his hold because as much as he’d like to bend you over his kitchen counter, lap at your pussy like all the endless pies you’ve made him, he’d much rather prove he could satisfy you in his bedroom. Fuck you wet and sticky into his mattress.

It’s a mess of limbs, stumbling down the hall as you plea his lips not to leave yours for more than a second. He almost stops at his couch, bumping clumsy into it on his venture, but he decides splitting you in two over the arm would be for another day.

The kiss turns lewd as he carries you, smacking lips messily, saliva sloppily smeared against tongues and roofs of mouths, teeth knocking together. Though it doesn’t deter you, only slot your lips against his more earnestly. Barely manages to drop you onto his bed before you’re pawing at him to join you.

Yanks your clothes off like they personally offended him, feet and arms getting stuck in the tangles of clothes. His own follow soon at your sweet request, both of you stripped to your underwear.

It’s almost impossible to keep his hands on just one part of your body. Probably spends entirely too long palming your round breasts, pinching your pert nipples, kneads the doughy meat of your sides and hips. Large hands everywhere and nowhere at once, like he needed to touch every inch of your body, wasn’t enough until he did. Hypnotized by the way your supple flesh spills between his fingers, how you arch into his touch with breathy whines.

It’s overwhelming being able to touch you however he pleases after holding back for so long. Makes his touch that much more firm, calloused and scarred fingers scratching your smooth skin. Can’t fucking decide what he wants to do first because he wants to do all of it.

But when he descends between your body, peeling your underwear off so you lay bare for him, and his eyes land on your pussy, soaked and pretty for him, he loses all reason.

He spreads your thighs wide, must be hovering close, feel his hot breath on your wet cunt because you whimper a quiet ‘oh Simon, please.’

And because he can’t deny his girl of anything, especially when you ask so sweetly, his tongue swipes between your folds, dragging slowly to your clit. Something carnal washes over him as he repeats the motions like he’s pussy-drunk, intoxicated by the pretty noises you let slip past your lips.

Surprises himself when he groans deep and beastly against your sensitive flesh. Hadn’t even realized he had been making noises between each wet lap and harsh suck. Too inebriated by your arousal, melting on his tongue smoother than any plate you’ve placed in front of him.

Spreads your glistening cunt open between his thumbs, burying your face into the pillows from the way he openly examines you. Breaking you down and peeling you apart under his intense stare. He doesn’t mind too much, not when he drags a finger between your folds, dipping the full length into you. Causes you to snap your head forward, give him such a pretty moan when he plunges a second finger in. Spongy walls popping around his thick digits, slowly works you stretched and opened. Until he could comfortably burrow to the knuckle with each stroke.

Deliberately kept it slow, drawing out each glide so only his fingertips remained. Took his time breaking through your wet entrance, enjoyed the desperate little mewls you released above him too much to give you anything more. Strong and deft hands bring his pure girl ecstasy, gentle despite the way he’s used them to hurt others.

Wasn’t pleased until your thighs began to tremble either side of his head, hoists them on his shoulders to settle them. Smushed his face against the fat of your thigh, decorated the skin in his lips and teeth.

“More, more mmph— Simon, please.”

Can’t hide the smile that breaks across his lips, pressed teeth to your thigh from the way you whimpered his name. Sounded so pretty coming from your lips, begged so sweetly for him. He rewards you, wraps the cushion of his lips around your swollen clit and smothers his tongue over the bead in calculated strokes.

Your hips buck away from his stimulation, loud cry muffled against the sheets when he suctions the bead. A firm arm bands around your waist, holds you down to take it, wouldn’t let you escape his grasp that easy. Doesn’t stop until you finish on his tongue and around his fingers, hiccuping on your breaths as you stiffen. Your palm wrapped tightly around his wrist on your hip, dig indents into his flesh as he works you steady through it. Slick gathering in his palm and between his knuckles.

He rests between your thighs a little longer, not quite trying to overstimulate you, but rather staining your taste in his throat. Both of you basking in your orgasm.

When he crawls on top of you, you blink lazily at him, half-lidded and dilated. Swipe your thumb across his chin to wipe your collected slick off. He doesn’t let you move far, chases after your thumb and sucks it clean, makes you inhale a sharp breath through your teeth. Kisses the pad gently when he’s done, trails soft pecks down your palm and arm, over your shoulder to your chin. Stops when he reaches your lips, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Wanted to know how you tasted for so long,” He murmurs, lips brushing against yours with each word.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, scratching at the short blonde hair, “Thought about you every night after dinner. Kept hoping you would just eat me instead.”

Simon’s eyes flutter, exhaling through his nose like a bull, “Was so hard to keep my hands to myself, you know that, sweetheart? Especially when you look like this.”

Emphasizes his words by squishing the plush of your hips, “Couldn’t stand thinking you were in some other blokes bed.”

Hooks his hand under your knee, pushing it higher slightly, adjusting his own hips between your legs. You’re soft and pliant, just how he imagined his girl would be, let him bend you how he sees fit.

“But you weren’t, were you?” He hums, “Just perfect and proper for me like always, huh?”

Nudges the bulb of his cockhead along your swollen folds, catching on your welcoming entrance.

You nod your head weakly, “Yes, Simon, only you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he pushes forward. Puffy walls splitting open for him, stretch for his girth, slick aiding in the glide. Feels you dig your fingers into his shoulders, hears your breaths stutter in your throat. Purrs gentle praises into your ear to ease the thick stretch.

His pretty bird was such a good girl, wasn’t she? You can take it, knows you can.

Bottoms out in your pussy, gives you a minute to adjust before you’re slurring pleas against his neck. ‘Oh, Simon, s-so big. Feel so good, oh fuc- please move? Please, Simon?’

So he does, can’t hold back when you sound like that. Give you anything you ask for.

Grinds his hips shallow and slow, makes a steady pace of it. Tangles your legs around his hips, locking them at his back, keeps the two of you pressed together. Broad chest smashed against your smaller one, impossible to move far from your aching cunt. His strokes are languid, gentle. Softer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t intend to fuck the sensation away with hurried and inept thrusts.

He wants to remember how every ridge in your pussy feels, memorize and store each shuddered breath and strained moan you give him. Needs you to feel cherished, the way your warmth has made him feel for months. Wants you to feel each inch of him, molding your walls into his shape until it’s all you ever knew.

You seem to agree, only squeeze your legs tighter around him as if to keep him tucked to your cervix. Though it’s not like he could even imagine pulling away from your searing flesh, plans to keep himself buried inside your pussy for as long as he can.

It’s intimate, almost too tender, but not nearly enough at the same time. As if the way you cling desperately to him, keep him pressed skin to skin doesn’t appease your ache. Like the way his entire shaft finds a home in your pretty cunt isn’t close enough. Decides to intertwine the both of your fingers together, pulls you from his neck so he can rest his forehead against yours.

But your eyes flutter shut, brows furrowing together with each determined stroke. Kiss swollen lips caressing his with each mewl, joins the obscene noises in the room. A mixture of squelches and whined ‘Simon!‘

“What’s t’matter baby?” He coos, wipes the sweat-slicked hair on your temples, “Tell me, huh?”

