#maybe because the fandom is too quiet to my taste

[meliohy]

.

[rootedinrevisions]

Five Years

SUMMARY: Five years of friendship. Years of silent longing. One night that changes everything. When Tyler Owens, a charming, rugged man with a penchant for keeping things casual, finds himself at a crossroads with the woman he's secretly loved for years, he realizes he might have waited too long. After one too many moments where you've been left wanting more, you find yourself torn between the comfort of their deep connection and the pain of being stuck in the friend zone. Tyler has one last shot to show you that he’s not just the man you turn to in the hard moments—but the man who can make you believe in love, again.

A/N: Sorry for all the angsty Tyler lately! It's just been the mood/vibe lately so I've been rolling with it! Thanks to the person who sent this request in! I hope you like it!

PROMPT: "What was he doing back there? Flirting with you like he has a fucking chance?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It’s late, the kind of quiet that comes when the night has softened everything into shadows. You and Tyler are back in the motel room, tangled together in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over you, and you’re curled into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of whiskey lingers between you, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and you can still taste him faintly on your lips. Another night, another round of kisses exchanged under the dim motel lights, like something fragile and fleeting.

He stirs, his hand brushing along your back, and you wonder if he’s on the edge of sleep or just drifting in that space in between like you are. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask him the question that’s always on the tip of your tongue: What are we doing?

Instead, you stay silent, breathing in sync with him, wondering if he can feel the way your heart skips each time he holds you like this. He shifts, drawing you a little closer, and you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—something soft, maybe even vulnerable. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly slurred. “You’re comfortable, right?” His hand rests at the curve of your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, managing a quiet, “Yeah. Always.” You know he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember this in the morning, brush it off like it’s nothing, and you’ll let him because it’s easier that way. But tonight, you can pretend a little too—that these quiet moments mean the same to him as they do to you.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending before you’re forced to admit the truth—to yourself, if not to him.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “So… I just found out I’m being inducted into the PBR Hall of Fame.”

You blink, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. A smile lights up your face. “Tyler, that’s amazing! I mean, I knew you were a big deal, but… Hall of Fame?”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head with that familiar modesty. “Yeah, kinda crazy, huh? Guess all those years getting tossed around finally paid off.”

You laugh, knowing he’s downplaying it. You’ve seen some of those old videos, clips of him taking on bulls with more force and heart than anyone you’d ever met. 

“No one deserves it more than you,” you say softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, and then, clearing his throat, he glances back at you. 

“Thanks, means a lot,” he says, his voice softer. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Actually… I get a plus one to the induction ceremony. I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Your heart skips at that. He doesn’t even pause to consider anyone else; he’s asking you. For a moment, you feel a surge of excitement that maybe this is more than just a friendly invite. But just as quickly, doubt seeps in. If he had a girlfriend, he’d take her, wouldn’t he? A familiar ache settles in your chest, the quiet reminder that maybe this is just about convenience for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, and casual. “I mean, you could take anyone.”

He glances at you with a soft smile, his eyes sincere. “Nah. Can’t think of anyone better. You’d come, right?”

The words are on the tip of your tongue—Of course, I’ll go. 

Instead, you hesitate, just for a second, wondering if this is just a placeholder invitation until he finds someone to fill the spot he’s never openly said he wants to be filled. But you can’t bear the thought of missing the moment, so you nod, managing a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins, pulling you back into his chest, and you settle against him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. But even as you breathe him in, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you, a question begins to take root in your mind. Where do we really stand, Tyler?

It’s a question you keep to yourself, swallowing it down as you close your eyes and listen to the silence settle around you once again.

* * * * *

The ballroom buzzed with energy and anticipation, and you could sense the excitement radiating from Tyler beside you. The event space was elegantly decorated, with every table set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. But you hardly noticed any of it; all your focus was on Tyler. This was his night. And you were honored to be here with him, even if you didn’t quite know what that meant for the two of you.

You eventually found your way to your seats near the front of the room, and Tyler’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down. His fingers lingered just a moment, a subtle contact that sent a rush of warmth up your arm. 

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage, announcing the start of the ceremony. The audience fell quiet, and Tyler’s hand was warm on your knee, a comforting weight that made your heart race. You glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face, wondering if he even realized the effect he had on you.

A part of you wanted to reach for his hand again, to close the gap between you both once and for all, but you stayed still, holding your breath as the ceremony began.

As the awards were announced one by one, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Tyler. He seemed to sit straighter with each name called, his eyes never leaving the stage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the emcee announced Tyler’s name, and the room burst into applause. You clapped the loudest, your heart swelling with pride.

You watched as Tyler walked to the stage, his stride steady and confident, shoulders back with that natural charisma he carried wherever he went. When he accepted his award, he stood there with his plaque, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. The spotlight hit his face, highlighting the small, crooked smile you knew so well. And his eyes—dark, intense, focused on you—seemed to say something unspoken.

You felt your breath catch, frozen under his gaze, and for a second, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

His acceptance speech was simple and heartfelt. He thanked the people who had been there with him through the highs and lows. He spoke of long, hard days, the sacrifices he’d made, and the passion that drove him. But you could’ve sworn that when he mentioned his gratitude for “the people who kept him grounded,” his eyes found you once again.

As Tyler wrapped up his speech and made his way back to his seat, you barely had a chance to process the pride you felt for him, for everything he’d accomplished. But that brief moment when he’d looked at you on stage lingered in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Could it have meant something more?

He sat back down next to you, and you leaned over, unable to keep the smile from your face. “That was incredible, Ty. I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you, a soft chuckle escaping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I think I might’ve fumbled a little bit up there.”

“Not even close,” you replied, squeezing his arm. “You were perfect.”

The atmosphere at the afterparty was more relaxed, a contrast to the formality of the ceremony.

The room buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone here to celebrate the achievements of legends, past and present. You’re standing beside Tyler, trying to blend into the background of the room’s energy. But then, without warning, Tyler reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before intertwining them completely. It’s such a small gesture, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. He glances at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment, almost as if he’s silently asking if this is okay, if you’re okay. You squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand that, yes, this is more than okay.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, his voice low and soft. He leads you through the crowd toward a man with a broad smile and lines etched deep around his eyes—Tyler’s old mentor. Tyler introduces you with a genuine warmth that makes you feel like you belong here, like you’re not just an accessory to his big night but someone he wants by his side.