“Simon, nmmf—oh god. Right there, please right there. Please, don’t stop.” You beg.

He doesn’t.

Fucks you through it, balls sticky with your slick.

“Yeah?” He hums, “Right there, baby? Liked that?”

Your voice cracks over a high-pitched moan, can’t answer with a full sentence when his fat cock plunges deep, rakes against the spongy flesh that has your toes curling and back arching. Watches as you unravel on his length, walls clinging to him after each drag. Mouth slacked when three fingers find your clit. Swipe steady strokes in tandem with his thrusts.

You finished just like that, wrapped around his cock, walls clenching painfully tight, spamming and twitching with each pulse. White froth gathering at the base of his cock.

“That’s it, there we go,” He praises, “My pretty fucking girl.”

Doesn’t even care how he sounds or really, think about the words spilling from his lips.

“So good for me, yeah? She takes me so well,” He continues, talks you through your orgasm, words slurred, “Such a good girl. My sweet girl. Gonna make you all mine.”

You nod frantically babble for him to. Tell him you want nothing more than to be his. And he has every intention to, buries himself to your cervix and paints you as his.

It takes him a moment, bodies still conjoined between your legs even though he went soft long ago. Fingers still intertwined beside your pretty head, basking in your warmth and sweet kisses. Separating is difficult, but the moisture begins to dry tacky on your skin, sticky between your thighs. Becomes uncomfortable, so the two of you take a shower, wash each other clean.

Pride beats his ego when he has to keep an arm around you. Standing under the water, legs numb beneath you. And because you’re too sweet for him, you scratch his scalp while he holds you close. Mollifies under your touch, water drenched kisses shared between quiet giggles.

You return to the bed with him once again. Pulls your bare skin flush against his, tucks your head under his chin, arms banding your hips. Holds you tight through the night, possessive and protective. Doesn’t plan to ever let go. Not when his terribly cold bed melts warm in your presence. Sheets encased in your heat, stinging his fingertips and toes. It’s almost too hot, palms clammy against your pretty skin, but he doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t care that sweat beads at his back when this is the closest his bed has felt like a bed and not a mattress with coiled springs and worn duvets. The most his house has felt like a home instead of four walls of brick and drywall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when he wants to savor the moment for as long as he can, but your warmth lulls his eyes heavy and tired.

When the morning comes, he thinks it might be a sweet dream— a rare occurrence in his mind. But there you lay, fast asleep in his arms still. He can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees you. Meaty paws trace your figure, pushes the blanket low so he could get a pretty view of your smooth skin.

His touch rouses you, shifting in his arms to turn your backside to him. Mumble a groggy morning to him, muffled against his pillows.

You’re even more malleable than last night, lift your leg so sweetly for him when his hand descends between your thighs because he thinks he might be addicted to you. Whimper quietly into the sheets when he slides home, fucks you lazy and slow. Little more than sex, just wants to relish in your warmth.

Gets to experience one of the lazy Sundays he always watched you take from afar, except now he’s participating. Glass barrier nonexistent, not when you’re in his bed, whining his name against his lips.

Shatters it for him, makes his house a home.

The weekend ends too soon, isn’t ready to leave your cocoon quite yet, but you wake up beside him when Monday morning comes. Ask if him and Riley are going to join you on your run.

They do.

He was sure Riley wouldn’t want anything more.

Leaving each other for work proves difficult, almost stays so he could remain in your contented warmth. He doesn’t, bleeds the taste of your lips in his mouth instead.

And when he does return home, he returns to you and Riley. Greet him with a pretty smile just like you always do, place a plate of fresh food in front of him. Eat dinner together, like you two always used to, Riley snuggled on your couch, but now instead of walking across the street, he stays.

Thank you so much for all the likes/reblogs/comments! I’m so happy you guys enjoyed it as much as I have! 🍒💌❤️

Cross posted on my Ao3 here, as well as all my other fics!

Tag list: @ttznlettt @rainschnael @rockinraccoons @crypticenbug @c1garette-nightmares @keepghostly @l3thal-l0lita @terrifiedanimegirl @migueloharacumslut @tine1603 @whoisteona

[kaiquesrambles]

A Realistic Outlook on dating Hawks

Distorted Reflections - Hawks

This ended up kind of only focusing on the bad parts lmao-

Now lets get this straight- dating Hawks? Miracle. My next question is why?

He's... he's not an easy person to love. He's sarcastic and a sassy little shit most of the time when you actually get to know him properly, but flips on a dime to be the well-known and well-loved, kind-hearted, gentle hero everyone assumes he is.

The hero he lets everyone see.

He is not easy to love. Yes, he'll cherish and adore you, just shy of worshipping you, but he's also not very often around. He's a hero, and in his universe, that means he's spending weeks upon weeks out of town in the fucking trenches. He's shedding blood, hunting people down, planning. And if he's not doing any of that, he's patrolling.

"Hawks." You murmur gently, relief filling you as he settles quietly against the balcony. You stare at him- his golden eyes reflecting yours, catching the dimming sun and sending the warm light dancing. The smile on his face looks just a little less forced, just a little more real. "... hey, chickadee." He whispers, voice soft and affectionate. You slump into him, he catches you in a firm embrace. ... so many words are always left unsaid between you. It's better that way. You don't want to spend the time you have together fighting.

Hawks doesn't like being called Keigo, full stop. In fact, it triggers his flight or fight response and he gets very violent.

He would never, ever, ever raise a hand to you intentionally- but this man has undiagnosed C-PTSD with violent outbursts if he's ever triggered. He doesn't want to hurt you- god he doesn't want to hurt you- but he needs you to be patient with him.

Please, be patient with him. He's trying. He's never had a meaningful relationship in his life where both people's lives weren't on the line. He's never truly loved anyone.

So please be patient with him. He's trying his hardest but he's far from being perfect.

Oh- and don't think you went into this relationship unaware of any of this. He warns you that loving him, caring for him, being by his side is not going to be easy.

... which, I guess, brings us to the next part-

This man does not sleep. He has hallucinations, near constant ones that flicker at the corners of his visions and sometimes right in front of him because he won't let himself sleep. He can't. He's been conditioned to keep going until he passes out- and he does. And you can't force him to sleep, as much as you want to, because you can see the way he gets silently panicky whenever he even oversleeps for even a few seconds.

He never tells you about what he's been through, but it's not hard to see the signs that whatever it was, left him severely fucked up.

We don't even talk about how damn well he can mask. How he can cover up his emotions as if he can perfectly control every part of his body. Every inch. Every muscle. So sometimes you can't even tell. Not even his wings give him away.

You tell him you want more time with him.

"When the world is quieter." He offers you a lopsided smile- one that you're sure holds exhaustion and guilt behind it, "when I'm sure the world will finally leave you alone."

Because it's always for you. He always does everything for you. It's for you, or for others. You don't think he's ever done anything in his life.

The life of loving the number one pro is hard, but he's trying.

God, he's trying.

He just hopes that you can handle dealing with him and wherever the relationship ends up.

[multiheadcanons]

WHAT IF I INTRODUCE YOU TO THE BLU TEAM

scout: meet the original jeremy willis. always known as a quiet, but emotional kid by his family and friends, and he carried that awkwardness well into his teen years before he started to try to break out of that. but it never came out… right. always too aggressive, too guarded, too insincere. so the operation actually did make him feel better. he doesn’t feel a need to be that guy anymore. that guy’s on the other team, so if you want the jeremy who’s gonna swing first and ask questions later he’s over there. he would still consider himself a quiet, guarded guy, but the team will tell you it doesn’t take much to open him up, and when he’s open he will never close himself off to you again. so he’s just a guy who likes to talk, who seems to talk a lot about nothing, but somehow always manages to get to a point. he lets the red jeremy handle the family. it makes him feel a little better to know that his family thinks he’s doing okay. the red jeremy will keep him in the loop though on what’s going on. it doesn’t feel right to just leave him out of it entirely.

soldier: meet the original jane doe. a quietly disturbed man, is how he would’ve been described by people from his past. he would probably still be described that way by his team. awkward, and forceful, jane doe has never been a man of anything past military refinement. his father said he needed structure and committed to that. he was in and out of military schools until he was grown, and made it to basic training. but there was something about him that his battalion just didn’t trust. it broke him, in a sense. he didn’t give people reasons to not trust him. he didn’t think he did, anyway. he just had this air about him. intense, and draining. the operation certainly changed him. but it was less the actual operation and more what came after. he never really felt “whole”; but now he certainly doesn’t. it’s the seeing of clones that is wrecking him. it’s the killing of them that is breaking him. he’s starting to understand why his battalion could never trust him. only dangerously paranoid a third of the time, though. generally okay to be around, if not dry in conversation.

pyro? meet pyro! a curious creature of a faux-mechanical kind. carefree, inquisitive and certainly human, medic does not know which pyro is which. he flipped a coin and took the opposite. it’s kind of sad, considering he watched one of them grow in a test tube and was in the other’s grey matter, but when he’s requested to cut through the mask and conceal the other the moment the body begins to form, he will respect it. so don’t judge. pyro is an enigma to most on the team, save the medic, the engineer, and the spy; and pyro is a wonderful friend to have. steadfast, good natured (for the most part), and dumbly loyal, pyro is always down for a good time. pyro’s equally down for a bad time! pyro doesn’t run from fights. in fact, they thoroughly enjoy running into a difficult tussle. they find joy in coming out on the other side alive. and if you think they look bad, you should see the ashes. fire is warm. fire is comforting. fire will only grow if you feed it. and pyro is much like their elemental affinity. it takes a lot to turn pyro against you. but why would you do that?

demo: meet tavish. tavish doesn’t think very often about where his family could be. tavish doesn’t know if he’d even have anything to say to them. very work oriented. never out of his room very often except to grab a drink. tavish desperately misses the flair his counterpart has. he simply does not have that same charisma. but he has drive, he is determined, he is prompt and punctual and truly an asset to the team. serious guy unless he’s drunk. he can loosen up when he’s drunk. it’s a big reason as to why he drinks. makes him easier to be around. he’s not a terrible guy sober, he’s just not right sober. quiet, contemplative, hyperfocused. an intense man with an intense gaze. he’s more social when he’s tipsy. though his humor is dry, and dark at times.

heavy: meet mikhail. what a man. seemingly kind, it’s easy to look past the fresh blood on his hands as he asks you about your morning plans, and preps your plate in the mess hall. a man who knows how to make himself seem smaller than he is. allegedly easygoing, heavy doesn’t have a problem as long as everything is going exactly how he expects it to. and any issue or snag is met with calm, quiet confidence. problem solver. problem annihilator, may be a more fitting term. also: problem starter. does things to others just to see the domino effect. never allows a problem to fester, unless it’s interesting enough. always has the slightest of smiles on his face. always so relaxed. makes his counterpart look neurotic in comparison. manipulative in that sense. less of a glue to the team and more of a bored puppeteer. only interacts to glean information or get something. otherwise he’s not interested. perceptive and conniving. normally a step ahead of others, unless consumed by the blood of battle. there comes a point his brain does shut off and he basks in violence; those are the optimal times to catch him off his guard. but it is never seen away from the battlefield. so there’s never an opportunity to truly get ahead of him. first one up for the day in the base.

engineer: meet the original dell conagher. eternally optimistically exhausted. it’s hard to catch dell on a high energy day, when he’s willing to chat. most, if not all of his energy is spent on the field. the most low energy mad scientist you’d meet. less of an evil laugh and more of an evil snort. this doesn’t derive dell of his humor. always in need of a laugh; his humor is odd, and niche. childish, almost. dell allows his counterpart to overtake his personal life so he can focus on his work. and it’s because of that dell is rarely seen outside of his workshop, which he moved off of the main base to work comfortably and have truly private meetings with pauling when needed. the only people on the team he really interacts with is the doctor and pyro. he is left empty by the end of battle. but he is always ready for the next one. his hermitic nature is somewhat disappointing, because when you get to know him he’s actually quite good natured. he steals blueprints from the red dell. you gotta work smarter, not harder when you’re in a position like his.

medic: meet fritz. a man wracked with guilt and in horrifying need of a therapist; fritz is just a man with a dream. and if that dream happens to include the death of his creator and the subsequent creation of a lovely leather jacket from the skin of the carcass, can you truly blame him? you’ve seen that guy, right? a liar, a hater, a manipulator, and a brute if/when the opportunity presents itself, fritz is working on himself the only way he knows how— through manipulating others and seeing how he’s supposed to feel when he gets caught. asking what he’s supposed to feel. it makes him hard to be around because he is a chronic vibe killer. though he is charming, in his odd little way. master of a hypothetical. puts a lot of thought into any and every decision he makes. god tier idle chatter. his awkwardness is a charm he quickly learned to harness. it’s very easy to tell a guy who seems he can barely handle the needles he uses about your deepest secrets. if he had the true amount of time his creator did, he too could be a god. but he’s having to learn on the fly. his attempts to be easygoing feel forced to all who experience it, it’s almost cute. it falls just short and lands in uncanny. softer stare than his counterpart. funnier than his counterpart, without meaning to be! fritz does everything he can to be as different as possible from the man who created him, and in his effort to make a 180 degree turn he just did a 360. shines in battle. falters in social settings.