As they begin chatting, Tyler’s hand drifts to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your hip as he pulls you closer, fitting you against his side. You feel a warmth blossom in your chest, and for a moment, the nagging doubts you’d been harboring vanish. His mentor jokes about old times, and Tyler laughs, giving your waist a small squeeze as if to share the moment with you. You let yourself lean into him, letting his warmth melt away the walls you’d tried to build around your heart.

But then, as the conversation comes to a close, he lets go. Just like that, his hand falls from your waist, and he takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets, a casual smile on his face. He glances around the room, no longer focused on you, and the sudden distance sends a chill down your spine. You’re standing side by side, but the connection feels fractured, like a missed beat. He begins walking next to you, his attention now elsewhere, no hand-holding, no gentle touches to keep you close.

Half an hour later you’re standing next to Tyler, trying to stay engaged with the conversation he’s having with an old friend he used to ride with, someone who knows a side of him you’ve only heard about in stories. Tyler’s posture is easy, his laugh warm and unguarded in a way that you rarely get to see. You watch him as he reminisces, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his laughter, in the way his eyes light up with a spark of the past. But as they continue to talk, it becomes clear that he’s in his own world, like you’re not even there.

The laughter between them grows, each memory shared drawing them further back into the years before you knew him. You shift your weight, feeling a slight ache in your chest as you realize just how separate you feel from this part of his life. A sense of loneliness creeps in, one you can’t shake, and you find yourself glancing toward the bar. Maybe a drink will help dull the sting.

You start to turn, your heart heavy, but just then, you feel Tyler’s hand reach out, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. The touch is so familiar, so comforting, and for a brief second, that hopeful warmth flickers back to life. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching his eye, a hint of something unreadable there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter, as if trying to break through to you despite the noise around.

You swallow, forcing a smile to cover the twinge of sadness that’s growing in your chest. “Yeah,” you say softly, nodding toward the bar. “Just thirsty. Thought I’d grab a drink.”

He nods, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, turning back to his friend with that easy laugh that now feels like a barrier you can’t quite cross. You turn away, your heart sinking as you walk toward the bar, feeling the absence of his hand like a chill creeping over your skin. You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that settles heavy and cold. Just moments ago, he was intertwining your fingers, holding you close with his hand on your waist, like you were more than just a companion for the night.

How did it change so quickly? How did he go from holding you, grounding you with those intimate touches, to leaving you in this limbo of almost but not quite? You realize that, despite how much he means to you, there’s a line between you that he doesn’t seem ready to cross. And that thought hurts more than you want to admit.

You’re leaning against the bar, lost in thought, when a voice breaks through the noise, smooth and warm. “Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”

You glance up to find a guy with a charming grin and a relaxed confidence that’s instantly disarming. He extends a hand. “Eli Vastbinder,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

For a moment, you’re taken off guard, but you shake his hand and introduce yourself, motioning to where Tyler’s standing in the distance. “I’m here with Tyler Owens.”

At the mention of Tyler’s name, a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe surprise—crosses Eli’s face before he recovers his smile. “Owens, huh? How do you know the Tornado Wrangler?”

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, feeling some of the tension ease as you explain. “We work together. I help him run his YouTube channel.”

Eli’s gaze shifts from Tyler back to you, a curious glint in his eye as if he’s sizing up the situation. He doesn’t linger on it for long, though, before flashing you a daring smile. “So, just coworkers, huh? In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I bought you a drink?”

The question lingers, sparking a twist of hesitation in your chest. You glance over at Tyler, hoping for some kind of sign, some acknowledgment of what you’re feeling. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a casual smile before turning his attention back to his friend. The moment leaves you cold—another reminder of all the times he’s pulled you close, only to leave you feeling as if you’re just out of reach.

You turn back to Eli, a decision settling in your mind. Tyler isn’t claiming you. He never has. And he’s had five years to do so.

You give Eli a small smile. “Sure, why not?”

Eli’s grin widens as he orders your drink, leaning in just slightly as he asks about your work with Tyler. He’s charming, effortlessly making you feel seen and appreciated. There’s a warm intensity in his gaze, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about your life, in learning the pieces of you that Tyler seems to take for granted. You laugh at his jokes, leaning in as he tells stories about the crazy things he’s seen on the road. Every so often, his hand brushes yours, sending a little thrill through you—like something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in far too long.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. There’s no ambiguity with Eli; his attention is clear, unburdened by mixed signals or unspoken boundaries. It’s refreshing, exciting, even, to be the center of someone’s focus without second-guessing their intentions.

You glance over at Tyler once more, but he’s still wrapped up in conversation, seemingly unaware of the ache you’ve carried alone. A part of you wants him to notice, to see what’s happening, to finally feel the urgency you’ve held onto for years. But there’s another part of you that’s finished waiting.

As you turn back to Eli, you find yourself smiling, the kind of smile that feels like letting go.

You’re laughing at something Eli just said, a relaxed warmth in your chest that’s been missing around Tyler lately, when you feel a familiar presence behind you. You glance back, and there he is—Tyler, wearing that easy smile that’s disarmed you a hundred times before. He leans close, his hand slipping around your waist, fingers warm and possessive against your hip. “Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, the pet name rolling off his tongue as naturally as the smirk tugging at his lips.

But Tyler doesn’t stop there. His gaze shifts to Eli, assessing him for a beat, and then extends a hand. “I see you’ve met my date,” he says, voice casual but with a certain edge, like a claim staked.

You freeze, glancing up at him, surprised and confused by his sudden assertiveness. Eli’s expression mirrors your own—slightly perplexed, eyebrows lifting as he takes Tyler’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes flicker back to you, questioning. “Date? I thought you two were just coworkers,” he remarks, eyes shifting meaningfully to Tyler’s hand, still resting on your hip.

Before you can answer, Tyler lets out a dismissive scoff, as if the notion of you two being “just coworkers” is absurd. “Coworkers?” he echoes, his hand tightening just a fraction. “Yeah, we’re a little closer than that.” He shoots a look at you that’s both playful and possessive.

You feel your blood simmer, heat rising in your chest at the presumption in his tone. As if you’re some claim he can lay when it’s convenient, without any real commitment. You step out of his grip, your voice firm as you say, “We are just coworkers.” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t soften them.

Tyler’s smile falters, his brow furrowing, but you’ve already turned away, excusing yourself quickly to Eli before slipping out toward the exit.

Humiliation washes over you, prickling your skin as you push through the crowd, needing fresh air, needing space. You had been enjoying a perfectly nice conversation with Eli, feeling appreciated and even flattered, until Tyler decided to swoop in and turn the moment into something possessive and confusing.

As you reach the hallway, you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. Tears blur your vision, and you blink them back, furious with yourself for letting Tyler get to you like this. You’re tired—tired of being in his orbit only when he wants you to be, of being treated as something more only when it suits him. Because heaven forbid another guy notices you.

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices drifting from the ballroom as you stand there, waiting for the elevator. The moment stretches, tense and thick, when you hear his footsteps behind you, his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around. “Tyler… don’t.” The plea is barely above a whisper, but he ignores it, closing the distance between you, his face etched with frustration.

“What was he doing back there?” he asks, motioning down the hall toward the ballroom, his tone hard, possessive. “Flirting with you like he has a chance?”

Your heart twists painfully at his words. His tone says it all—like he assumes you’re his, like it’s obvious. Like you should know.

But you’re done with the assumptions. The words spill out before you can stop them, thick with months, years, of unspoken hurt. “And why would you care, Tyler?” Your voice cracks, and you feel the first tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. “It’s not like we’re together, right? You said it yourself—we’ll never be anything more than friends. We’re just…” You falter, searching for the right words, but the truth tumbles out, raw and painful. “We’re just really close, and we make out sometimes. Nothing more.”

The weight of it hangs in the air, and you can see the impact of your words in the way his face falls, his expression softening, regretful. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out, but you shake your head, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling to the surface.

“No, Tyler.” You step back, keeping the space between you. “I’m done. I’m done with this… with you.” Your voice shakes, but the conviction is there, clear and sharp. “I’m done not being good enough. Done being yours only when you want someone on your arm or in your bed. I can’t keep doing this.” You wipe a tear from your cheek, gathering whatever strength you have left. “I’m done with everything. Our friendship. The channel. All of it.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a quiet chime. You glance back at him one last time, taking in the hurt and confusion in his eyes. 

“Go back to the party, Tyler. It’s your night. You deserve it.”

You step into the elevator, pressing the button as the doors start to close. The last thing you see before they shut is him standing there, looking lost and completely, utterly alone.

Back in the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you feel the emotions from the hallway encounter with Tyler crash over you. It’s almost overwhelming, but you shake your head, determined to focus on the immediate task. You kick off your heels and reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it slide down as the gown falls in a pool around your feet. You step out of it, scooping it up to drape over the chair, and head to your bag, ready to change and leave before you can overthink it.

Digging through your clothes, you pull out the first shirt, but frustration prickles at you when you realize it’s one of Tyler’s. With an annoyed huff, you toss it on the bed. You dig deeper, pulling out another… his again. Why didn’t I pack more of my own clothes? you think bitterly, remembering that his shirts have been your usual comfort, your routine.

Finally, you find one of your own t-shirts and pull it on, then slide into a pair of jeans. You run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath to keep yourself from falling apart, and open your suitcase, methodically folding the rest of your things and stowing them away. As you pack, a plan begins to form, each step sounding clearer in your mind. You’ll finish packing, get a car downstairs to a nearby hotel for the night, and fly back tomorrow. It might be an awkward plane ride home, but you’ll put in headphones, turn away, and then… you’ll walk away from Tyler James Owens for good.

With your bag nearly ready, you look around the room one last time, eyes falling on the small pile of his things on the bed. His shirts, the ones you’ve wrapped yourself in so many times, now just reminders of all the blurred lines that never became anything real. You turn away, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, willing the resolve to carry you through whatever comes next.

You reach for the handle of your suitcase, ready to walk out of Tyler’s life for good, when the hotel room door opens behind you. Your heart races, and for a second you want to pretend you don’t notice him there, but when you turn, his expression says he’s already figured out exactly what’s happening. His eyes drop to the half-packed suitcase, then back to your face. His look of confusion shifts into something desperate.

“Please,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, almost raw. “Please, stay. We can talk about this. Just… don’t leave. Not like this.”

You shake your head, fighting the tears that are already building again. “Tyler, I’m done,” you say, your voice trembling. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You keep me close enough to feel like there’s something between us, but it’s never anything more. It’s just not fair anymore.”

You curse under your breath, blinking hard as the tears spill over. You don’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, hurt. Swallowing back a sob, you start to walk past him, head held high even as you feel yourself shattering. Just as your hand reaches for the door, he says it. Those three words you’ve been waiting for, holding onto, for what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

It stops you cold, and you stand there, hand frozen on the doorknob, not sure if you actually heard him or if it’s just some desperate wish in your mind. But then he speaks again.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady, almost pleading. “And if you love me—if you can still love me—then I’m asking you to stay and just… hear me out. But if you’re done with me, really done, and I’ve already lost you… then go.”

The silence hangs between you, thick and charged. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Vulnerability, sincerity, something real and unguarded. He’s finally opened himself up, given you the one thing you’ve been longing to hear, but the choice to stay or leave is yours.

Your chest tightens as you search his face, feeling the weight of all the years, the almosts, the near-misses, the longing. He stands there, his hands clenched at his sides, waiting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“You… really love me?” you whisper, the words barely audible.

“Yes,” he breathes, stepping toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to show it, and I was afraid if I did, you’d walk away. But losing you… that’s the one thing I’m really afraid of.”

You take a shaky breath, looking into his eyes, feeling every bit of his honesty, and for the first time, he’s offering you everything, without conditions, without holding back. The pain and hurt are still there, but as he waits, the tears in his own eyes now, you feel something else rising to the surface—a glimmer of hope.

The words are out before you can stop them.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Tyler steps forward, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand the storm inside you. He reaches up, hesitantly at first, as though unsure if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, his hands gently cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. His thumbs swipe at the tears still streaking down your cheeks, wiping them away as if he can erase all the pain he’s caused with one simple gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For not telling you sooner, for not making a move sooner… for making you feel like you don’t matter. For making you cry. You deserve so much more than that.”

You’re frozen, his words sinking deep into the cracks of your heart that you didn’t even know were there. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a silent apology that speaks louder than anything else could.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low but sincere. “I know I’ve messed up, but I’m asking… can you give me another chance? To do it right this time? To take you on a real date, to buy you flowers, to tell the world that you’re mine… to be proud to have you by my side. I want to do this right, with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

The weight of his words hangs between you, and you feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack. He’s standing there, fully exposed, offering you everything he’s held back for so long. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you look into his eyes, where you see nothing but vulnerability and hope.