sniper: meet mick. mick is the notably “chiller” of the two snipers; and frankly it helps keep the balance not just of his own team, but both teams in general. certified problem avoider, and to him that is a problem solved! easygoing, if only marginally off-kilter; mick can find a laugh in most anything thrown at him, and can find his way through various sticky situations that he finds himself in, through no fault of his own. that is a mostly true statement, mick doesn’t invite hardship into his life where he feels it’s not needed, but mick is a bullshit attractor. even on the field he will be minding his business and he pulls away from the scope to look around and somehow he is standing directly in the middle of the frontlines. he could be tucked into the smallest corner of the smallest room he could find with the barrel of the rifle stuck through a hole just big enough and he’s pulling the trigger and praying and somehow half his team ends up exactly where he’s at. he doesn’t know how he keeps doing that to himself. mick and his counterpart switch off who talks to the parents; and they haven’t figured out if they can tell a difference. mick thinks they should just tell them anyway, if they liked the first one he’s sure they’d love to have two of him. he’s even an adult! mick is friendly in a way that nobody else on his team is. mick will not only spare you a few words, but you can feel like you’re genuinely getting to know mick and realize the next day you actually don’t know anything about him at all. good with words in that way.

spy: meet the spy. he’s constantly changing his name since he doesn’t like any of them, so it’s best to refer to him as spy. he responds to it. spy is an enigma nobody cares enough to uncover, and he likes it that way. smooth, charming, empathetic, even kind in a sense, spy is the glue holding the blu team together. nobody notices that spy is actually the guy keeping food in the fridge. nobody registers it’s only spy who tells the team to congregate in the mess hall. the blu spy, unlike his red counterpart, makes regular rounds in the base, and can be easily located and found during off times. one of the only members of the team who has seen the inside of everyone’s room consensually. spy is an idle chatterer, and a chronic homemaker. and he has no home to make, so the base will have to do. the team, though they don’t know it’s him, are grateful for whoever is the one putting the care into making sure they can come to a clean, comfortably warm/cold environment. another eternally exhausted man. he’s doing his best on a day to day to fulfill the job he’s paid for while keeping the rest of the team alive and employed. but he’ll spare you a smile if you keep his nerves calm. it’s easy to get on his good side, and easier to get on his bad side. itchy trigger finger, he loves his revolver. loves word play, and loves starting shit on the enemy team. and he won’t let himself get caught by that red doctor again. now, he just starts worse shit in the red team.

[cerealbishh]

"This was never gonna last forever." // "But if there's even a chance at bringing her back, then it's worth it, right?"

🎥: @bikinibottomdayz

[chewablepebbles]

Sometimes it feels soooo weird not being depressed anymore

[muninnhuginn]

Glancing at the Qian Jin-Xiao Li duo then at the Lu Guang-Cheng Xiaoshi one and realising that from what we know Qian Jin was originally the by-the-book type and even now is incredibly careful and thorough. Meanwhile, Xiao Li went along with the photo shop trio despite knowing how unbelievable it all seemed and was willing to arrange Lu Guang's safety in a less traditional way

Qian Jin especially in the past is much more aligned with Lu Guang personality-wise whilst the more flexible and intuition-based Xiao Li is more aligned with Cheng Xiaoshi

[wild-at-mind]

I feel like tags like these were inevitable on the post about people traumatising themselves for the greater good or w/e... There is SO much emphasis on posting on tumblr and other social media being so important and so useful and we must never stop. But I would like to counterargue with the idea that posting on social media (especially tumblr) constantly does very little/nothing. If that was true then the point here becomes meaningless.

[sick-as-a-dog]

×

[yanchive]

Man, I've been obsessed with the isekai trope lately. I've been imagining a scenario where the reader gets isekai'd into a yandere romance story as a side character. You're not the main character or a love interest. You replaced a nameless character who was solely created in the story to be killed off by the yandere love interests to further the plot.

After realizing that's the role you took on, you devise a plan to re write the story to keep yourself alive.

In the official plot, your death was the cause of getting too close to the main character. Your positive relationship with them was considered a threat to the yanderes, and so they wiped you out of the picture.

So, as any semi intelligent individual would do, you decided to avoid the main character completely.

I'd like to imagine the reader wasn't well informed of this story, didn't know who the yans were, and accidentally befriended them before they even got a chance to develop any feelings for the main character. You jumped into their lives before the events that led into the original storyline. Earning their trust and unfortunately causing some peculiar emotions in them to develop.

This fucks up the whole plot. I mean, that was your plan. You just weren't trying to fuck it up so bad that you unintentionally attracted multiple yans who decided you were the perfect match for them. You were a joy to be around. You were far more intertwined in their lives than the previous main character ever was. It was generic with them and their story. A boring, "yan see's their darling from afar for the first time and falls in love on sight." Type plot.

But with you, it was so much more personal. They grew to love you for way more than just your looks. They got to know you as a person before any sort of feelings of devotion could form.

This made their efforts to claim you so much worse than they ever were in the original plot. They were much more sinister and brutal. They usually only did massive amounts of stalking, blackmail, and the occasional murder when it came to the canon story, whereas they went all out for you.

Kidnap, murder, torture, blackmail, stalking, theft, harassment, etc. Everyone around you was a threat in their eyes. Everyone around you didn't deserve you.

By the time you realized what you've done, what you've created, its far too late to fix your mistake. You attempted to break off the friendships, avoiding them at all costs, closing yourself off and spending your time trying to find a way back to your original world.

But they don't take kindly to that. Not after everything you guys have been through. Before you could find the key back home to your world, you'd be whisked away, having your new world be the confines of your yans humble abode, away from society.

Bonus option: You attempt to bring the original main character back into the plot in hopes they could redirect the yandere back into chasing them and get them off your back. But why would they need this stranger? They don't know them like they know you. And they could care less to even try to get to know them. So, the original main character ends up taking on the role you were supposed to be. The side character who was meant to die to further the plot.

You're the main character now.

[xyywrites]

Pacing Through Sentence Length in Writing

You ever notice how a scene can feel like it’s dragging or speeding up based solely on the length of the sentences? Sentence length isn't just a technical detail—it’s a pacing tool. When used right, it can control the speed and tension of your story. Here’s how:

Short Sentences = Speed, Tension, Impact

Short, snappy sentences are like quick breaths, instantly pulling the reader’s attention. They mimic fast action, nervous energy, or urgent thoughts. They create momentum. Think of action scenes or emotional moments—often, less is more.

Example: The door slammed shut. His heart raced. She was gone.

In just three sentences, you feel the urgency, the chaos, and the emotional weight of the moment. It’s all about breaking up the narrative with these quick hits to keep the reader on edge.

Long Sentences = Build-up, Reflection, Depth

On the flip side, long sentences slow things down, adding complexity, reflection, or tension. They’re great for moments of introspection, world-building, or setting a scene in rich detail. These sentences create a flow, pulling the reader into the character’s headspace or the atmosphere of the moment.

Example: The wind howled through the narrow alley, carrying the distant sounds of a city that never seemed to sleep, never seemed to rest, and in that eternal hum, he wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever find peace here or if, like everyone else who tried to escape the shadows, he would simply become another part of the city’s endless noise.

Here, the length of the sentence mimics the complexity of the thoughts—heavy, reflective, almost hypnotic. It builds tension not with action but with an overwhelming feeling of being stuck or trapped in thought.