You swallow hard, emotions warring inside you. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—to say it, to fight for you. And now that he is, you’re not sure whether to run or to stay. But as you stand there, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, something shifts. The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness—it all starts to unravel, replaced by a flicker of something new: hope.

You take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper, but clear enough for him to hear. “Last chance, Owens.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s softer, more relieved than triumphant. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Instead, he just pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug that’s full of promise, the kind that says he’s never letting you go. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe him.

You stand there, still in his arms, the weight of his words sinking in. The tension that had built up over the last few days—hell, the last few years—seems to fade away in that moment. Tyler’s hands are warm on your back, his arms strong around you as if he’s holding on, not just to you, but to everything that was between you two. His breath is steady, the pulse in his chest calming yours. He doesn’t let go, not yet. You don’t want him to.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Words were said, the hurt was aired out, and now, the only thing left is the silence between you—a silence that feels like the promise of something better, something real.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft, full of regret and hope. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. "I meant every word," he says quietly, his voice steady but raw. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

You nod, feeling something inside you shift, finally able to let go of the heaviness that had been pulling at you for far too long. You offer him a small smile, your fingers brushing his lightly as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hey…” His voice is quieter now, almost like he's considering his next words carefully. "How about we skip the rest of the party downstairs? We can grab some pizza, put on a movie, just... relax in here."

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion, but something about the simplicity of it feels perfect. You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

Tyler’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Good. Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll order the pizza. Whatever you want.”

You feel a sudden sense of relief wash over you. It’s not just the break from the chaos of the night, but the quiet, intimate comfort of knowing that it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. 

Tyler watches you for a moment, his smile softening as he watches you dig through your suitcase for something comfortable. You pull out a pair of sweatpants, replacing your jeans, and as you move to crawl onto the bed, he’s already a step ahead of you.

Before you can sit down, he reaches for the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up over your head. You freeze, giving him a confused look, about to protest. "Tyler, I’m really not in the mood—"

He cuts you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Not like that," he says, his voice teasing but warm. "Trust me, I’m not asking for anything like that."

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down into your suitcase and pulls out one of the t-shirts you had tossed aside earlier—one of his shirts. He holds it out to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Here,” he says, “put this one on instead.”

You take the shirt from him, still a little baffled. “What’s wrong with my other shirt?”

Tyler grins, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as if he’s about to let you in on a secret. 

“Because it’s not your boyfriend’s,” he says, his voice low and almost teasing. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you wear my shirt to bed.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. It’s the little things like this—the small gestures, the inside jokes, the way he’s already making you feel like you belong—that make the tension from earlier seem a little less heavy.

You slip the shirt on, and Tyler's eyes soften when he sees you in it, the way it fits just right, the way it looks like it belongs on you. You glance up at him as you finish adjusting it, your voice quieter now, full of warmth. “This better for you, boyfriend?”

"Yes." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "I think you look pretty damn perfect in it."

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened earlier melts away, leaving you with nothing but the quiet comfort of his presence. You sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot beside you. "So, pizza and movies?"

Tyler nods, settling in beside you, having traded his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hand finds its way to yours as he lets out a contented sigh. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night."

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things are exactly where they need to be.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda)/ Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; Billy Lenz, mentions of violence and general slasher activity, kidnapping, stalking

♡ notes; i didn’t include Bubba last time, so i slipped him in with the pt 2 team :v

also for ghostface i went with Danny over Billy + Stu, just because i’m more comfortable writing older characters tbh. and he’s very attractive to me. maybe i can do a college au fic of them in the future?

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> you were lost

> utterly, hopelessly lost without a map, compass, or even your backpack

> you were out camping with a couple of new friends when you wandered off to pick flowers

> well, acquaintances more like- they weren’t particularly nice to you, but you knew one from your home town

> before you knew the sun was starting to set and you had no clue which way to go

> you’re kicking yourself for being so dumb but try to make the best of it, continuing to collect flowers and pretty rocks

> soon enough you find yourself on the edge of a lake

> that couldn’t have been good- there weren’t any lakes near the campsite at all

> maybe this was that old summer camp they’d mentioned?

> either way you turn around and try your best to retrace your steps

> but even with a full moon it’s just too dark and too dense and you’re exhausted

> holding in tears, you find a small meadow and finally sit to rest

> you’re still sniffling and rubbing your eyes when someone walks up to you

> you were so oblivious that Jason was able to get a few feet in front of you before you noticed

> he seems…perplexed to find you there

> he thought he’d gotten all of the campers

> and you didn’t really look like you belonged with those fornicators

> (or at least that’s what he told himself to justify leaving you alive)

> he’s holding his machete and soaked with your companions’ blood, but you don’t seem to notice

> “…can you take me back to my friends?”

> well he most certainly cannot do that, not if he wants you to like him- though he’s not sure why that matters

> he’s still staring so you, exhausted, do the only thing you can think to

> “…do you want a flower? I picked a lot”

> he’s delighted and takes it before finally gesturing for you to follow him

> you can’t keep up, so eventually he picks you up

> and like that you’re nearly dozing off

> you don’t even notice he’s taking you back the way you came from

> and he’s glad- he wasn’t going to give you much of an option anyway

Bo Sinclair

> single travelers are so much easier to deal with

> so when Lester gives him the call that some college kid was stuck on the road, he’s eager for an easy catch

> you take your sweet ass time getting to the station- even though Lester drove you most of the way you let him drop you off just outside of town

> the smell of the truck was really getting to you, and you’re happy to let the dog lead you

> when he strides out you’re cooing over Jonesy and giving her a belly rub for her troubles

> he’s seen his fair share of attractive victims

> men, women, and folks that didn’t fit either category

> and he’s slept with most of them

> but you… there’s something extra special about you

> he decides right there he’s not taking care of you without at least getting a taste

> you’re not too impressed by his flirting- or at least you try and act like it

> but he catches your pink cheeks and quiet giggles as he takes you on a walk

> because of course he’s got the part down the road at his place

> by the time you get there he’s decided he’s marrying you - or maybe keeping you tied up, beggars can’t be choosers

> he’s impulsive but he’s never wanted to keep anyone before

> “hey sugar-“ god your face heats up just hearing him call you that “turns out I don’t have that part you need. It should be in by tomorrow, if you can stay the night?”