Combining Both = Dynamic Flow

The real magic happens when you mix short and long sentences. This creates a rhythm—suddenly, a break in the flow, a quick shock, and then back to a longer, more drawn-out moment. It reflects real life: quick bursts of action or emotion followed by moments of pause or thought.

Example: He reached for the door. It was locked. His heart pounded, each beat a reminder of how badly he needed this. There were no other options. There was no way out. The key could be anywhere. And he could not afford to wait any longer.

TL;DR:

Long sentences = build tension, create depth, set mood. Short sentences = ramp up urgency, show action, make an impact. Mastering this flow is a game-changer for pacing!

[wriokitty]

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

Sukuna dodges your finger. It fails to meet its destination of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, earning a frown from you before you huff and try again.

He looks up from his phone with an irritated glance when your fingertip digs into his face.

“What are you talking about?” He grunts.

He knows exactly what you’re talking about. Normal Sukuna is irritable enough—grumpy Sukuna is about as bad tempered as a hornet who’s had its nest kicked. (Which is to say: he’s pretty fucking unfriendly at the moment.)

“You’re sulking,” you point out—and that statement earns a sharp glare from him as you seat yourself on his lap. (Still, he makes room easily for you, leaning back on the couch and putting his phone down to the side so his hands can rest on your hips. Grumpy Sukuna is never grumpy enough to push your body away—if anything, it’s the one way to get him less agitated).

“I’m not fucking sulking,” he says. It’s almost petulant, but you have enough grace to spare his dignity and not point it out. “I don’t sulk.”

“Are you sure?” You raise a disbelieving brow—he clicks his teeth at the way you choose to question him, but it softens considerably when your lips peck his jaw delicately. “You look pretty sulky to me.”

“Get your eyes checked.”

“Can’t. Then I might see you for all your ugliness. We wouldn’t want to throw years down the drain once I come to my senses do we?”

It’s his turn to raise a brow, sarcastically snorting as you give him a cheeky wink. “If you wanna try ‘n be a smart ass, at least be realistic about it. Saw you checking me out just this morning through the mirror.”

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” you huff, “I was not checking you out.”

“Pretty sure you were,” he smirks, lips pulling into a haughty grin. Getting under your skin with his smugness is about the only way to cheer him up, it seems, because he looks rather pleased when he adds, “it’s okay. Don’t blame ya for bein’ possessed by my impressive physique.”

“Too bad your personality isn’t as dazzling,” you quip back easily.

It’s meant to be lighthearted, of course—but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Quite wrong, in fact, because as soon as the words escape you, he tenses before locking his jaw.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in Sukuna’s face—doubt. It’s a little odd, in all realness. Sukuna is not a doubtful person. He’s confident, and he’s confident enough that it’s almost to a fault. He’s cocky and smug and sometimes a little too self-assured for it to be considered good for his health.

It’s a bit unsettling to see his face almost fall at something you say, especially when you just say it for the sake of light banter.

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. It sounds dangerously self-deprecating—enough that it makes you frown. “Good thing I have my abs to keep you glued to my side then, huh?”

“Well, it’s not just your abs,” you hum, one hand smoothing over his shirt to feel the ridges of his muscles through the shirt. “Your boobs are pretty great, too.”

To prove your point, you give his left pectoral a gentle squeeze. He scowls before shoving your hand away as blush creeps along the back of his neck.

“You fucking freak,” he mutters.

Something is bothering him. You know you can’t directly ask it out of him, otherwise he’ll deny it left and right, but something is bothering him. Sukuna is not good with words or emotions. In fact, he’s pretty awful at anything that has to do with anyone’s feelings. (He’s better about yours more than other’s, but he’s pretty far from good.)

You don’t mind. There’s something oddly charming about witnessing the way he navigates softening up for you—it’s like watching a baby take their first steps. Wobbly. Slow. Unsure. Pretty badly executed, but endearingly rewarding all at the same.

Except, this time, it’s not your emotions he’s navigating. For some reason, yours are easy than his own. Navigating yours means he doesn’t have to try. He knows you better than he knows himself. Knows when your feelings are hurt by the twitch of your brows alone. Knows you’re sad by the dimness in your eyes. Knows you’re pretending joy when your laugh is quieter than usual. Knows you’re faking it when your smile is a much more tight lipped and a less bright version.

But his own feelings are complicated. A lot more than he cares to try and understand them for. In true Sukuna fashion, he always aims to ignore his problems until they seemingly disappear.

But you’re too difficult to let that slide. He brushes things under the rug, and you pull the rug from under his feet and make him fall face first into his problems.

“Hey,” you nudge him, cupping his face with your hand gently, “what’s gotten into you? It’s weird when you’re not pissing me off a couple of times every hour.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” He challenges, like your words seem to tick him off more, “what are you sittin’ here for if I’m always pissing you off?”

Oh, you think. So that’s what it is.

You smile, humming before you gently tilt his face up. Something vulnerable is attached to that frown of his. Like he’s waiting for your answer because he needs something to hold onto. Some metaphorical lifeline where your feelings are attached to his own, just to keep you chained together. Where you’re always somewhere that he also is. Where he doesn’t have to care about his emotions because what you feel is what he feels, too, and as long as you’re okay, so is he.

But you care. You seem to care a pretty great deal because you lean in and brush your nose against his as you kiss his lips softly.

“Who cares if you piss me off?” You snort, “I piss you off better. I’m pretty good at it.”

“You are,” he agrees instantly.

You give him a fleeting huff against his mouth as you mumble, “you don’t have to agree so fast.”

It pulls a small laugh from him, making his arms snake around your waist and tug your body closer. Chest to chest, heartbeat thumping in two, synchronized rhythms.

“What happens when I’m all old and expiring and my abs are gone?” He raises a brow. You hum, stroking a thumb along his cheek as you smile and admire him.

“We’ll still be pissing each other off, I bet.”

“That’s supposed to be good?” He repeats, this time much more unsure. Anyone else could hardly catch the air of hesitance in his words, but you catch it instantly.

“Why not?” You shrug, “it always worked for us, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “that’s until it doesn’t.” He spits the words out, not meeting your eyes. It’s like they taste acrid is mouth and he can’t bring himself swallow them down.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you lean in and just press a line of kisses from his chin to the corner of his lips, purposely dodging his mouth and littering small, delicate pecks along his cheek. And then his forehead. And then the bridge of his nose.

Never his lips, though. And he gets increasingly frustrated by it.

“What are you waiting for?” He grumbles, eyeing you with a look that screams: quit fucking around.

You fight back an amused smile. “Does it piss you off?”

“Course it does. Kiss me properly or back off my face—”

“Cause you love me right?” You ask cheekily. He pauses, thinking on it for a moment before slumping wearily.

“And if I do?”

“You piss me off too. Because I love you too,” you whisper, forehead against his as your hands cradle his cheeks. Because you do.

When he texts late, and makes your blood boil, it’s only because you love him. When he’s brutally honest and doesn’t say what you want to hear, you’re only mad because you care what he thinks so much. When he’s stubborn and refuses to meet you halfway, you’re only angry because there’s no one else you’d rather cross the bridge with than him.

He pisses you off. You care enough to be pissed because it’s him. And when you piss him off too, he cares enough to deal with it because it’s you.

It’s a funny, twisted little way to love and be loved, but it works. For some odd reason, it does. It’s a seamless, smooth, crackless road.

You don’t ever fix something that’s not broken.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he sighs, resigning himself to your weird, roundabout explanation. You laugh, pinching his cheek as you grin brightly.

“That’s because you’re a bit dim.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually. I love you.”

He pauses. Swallows for a moment before his arms tighten their grip on your hips just a smidge before burying his face into your neck and mumbling, “me too. Love you so much, it pisses me off.”

“I like to get under your skin like that,” you stroke his hair, beaming as you add, “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

His lips stretch into a small grin before a low, rumbling chuckle breathes itself against your skin. “Guess so.”

————————

a/n: insecure modern! au sukuna who doesn’t admit it and refuses to acknowledge that he’s aware he’s difficult to love and can’t understand why you love him but he also doesn’t want to question it for fear of scaring you away is very near and dear to me and i’ll be talking about it from my grave still. you’ll just hear my ghostly voice spooking you through the night talking about how he’s a softie deep down under all the layers. like an ogre okay? ogres have LAYERS.

[tizeline]

TSAU!Donnie's Ninpō Explained!

The first ability Donnie unlocks is the ability to see mystic energy! Objects or people with with mystic energy has this colourful glowing aura you could call it, the more mystic energy the more brightly is glows. For example - Mikey already has a very bright aura naturally, which becomes even brighter when he is actively using magic! ..... All of this is to say, Donnie found that out the hard way when he used his mystic sight on Mikey when he was using magic and Donnie as a result got a little bit fucking blinded!

All yōkai and mutants are naturally mystic in nature, they always have a visable aura because of that. Humans are not mystic, so they don't have that aura. HOWEVER! Humans can learn how to use magic through certain means like, y'know, Ninpō for example! When a human uses magic, they do have mystic aura, but only while actively using mystic powers.

(Also Donnie totally accidentally discovered that the "teapot" had bad vibes because his mystic sight lol)

After a while Donnie is able to start making constructs out of his Ninpō. Initially however, he can't really form complex designs, it's mostly just blocks and walls, very simplistic shapes. But it turns out he can use these simpler constructs as effective shields! Which is good considering his soft shell as well as the fact that his battle shell in the AU wasn't built to be used as armour. Both he and April gets a lot of use out of the extra defense.

With quite a bit of practice Donnie is able to actually generate specific and more complex designs! Which means that yes, to the horror of friend and foe alike, Donnie can and will summon an entire arsenal of firepower, yikes. He's not limited to firearms though, he's able to generate all kinds of technology and machinery (drill!!!!)

To create these mystic contructs, it does require Donnie to have a good understanding of what it looks like, how it functions, etc. His imagination and his knowledge of technology are what sets a lot of the limits on what he is able to create, if he can build it in his lab then he can build it with his Ninpō. This particular ability requires a lot complex thought, if Donnie wasn't so smart he wouldn't be able to pull it off as well as he does.

Another limitation is that maintaining the contsructs is very energy-consuming, he'll quickly exhaust himself if he keeps them around. He'll usually only summon constructs very briefly for an attack and then immedietly dismiss them.

The way that Donnnie's Ninpō manifests itself is already very technology-oriented, because of that he can interact with ordinary technology through his Ninpō. Personally I haven't figured out the details of what exactly that can look like, but there's definitely a lot of possibilities to explore here.

One thing though, as Donnie's Ninpō grows more and more powerful overtime, a side-effect of that is that if he gets really pissed off or otherwise very emotional, he'll accidentally make the technology in his near viscinity go haywire lmao. (This has the risk of making him even more angry, which just worsens the problem, and so on haha)

I really like the idea of Donnie being the second most powerful mystic user out of his brothers, after Mikey of course. And because he's mostly self-trained, he doesn't have the best understanding of how to properly control his powers, which evidently can become a bit of a problem. Donnie eventually agrees to let Draxum help him get a better grasp on his mystic abilities after the Hamatos and the Draxums become more friendly with each other.

So uh. About how Donnie kinda accidentally infused Shelldon with mystic energy while creating him which caused the robot to develop a kind of soul? Yeah so because of that Shelldon's mystic energy if linked to Donnie's, which means that Shelldon more or less gains access to the same abilities as Donnie does! He's not quite as powerful as Donnie, and he still needs to practice to fully get a grasp on these powers as well. But point is, that's how Shelldon gains acess to Ninpō in the AU! (He also notices their fucked up "teapot")

----------

Anyway that basically summarizes it! A lot of these ideas are headcanons I have for canon!Donnie as well honestly, the AU is just an excuse to explore these concepts. Donnie's ability to summon fucking firearms and military equipment is also something I've thought about, I wanted to try to think how it would work for him while also putting some limitations on it. ANOTHER THING I like the idea of Donnie's tech constructs basically being the same ability as when Raph creates constructs of himself. The difference lies with that Donnie is a massive nerd so his first instinct is to recreate his own tech with the Ninpō. While Raph being someone who is already so physically strong would naturally use his Ninpō to recreate his own greatest weapon, which is himself. (Donnie uses his brain, Raph uses his brawn, who would've guessed)

[umamaki]

tw: NSFW, explicit smut, consensual violence, color system for consent, choking, breath play, hair pulling, dacryphilia, spanking, rough sex, markings (bruises, hickies, biting), bdsm i think, things of that nature

Rafayel doesn’t really hide the fact that he is a violent man. He doesn’t hide it when he sees your cute face and can’t help but feel the most intense cuteness aggression towards you. 

Greets you at his house and immediately has his head in his hands and jaw clenched tight, completely overwhelmed with the surge of emotions. He’s used to acting on his impulses, this is no different. 

The way he kisses you is telling enough. Once he feels your lips on his, a switch flips in his mind and he suddenly can’t get enough of you. Keeping you in place with his large hand holding the back of your head, kissing you with enough pressure that your teeth clash together and you reflexively walk backwards. Devours your lips to where you can’t recover fast enough to reciprocate his kisses.

Loves the way you look now, laying below him, face framed by his two hands leaving a bruising grip on your neck. Thinks it’s even cuter to see you struggle to take in breaths while he fucks the stamina out of you, letting you get a little dizzy before releasing you and fucking you impossibly harder as you try to regain your breath.

Otherwise, his hands are typically squeezing your ass, hips, tits, thighs. Gives him so much satisfaction to see your pretty body covered in darkening marks in the shape of his hands. 

Fucks you rough while the sweetest praises are coming out of his mouth. 

“You’re so cute, baby. You know that?” He coos while ramming his dick into your sopping cunt from behind. Watches your arched form below him, body jerking with each thrust and spank he gives you. Pulls you by your hair so you can turn your head just enough to lock eyes with him as you cum.