> you say yes before you can think critically- he’s good at getting folks wrapped around his finger like that

> “Good. Cause I’m just dying to show you some real southern hospitality…”

Danny Johnson

> he knows you long before you know him

> he’s a natural nosy guy- he’s a journalist after all

> and a serial killer, of course stalking is on his to do list

> originally you were going to be a victim

> you’d make a good story, a young person taken tragically early

> but you were too cute to die just yet- he had to at least meet you, just once

> if you were a dick no one would say anything nice for your article, right?

> so he just happens to bump into you outside your work one day

> literally bump

> when you spill coffee all over yourself he smoothly apologizes and offers to help clean you up

> “What a mess- I’m so sorry sweets. Let me take care of all this”

> and you fall for it, hook line and sinker

> he’s a handsome guy, he’s used to that but he’s smug anyways

> he gives you a spare shirt of his, though you still skip work

> he buys you another coffee and you sit in his car chatting

> you’re innocent enough to trust him like that- to get in a vehicle with a strange man?

> a strange man that’d been stalking you, no less

> it’s adorable- if he wasn’t so attached he could kill you right there

> but you’re just so damn sweet, and genuine

> and you’re so fascinated by these Ghost Face killings…

> maybe you’re worth keeping around for a bit

> just a bit

> that’s what he says to himself anyways

> when you meet him as Ghost Face, it’s after you’ve already got him all figured out

> and he’s lucky that you like a bad boy

Billy Lenz

> it’s a given that you first meet him over the phone

> you’re renting out a spare room from Mrs Mac, not in the sorority but a good enough tenant that she keeps you around

> you get along well with the girls and cook them meals, run study sessions and help clean

> it’s almost parental at times, even if you’re not far off in age

> Billy hates you at first, for taking such good care of ‘filthy piggy whores’

> he tells you just as much over the phone, but you’re not bothered

> you never seem to be bothered by his calls

> and that pisses him off more

> but you’re so so cute… it quickly becomes an obsession

> he’s in your walls constantly, watching you

> and the calls from the moaner start coming more and more frequently at times you’re home alone

> one day you just start giggling at him, tipsy “you know, you scare the girls,”

> “good i—“

> “but your voice is sooo nice. that’s why i pick up so much”

> you didn’t mean to confess that , and you hope he takes it as an awkward joke

> when he hangs up you think that maybe he did take it that way

> its not until late that night that you realize that he knew he was sincere

> before you can register that there’s anything wrong he’s covering your mouth and pinning you to your bed

> “hi there, baby doll,”

> his grin gets huge when your still horrified face goes bright red

> he always knew you were perfect

Bubba Sawyer

> you pick up Nubbins hitchhiking one day, and he’s just dumbfounded by you

> you’re nonplussed by his rambling and you don’t squirm at his yucky pictures. you don’t even kick him out, just drop him off at the gas station.

> you’re not really his type, but you’re fascinating

> he’s gotta get you home to meet his brothers

> so he pops your tires when you go inside- all four

> when you come back out Drayton is cursing him out and smacking him upside the head

> he makes him take you back to the house to rest up while he gets you tires

> of course he intends for Bubba to kill you

> but Nubbins doesn’t pass the message along, because he’s Nubbins

> “Here Bubba! I made us a new friend!”

> you shyly greet him, but he’s an oddly calming presence

> let’s be honest you’ve gotta be okay with a lot fast to like the Sawyers

> so maybe you’re just in denial about the material

> but you tell him you like his mask- and you do

> he obviously worked really hard on getting the makeup just right- and it compliments his suit

> he stares at you a long while before taking your hand and giving you a grand tour

> well, more a tour of his favorite spots

> the chicken coup, a patch of wildflowers out back, and his room full of trinkets collected from victims

> you’re strangely enamored by this big, quiet man

> and you don’t get the sense you’re allowed to leave

> especially when Drayton comes home and goes on and on about witnesses

> but you didn’t really even have an end goal in mind on your road trip anyways

> and now you’ve got Bubba to protect you

> maybe it’s not so bad, stuck with those weirdos

[ki-yomii]

hit it/forget it | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 6.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!jk, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers, orgasm control/denial, drinking, slight college au ig??➥ summary | finally able to unwind for the first time in forever, you go to a friend’s party. only somewhere along the way you find yourself in bed with someone you swore you’d never sleep with. it’s too bad he’s not in any hurry to let you hit it, and forget it. ➥ notes | i’m v new to this fandom, and it has started to consume me lol ✌️🥲 ❤️ series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 ❤️

... Shit, what time is it?

Beams of sunlight pour in through the crooked blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor to flood the rumpled bed with golden light.

It’s so bright it hurts, your eyes watering with the effort it takes to open them as you roll onto your back with a quiet hiss.

Sore and still buzzed, it takes you several minutes to process your unfamiliar surroundings. Your mouth is stale and arid, the unpleasant taste of dehydration heavy on your tongue.

Needle sharp pain lances through your skull, and it’s hard to think let alone focus when it feels like someone’s shoving an icepick through your brain every time you so much as breathe wrong.

So much for a relaxing night hanging out with the guys, you think bitterly, pinching the bridge of your nose. There goes my last day off.

Spent curled up in bed fighting back nausea instead of out enjoying the last little bit of freedom your PTO offered.

If only the rest of the night had gone as well as the beginning...

Most of the group were camped around a game of beer pong when you arrived, already blitzed off their faces from pre-gaming while a few randos loitered around.

You didn’t pay them too much mind, more focused on catching up with your boys. It had been forever and a day since you’d talked to them, let alone seen them in person.

For a blissful moment it was just like old times; the floor sticky with spilled beer, wrestling matches followed by good-natured ribbing, and rowdy trash talk.

It reminded you so much of the shitty college parties they’d throw, you almost cried from the nostalgia alone.

The happiest you’d been in weeks.

Now you had adult bills and an adult life. Your schedules didn’t align like this very often. Getting to catch up and hang out with everyone again was a precious gift, one you didn’t realize how much you needed until you sunk back into the oversized couch, and took what felt like your first breath in months.

Your head was swimming, your heart bursting for fondness - only to choke on your tongue not even five minutes later when the front door slammed open to a round of hyped up chants, “JK, JK, JK!”

All the tranquility evaporated as Jeon Jungkook - the bane of your existence - waltzed over the threshold without a care in the world.

Meanwhile your heart was in your throat as he stood there in all his stupidly attractive glory while the rest of the gang surged forth. They swarmed him with friendly slaps on the back, a 12 pack of beer in one hand, and a bottle of tequila in the other.

He wasn’t supposed to be here - they said... He was supposed to be out of town for the weekend. If you’d have known -- fuck.

You wouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. And now you were stuck with him for however long it took you to sober up.

God, you hated him.

Not that you knew why, really.

There was just something about him that got under your skin. Maybe it was the cocky way he held himself, his confidence sometimes bordering on arrogance.

Or maybe it was the constant teasing. (You refused to admit it might be because of how attractive you found him, and how angry that made you.)

Whatever the case, ever since he met you all those years ago, Jungkook’s made it his life’s mission to be as insufferable as possible. Always waiting in the wings with a flirty comment and that self-satisfied smirk of his.

Dealing with him was like dealing with an overgrown - competitive - toddler. It got exhausting after a while.

Far easier to avoid him altogether, even though that mentality came at the expense of your friendships.

You stopped going to events if you knew he’d be there, ducking out of get togethers last minute if you so much as caught a glimpse of his car. Eventually, your absence became accepted - expected even - which further fueled your inherent dislike of him.

As if all the reasons you don’t like him weren’t enough, you were tipsy, and that was always a recipe for disaster. Without your inhibitions halting your tongue, you had no qualms about calling him out on all his petty bullshit.

The particulars are too fuzzy to remember, but you’d been avoiding him by hiding out in the kitchen when he decided to come bother you.

One thing led to another, and he must have said something insulting enough because the next thing you knew, you’d crowded him against the counter.

He smirked while you snarled with distaste, a shot in one hand with the other balled in the open collar of his fancy button up. You thought about how nice it would be to smack that look off his face, and thoughtlessly agreed to a one v one drink off - winner takes all - just to one up him.

Damnit.

You should have left as soon as his ass showed up. And you should never have agreed to his stupid little competition in the first place. You know better than to fall prey to his schemes... yet here you are, so joke’s on you.

This has to be some kind of divine punishment.

All you wanted was to knock him down a peg (or ten). Then his stupidly handsome face, and low, mocking voice egged you on past your limits. Now, you’re in someone else’s bed, naked and sticky, nursing a hangover from hell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

God, you hope it’s not Jin.

Any of the others aren’t much better, but he’s your bro at heart, and there are some things you can’t ever come back from. If only last night wasn’t a hazy, distant fever dream pockmarked with fitful moments of clarity...

Memories curl through your mind like tendrils of smoke, opaque and sinister. The harder you grasp at them, the more confusing they become; coalescing into a tangled blur of swollen lips, and naked, sweat-slick skin.

Salty-sweet bursting across your tongue as the burning stretch of a fat cock sinks deep, a whiskey rough voice groaning low and heavy in your ear, “Fuck, you’ve always been such a little cock tease, haven’t you, baby? Mm, yeah, just like that. Knew you always wanted me, wanted this. Hhng, shit, I’ve wanted to do this for-fuckin-ever, princess…”

Goddamn Jeon Jungkook, and whatever horse he rode in on.

Of course, you’d get laid after a dry spell, and the only thing you have to show for it is the tender ache of your thighs, the tacky sensation of dried cum clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and the vaguest daydream of toe-curling pleasure.

At least the sheets are soft, the mattress plush, the bedspread muted, dark colours; altogether masculine but chic.

The fluffy pillows are to die for, something like expensive cologne threaded through the fabric; citrusy and bright with notes of mellow sweetness that fill your lungs, and cloud your senses with every deep inhale.

A familiar thread in an otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Whoever it is certainly has impeccable taste... which doesn’t help narrow down your list of suspects, at all. They’re all stupidly fashionable in everything they do, meanwhile you feel like a half-decent hobgoblin half the time.

You can’t decide what’s worse: the fact you slept with someone who’s a friend of yours - not many people outside of the core group came last night - or that you can’t remember who it is.

No lie, the temptation to slip out before they wake is hard to resist. But it’ll only delay the inevitable, and you honestly don’t want to do that to someone you care about.

It’s better to face the situation head-on, no matter how much you’re dreading it.

Over and done, quick and easy like a Band-Aid.

The conversation’s going to be awkward as hell but it was a drunken mistake. You’re adults and in a few years’ time, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to look back and laugh. No reason to let it ruin years of hard-earned friendship.

“Aah,” you groan mid-stretch, “...what a fucking mess.”

“Look who’s finally awake.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

The world screeches to an almighty halt, crashing and burning as all the breath in your lungs catches in your chest. Your heavy eyes pop open so fast you see stars, a field of grey sheets filling your line of sight.

A wave of disbelief threatens to drown you, hysteria following in the aftermath as your mind stutters to a stop.

Stomach turning, your heart slams into your ribs so hard you’re convinced you’ll break a bone. The thought of sleeping with a friend is bad enough, but the truth? So much worse. You wish the bed would swallow you whole. 

Why, you lament, why him?

That low, sleep rough tone dripping with arrogance.

It raises your hackles, sets your teeth on edge until you shake with the urge to punt his ass across the room. Never in a million years would you expect to hear that voice beside you in bed.

You wish with everything there is that it’s just a hallucination - but there’s no mistaking who that voice belongs to.

The knowledge sits bitterly in the back of your throat.

“This is a nightmare.”

No fucking way you’re turning around.

You inch to the edge of the mattress, grateful for the distance. The very idea of touching him repulses, repels.

You’re already too aware of how the bed dips beneath his weight, the shared space warmed by the sleep soft heat radiating from his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

A hot palm, rough with callouses, grabs your shoulder. The steel grip tugs you close, unyielding as it guides you onto your back.

As soon as you glimpse the sunlight caught in the tangled briar of his hair, your eyes slam shut.

If you can’t see him, you can pretend he’s not there and if he’s not there, well then you won’t have to face your colossal mistake.

It might be petty and childish but all things considered, you think you’re allowed to be. Waking up next to Jeon Jungkook is earth-shattering. And altogether mortifying when you consider all the thoughts you had before you knew you fucked him.

Of all the people…

He’s made passes for years, and you always blew them off. Now? You groan. They’re never going to let you live this down. You take back every kind thought. This asshole doesn’t deserve your praise.

Before you tell him where to shove it, fingertips skim the jut of your cheekbone. The action effectively shuts you up, your brain stuttering to a resounding halt. Soft and light like butterfly kisses, they trace over the sweep of your flickering eyelashes.

It’s a ticklish reminder that you’re not alone.

You jerk away.