Thinks you’re even cuter with tears streaming down your face, makeup all messed up and a whimpering mess because of him. “Awh cutie, don’t cry. I know what’ll make you feel better,” he’ll say with faux comfort, only plunging his cock into you further.

Rafayel’s an artist, but he can’t decide if he likes the process or result of marking you up more. So shameless in how satisfied it makes him, seeing you covered up in developing bruises and bite marks. He’s a perfectionist, makes it all symmetrical. 

“Patience, baby, I haven’t even gotten to your left side yet,” even you’re pawing at his chest from the overstimulation.

He wants you to tell him to stop, tell him to control himself. The problem is, you’re enjoying this just as much as he is. 

“What color.” It’s less of a question and more of a demand, strained through his gritted teeth. Green, you’ll say, and he’ll grasp your chin so you’re looking at him. Makes you say it again, just to make sure his arousal and preoccupation isn’t clouding his hearing. It isn’t. Your color is still green. He gains confidence with the confirmation, makes it his mission that you’ll wake up sore the next morning. 

[suiana]

cw: matriarchy, yandere! househusband, fem reader, this is a work of fiction, please don't read further if you're uncomfortable, thanks!

it's the 1950s. men have become the caretakers of the house while women have been tasked with being the breadwinner. the age of revolution, they say! a time period where societal norms have completely flipped. a society where it's a woman's world.

as a woman, you're expected to marry a respectable man. one who knows how to care for the household and love you like a loving man.

thankfully, you've found one. your highschool sweetheart that is just the sweetest thing ever. handsome, tall, and knows his way with tending to homely duties. he even loves you like it's his last day alive!

he's basically society's ideal man. and he's your husband.

but you don't know how to tell him that you want to get a divorce. that you can't keep up with his... oddly obsessive behavior that's suffocating you. how you seem to dread going home, expecting a warm welcome only to get hit by a barrage of accusatory questions of whether you're cheating on him or not.

you love him, you do. but your husband has changed for the worse ever since you two got married a few months ago. perhaps a few weeks after your honeymoon. you know how people are, questioning why there's still no child even after a few months of marriage.

and it's not that you two are infertile. you're just not ready for one yet. you've explained it to him, you want to focus in your career first. your husband should understand that, shouldn't he? he's a man after all.

yet it seems that he thinks otherwise. constantly doing it, asking whether you're seeing others, whether you really love him or not...

it's annoying. and frankly, you've had enough.

you know, you know. men are emotional creatures. they get anxious and angry easily. they just can't help it! it's in their nature after all. but still... if he could just be a little more understanding... a little less... paranoid...

"a d-divorce?"

he gasps, taking a wary step back as he drops the stack of papers to the floor. his eyes are wide, body frozen to the ground. horrified, you could see it in his eyes.

"but honey... we're so happy, aren't we? you love me, don't you?"

you let out a sigh, pinching your nose bridge at his words. yes... yes you do love him. and you still do, you think. but how can you stand a single more day of him acting like you're going out cheating when really, you're working your back off so you can spoil your darling husband?

"I'm just not satisfied with how you're behaving."

you suppose that will work. how will he ever resist a woman's word? not in this era, clearly.

you watch as your husband stares at you, face pale as he brings his hands to his face, murmuring words of despair while he shakes his head.

no, no, no.

this couldn't be happening.

he thought you two were perfect together! what changed?! you love him, don't you? you still come home to him everyday, give him a peck as you walk through those doors! everything was fine! everything is fine!

no, you must've been brainwashed by someone else.

by some... some other manwhore. a good for nothing man who didn't get a proper education, surely!

that's the only other explanation. you must've been seduced! after all, you're a good woman. you could never do any wrong. not in the eyes of the law, not by society, and definitely not in his eyes.

because you're his wife. his beloved wife. you're a good breadwinner, you work hard, you bring him out on dates, you don't abuse him like other wives do...

and in return, he's the perfect husband! he cooks the best food, doesn't he?! all hot and delicious! you said so yourself! he dresses how you like, works out, keeps the house neat and tidy for you, does groceries and makes sure that everything is perfect!

sure, he's a little bit on the protective and anxious side... but can you blame him? you're gorgeous! he's worried you'll be stolen from him while you work! by- by those good for nothing guys that think they should be independent. who do they think they are, working in public when they should be someone's husband? spewing those gender equality crap that you have been talking about too? you've been poisoned. surely.

and the fact that he's not able to provide a child yet? of course he's going to be anxious and overthink! can you blame him? he's just a man!

"please... please don't leave. I'll do anything. anything! you can't leave me! I'll die without you!"

he feels his heart race, sweat lining the skin of his forehead. he's hyperventilating now. can't take the fact that you actually want to leave him.

it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

and yet, the way that you're looking at him is proving him otherwise.

"but you can't leave me! we've been together since high school!"

he tries to plead with you. but you're stone-faced and look like you're not looking to negotiate. his palms grow clammy as he desperately racks his brain for words.

"I'll change! I'll stop... stop asking whether you're cheating on me- you're not, right? you wouldn't cheat on me! i know you wouldn't! you're just misguided!"

then you let out a soft sigh and he feels the last of his restraint snap.

"no! you can't leave me!"

in a second, he's on you, pinning you to the ground. all rationality has left his body but can you blame him? he's just a man. men get emotional easily. that's why it's better for them to stay at home, away from politics where they could easily cause millions of death over a small dispute. at home, where they belong.

"I'm yours! forever and now! you can't just... just throw me away! we took vows! you can't break them!"

fat tears roll down his cheeks, his hands pinning your wrists to the ground. despite the fact that they're more emotional, men have always been stronger. isn't that why they had to go school to be taught how to control their violence? to not raise a hand at anyone no matter how emotional they get?

"I'm your husband! i would never leave you! you can't just leave me too!"

then something in the air shifts and he sniffles softly, gripping your wrists tightly. for the first time in your life, you feel fear. fear for your own life. fear that your darling husband inflicted on you.

"you're not leaving me."

...

"hey have you heard? apparently y/n hasn't been coming into the office lately... I'm worried for her."

"yeah... and i heard that her husband is visiting some rural area for a short getaway. my husband told me."

"i hope she's alright... she should go find him soon. how will her husband ever survive on his own? what if he gets ill?"

and accompany him you will.

for now, no one will ever bother you two ever again. man or woman, society and law alike. just two sould, far from everyone else. as it should be.

as it will always be.

[luveline]

hey lovely!! can we maybe get some more pregnant bombshell and spencer??

“What I’ve decided,” you say, reclining back against Spencer’s lap with all the air of a resting empress, “is that I don’t actually like being pregnant.” 

Spencer startles, as does Hotch. JJ doesn’t flinch. “It’s awful,” she says. 

You’re too pregnant to terminate the pregnancy, now. Thirty weeks, your stomach a bump you pretend doesn’t exist when you aren’t holding a hand to it. “I love my baby,” you say, letting Spencer relax again underneath you, “but this is inhumane.” 

“It’s one of the most human experiences you could ever live through,” Spencer says. People have been having babies since the beginning of time. 

“I wonder if you’d feel that way if you were the pregnant one.” You slip further down into his lap, shuffling across the jet’s couch to let your head rest on his thigh. Your chin tips up, your lips curling into a painted smile. He could kiss every bit of lipstick off of your mouth if you didn’t have an audience. 

“I just mean, it’s intrinsically human to reproduce. Not that your feelings aren’t real. Sorry.” 

“Ooh, sorry,” you mumble, giving him a playful, almost daring smirk. “Doghouse for you, handsome. You know you’re supposed to agree to everything I say.” 

“I know.” 

“Is it hard?” Hotch asks. Not unaware that it is, in fact, very hard, but probing you to open up further should you want to. Spencer probably should’ve asked you first, he thinks. He holds your face in apology. 

“Hotch, it’s like… It’s hard because it doesn’t stop. Sometimes I don’t notice, I don’t feel any different, but when I’m nauseous or when it’s barely five and my back aches like I’ve been carrying a dumbbell all day… I don’t know.” 

“It’s alright to not enjoy it,” Spencer says. “You don’t have to think it’s fun. You can hate every second of it, if you want.” 

“I don’t. Really, I don’t. Just tired.” 

“You could be in the field less,” Hotch suggests. 

You cover your eyes with your hand. “Don’t suggest big things to me.” 

“It’s up to you when you want to stop. But don’t think you can’t take a break. Even if next week you want to come back.” Hotch smiles. “After all, you’re the brains of the operation. You can consult through video, like Penelope.” 

You laugh at being called the brains, stretching your legs out, stockings shining down the lengths of you like they’ve suffered a sudden rain. “It’s not about being tired. I’m exhausted, but it’s just strange sometimes, that’s all. I don’t always feel like me.” 

Spencer lets his hand fall to your chest, rubbing a short line under your collar he hopes is soothing.

“It’s the emotional aspect too,” JJ says. “All the hormones.” 

“Yeah, it is,” you say. 

Spencer hears the unhappiness threaded in your tone, but he’s not sure what to do. Hotch and JJ realise you’re done talking for now and return to their own devices, a new quiet descending over the jet, the only sound the rush and hum of air. Spencer keeps on rubbing that same spot over your chest. Your eyes close. He knows you too well to think you’re sleeping. 

“Are you really unhappy?” he asks quietly. 

“No, Spence. Didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I know. It’s alright if you aren’t happy.” 

“I’m mostly happy.” 

“I want you to be a hundred percent happy.”

“I don’t think I can be right now.” 

He lets his pinky dip under the neckline of your shirt. Your skin is soft. “Okay. Don’t be happy if you can’t be. I’m here no matter what.” 

You sigh softly and twist on your side, your nose pressing into his stomach, the heat of your breath slowly transferring through his shirt to his skin. Spencer brings his hand around with you, holding the back of your neck as you make yourself comfortable. 

“I love you, I swear,” you whisper. “And her.” 

“I know it’s not about love. Pregnancy can be an evil, heavy, horrible thing to go through. Don’t feel like you have to pretend it’s not. There’s gestational diabetes, morning sickness, high blood pressure, night sweats, depression…” Spencer ducks down to press his cheek briefly to your temple. “If you liked all that, there’d be something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, okay?” 

“Okay.” You kiss his shirt. 

“Massage?” he offers. 

“Yes!” You wriggle closer to him and shiver happily as his hand finds the knot between your shoulders. “That’s a pro for this whole ordeal. You could open a massage parlour with hands like that. They’d call it Reid’s Reflexology.” 

“Yeah? Is that a hint for a foot massage?” 

You giggle like you’ve been tickled. JJ groans in her seat with reluctant fondness, while Hotch murmurs, “Let’s keep it PG-13, please.” 

[elizabeatrice]

Osomatsu-san is Not That Deep but I'm A Delusional Diver #1

I know it's from back in April BUT may I just comment on how 3/4 of the semi-finalists are duos with Oso in it?

This is like one of the reasons why kusochonan's my favorite. He just works well in the dynamics with any of his little brothers!

Makes me wonder what affects this result tho. Is it a no brainer since he's the leader? Or because of his accepting nature which makes it easy for anyone to feel comfortable being themselves around him most of the time? Or because he's the eldest? Or because he's arguably the most attached to the others compared to his brothers? Or because he's arguably one of the most flexible when switching between the boke/tsukkomi role? Or did luck just happen to shine upon him with the showdown combos that were dealt?

Some comparison below because I find the numbers interesting haha

Semifinal Individual Matsu Count

Osomatsu: 3 (choukei, beni, baka)

Karamatsu: 1 (choukei)

Choromatsu: 0

Ichimatsu: 1 (suuji)

Jyushimatsu: 2 (baka, suuji)

Todomatsu: 1 (beni)

2nd Round Individual Matsu Count

Osomatsu: 4 (choukei, beni, baka, sokudo)

Karamatsu: 2 (choukei, kinniku)

Choromatsu: 2 (wakaba, sokudo)

Ichimatsu: 2 (ichito, suuji)

Jyushimatsu: 4 (wakaba, kinniku, baka, suuji)

Todomatsu: 2 (beni, ichito)

For this particular deal of showdown, dynamics with Oso and Jyushi seem to get more votes. (Tho I mean, what's not to love about Jyushi am I right? He's the lovable sunshine ayee)

This is not a dis (because I do love Choro)! But I also find it interesting that Choro's count is zero in the semifinals. Because in another, older fandom poll I recall that he was the fandom's least favorite matsu. If I'm not mistaken, the order was Kara, Ichi, Jyushi, Oso, Todo, Choro. (Or was it Ichi first and then Kara?) Unfortunately I can't seem to find that poll to crosscheck so take this with a grain of salt.

If sokudo had made it, I think he probably would've been there as I'm also under the impression that a lot of people love sokudo. But perhaps the demographics changed? I mean, fandom members usually become less active when the show is currently not airing new content. Also I'm not sure how the Japanese demographics would affect the poll results. Would be interesting to see, tho! A Twitter poll could be fun, since most Japanese fans (or just Japanese people in general) are there. Please lmk if there's already one!

Or maybe sokudo was just unlucky to be facing off against suuji in the first round. Haha.

Yes, I was surprised beni made it. It's just that idk I rarely see beni content tbh but they ARE rather the unexplored potential. Was surprised choukei lost, too.

Of course I don't know how many of these were joke-votes or petty-votes ... but I kinda feel validated that duos containing my two favorite matsus seem to get a lot love from the fandom. Anyway, baka appreciation!

Matsubara-san please give us more bakamatsu. Interchangeable idiot - idiot enabler just sends me.

matsu duos showdown!!!

masterpost

round 1A results: wakaba v. iro | choukei v. nenchuu | cyber v. beni | 110 v. mine

round 1B results: sue v. kinniku | baka v. zaimoku | suiriku v. sokudo | suuji v. parka

round 2 results: wakaba v. choukei | beni v. 110 | kinniku v. baka | sokudo v. suuji