The click he makes with his teeth does N-O-T make you throb. Neither does his persistence, the effort to force you into acknowledging his presence redoubled. He’s stubborn, and altogether not unlike a boy pulling pigtails.

The comparison unbidden and unwelcome, you bat him away with a sharp, “Quit it.”

His voice is far too smug for your liking when he says, “Why don’t you try to make me.”

“Oh, my god.”

This asshole…

Your fingers claw into the sheets instead of his chest, nails cutting into your palms as rage lurks just beneath the surface of your skin. Your breath shoves from your lungs fast and hard. It’s a struggle to reign in the urge to pummel him bloody.

Meanwhile, Jungkook redirects his attention, his hand dipping down to dance over the front of your throat. A rough thumb maps the curve of your jaw, a shiver rolling through your body at the touch.

His low chuckle is the only warning you get before he’s leaning over, the shift in position causing the hard, compact muscles of his torso to brush your side. The fission of awareness that follows in its wake crackles down your spine, steals your breath.

Senses fixated on the sensual glide of skin on skin while pulses of arousal kindle to life behind your navel. Slick gushes from between your folds, wetting the insides of your thighs. Heart in your throat, you steady your voice long enough to say, “Seriously, just leave me alone so I can wallow in peace.”

Warm breath tickles the side of your face, the cool metal of Jungkook’s lip piercing brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs the syllables of your name. “Come on,” he says, “I dare you.”

The hell, is he being serious right now? What does he think this is?

“What are you,” you ask. “Five?”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?”

The first hint of genuine annoyance threads through the words growled against your cheek. His tone low, a warning buried in its depths. Fire and smoke, grit and gravel. You hate how you clench at the sound. Hate how confused he’s making you.

Why is he acting like this is a normal occurrence? You expect him to lord it over you, not act so...playful?

The uncertainty rankles, and your shoulders hike up around your ears. If he thinks he can jerk you around like this, he better step up and out because you’re out of fucks to give.

This is humiliating enough, and you’re not about to relinquish what’s left of your pride. 

“Do you ever stop talking,” you continue, ignoring the pulse between your thighs, the crack in your voice, “Or do you like the sound of your own voice that much?”

Your heart pounds in the ensuing silence, Jungkook all but ignoring you as he sinks his nose into your hair. The pleased rumble that vibrates from his chest into yours follows a deep inhale.

“Mm, you smell,” his lips tickle the side of your neck, “really good.”

A whimper works its way up your throat, your teeth barely catching it in time. Fissions of sensation shoot down to your stomach, hot and shivery.

“Shut up. Just stop - stop talking.”

It’s not what you mean to say - you have full intentions of cussing him out, reaching out to touch smack him - but by then, it’s too late. He’s already on the move, a mocking chuckle falling from his lips.

The sound shoots through you, stokes your rage and desire in equal measure until you’re shaking.

He tugs at the plush, tender flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Y’know,” he muses, “I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you. You might not like what happens.”

Surrounded as you are, it’s getting harder to think.

To breathe.

To be.

Sweat and sex cling to Jungkook, the scent filling your lungs with ash and burning through your bloodstream until he’s all that remains. Surrounding, smothering, swallowing you whole. “Look at me.”

Shit, he’s close - too close.

There’s a scant amount of space between your bodies, pressed stem to stern. Your tits crush against the hard plane of his chest, nipples stiffening with every drag of his skin, every shift of his body against yours.

His half-hard cock digs into the softness of your abdomen, wet and sticky as it drools into the dip of your belly button which shouldn’t get you as hot as it does. This is so not good.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.”

I can’t.

This is unacceptable. 

Fucking him once is bad enough, the only saving grace is that you barely remember the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the stretch of him filling you to the brim.

If you give in now, even if it’s only an inch…

Well, he’ll take a mile and you don’t have an excuse for why you’ll let him. You’re already struggling with the urge to succumb, to inch closer. There’s no telling what’ll happen if you actually look into those burning eyes of his.

Of course, he doesn’t accept your refusal.

You never expected him to.

“I said look at me.” The thumb that was gently stroking along your face hooks around your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You grit your teeth, channel the rising lust into rage. Anything to put some much-needed distance between you before you do something you’ll regret. Like, sleep with him a second time while stone-cold sober.

“Just fuck off, Jeon. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need to rub it in. You won, okay? Congratulations.”

You refuse to let him have his cake and eat it too. Damned if he gets to hold this over your head. That drinking competition was all his idea, anyway. The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Fast as lightning, the hand on your jaw disappears only to reappear between your thighs to shove your legs open. He doesn’t waste time, runs his knuckles along the length of your slit without hesitation.

Teasing, testing, humming in approval at what he finds.

The sudden rough touch has you jumping, gasping, eyes snapping open, fixating on his blown pupils. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is more a snarl, downright predatory. The metal of his lip ring glints in the light, his teeth bared while he spears you with a hooded, hungry stare.

“That’s it, show me those pretty eyes of yours.” 

Breathless, your hips twitch and you clench at the praise, liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

Traitor.

“Jeon - Jungkook, knock it off.”

But you know he’s not going to stop. The ravenous look in his eyes says everything his mouth doesn’t.

“See,” he says conversationally, pausing long enough to thrust two fingers deep into you without warning. Pain sparks, flickers down your spine only to melt into a warm flush of pleasure as he twists his wrist. “That mouth of yours says one thing, but this pussy’s soaked. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?”

“I-”

Any response you have breaks off into a wounded moan, your brows furrowing as he flicks the tip of his finger against your g-spot.

“S-Shit!”

“Hm, what was that?”

A sharp smack stings across your wrist when you reach down to pull his hand away.

“Jeon - I - please…”

“Come on, use your words like a good little slut.”

“I - I can’t - shit!”

It’s impossible to think, let alone form sentences when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit like that. Thick fingers curl deep, stroke, stretch until you mewl.

Every skilled thrust drives you higher, wrings pleasure from you so expertly you’ve half a mind to be pissed. Now you can see why all those girls were tripping over themselves to get with him back in college. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s got game.

But even then, it shouldn’t be this easy to get you going.

To get your thighs clamping around his flexing forearm while uncontrollable shudders wrack your frame, finger fucked stupid by the sworn enemy.

“Hah.”

If you weren’t half out of your mind, you’d be more offended by the condescending smirk. All you do is half-heartedly smack his side, his free hand darting up to cover yours and keep it pressed against his skin.

You clench down with a whine at the feel of rippling muscle, the sight of his tatted fingers resting over your hand so delicately.

“Looks like I’m doing something right. Fuck, can you hear that, baby?” His movements slow to a crawl, the thrust of his fingers languid and deep. “Listen to how wet your tight little pussy is for me.”

Warmth creeps up your neck and sinks into the apples of your cheeks. It’s as mortifying as it is a turn on, the sloppy sounds of your needy cunt echoing back at you. Sticky arousal coats your puffy folds, every slick, squelching slide heard over stilted moans.

Without a doubt, you’re making a mess of his sheets. Judging by the husky growl of his voice, anything less wouldn’t satisfy him. “Gotta make up your mind, baby.”

He couldn’t sound any more indifferent, but the rough thrust of his fingers, the burning heat smouldering in the depths of his eyes says he’s anything but unaffected.

You whine, writhe, arch your hips to grind down on the hand working between your thighs.

It’s no use.

You get him right where you want him, only for him to flash a devilish grin and pull away. The desperation to get off builds and builds and builds until you’re half mad with it.

This asshole’s gotten you to the edge of cumming several times, only to watch with sick delight as he yanks you back, dangling you over the edge without letting you fall. You don’t even want to think about what this is doing for his already over-inflated sense of ego.

“You’ve been sending me all kinds of mixed signals for years.” He nips the tip of your nose, spreading his fingers wide open where they’re buried inside of you just to hear you squeal. “So what’s it gonna be?”

He’s playing dirty, and he knows it. It’s infuriating that smug looks so good on him. Are you really going to do this?

Ghosting his lips over yours in the barest of kisses, he whispers, slow and purposeful, “All you gotta do is say it. Be a good girl for me, and say: ‘Jungkook, please fuck me.’”

... Yes, yes, you are. But you’re never, ever going to admit that you want him.

Not when there’s nothing you can blame the impatient rise of your hips on, the grind against his palm, the unwavering eye contact that pins you in place. As unbelievable as this is, it all comes down to how horny you are and how good he looks above you.

You admit that he’s an asshole, but jesus, he’s attractive.

Jungkook chuckles, rolls his eyes. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat.”

He doesn’t look put out in the least. In fact, he’s downright feral with the anticipation of breaking you down and fucking you back together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you begging for my cock one way or another.”

The you wish dissolves into thin air, all your focus narrowing on the flex and shift of muscle as he crawls down the length of your body. Shouldering his way between your thighs, he settles on his belly and rubs his hands along your hips. 

Flinching at the first touch of his broad palms, you watch with rapt attention as his strong fingers inch closer and closer to your heat.

Every touch, every slide of skin calculated. Precise. Intent on getting your blood pumping and your pussy throbbing until you’re squirming against the sheets.

That ferocious stare, glittering like onyx in the light, tracks every movement, every twitch; catalogues what strokes get you mewling, what drag of fingers has you shuddering, shivering until you’re a downright mess.

Longtime lovers never paid half as much attention to what got you going, and a one-off mistake is doing a better job than all of them combined. Shit, he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

Jungkook’s as focused between your thighs as he is during training, a singular intent that’s intense and overwhelming. Frankly, it’s unnerving being so seen by someone you’ve considered an enemy for the longest time.

When did he start paying so much attention to you - and how did you miss it?

“Just…” you say, voice a quiet thing that sits in the space between your bodies, “Just get on with it already.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Jungkook uses his fingers to spread open your sticky folds. Cool air dances across your core, teasing at your swollen clit as every bit of your pussy is exposed to him.

There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or how you pulse and twitch in desire.

He hums in approval at what he sees, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Thanks for the meal,” he says, brushing his thumb across the hood of your clit before he ducks down with his tongue out.

The firm, full contact lick has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, grinds his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. The sound rumbles through your sensitive flesh, your thighs clenching around his ears.

A sigh escapes your throat, and you rest a hand on the top of his head.

Oh yes, a much better use for that mouth of his.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, inky black wrapped around your knuckles. For a moment you lose yourself in the sensation, senses so high. Every swipe of his tongue, every roll of cool metal along your heated slit as his lips pull at your folds sets you aflame.

The peace doesn’t last, overtaken by the smouldering antagonism that simmers beneath every one of your interactions. A ticking time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.

His face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, that he’s even in this position pisses you off beyond belief.

In retaliation for every wrong he’s ever done (the specifics hazy when he sucks on your clit hard enough to curl your toes, the barest hint of teeth), you yank on his hair with as much strength as you’re able to muster.

His neck wrenches back, and he winces. You luxuriate in the petty revenge of it all as spite blooms warm in your chest. Serves him right. Though you gotta hand it to him, he sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Jungkook groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bow your back so far you’re afraid you’ll slip a disc. “That hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop.

Quite the opposite.

He dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs, pinning your hips to the bed while his tongue flicks and teases, licks and fucks you open slowly.

The messy sounds of your cunt as Jungkook eats you out to within an inch of your life broken by soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. Previous partners have gone down on you before but never seemed to care for it.

Jungkook on the other hand? He’s loving it, eating you out with single-minded ferocity, seeking his own relief by rutting against the bed.

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; the wild briar of his hair in utter disarray, sweat slick strands falling over his forehead while he buries his face in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, his quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction, the ripple of tattoos as he pets at your flank.

He’s not shy - not that you expected him to be in this regard. You’ve heard all the stories about his prowess in bed from classmates and strangers alike.

All his movements are rough and desperate, wet and messy. The careful, slow teasing from before disappearing within the blink of an eye as he becomes consumed with a frantic desire to feel you cum on his face.

It’s not surprising that you don’t last long, orgasming embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Jungkook,” you choke out his name, a broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts, rushes over you like a tidal wave. You shake apart, pussy clenching so hard your womb aches as a gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the actual possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s hot.”

Jungkook shifts.

Your lashes flutter. Breathing is difficult. You can’t feel your hands, the tips of your fingers tingling.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips red and swollen, his eyes hooded, dark and lusting. Pupils blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of brown.

His cock juts from his body in a proud line, curved towards his belly. Smears of pre-cum glitter along the valley of his abs, and you have the strangest urge to lick him clean.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you want to kick your own ass for thinking about Jungkook like this.

Fucking him is one thing, actively appreciating him something else.

But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him kneeling and lusting is a sucker punch to the gut. Breathless and yearning, you’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he opens mouth.

Again.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

The jut of his chest, the arrogance in his gaze ruins everything. Anyone halfway decent with their tongue who knows what a clit is can get a woman off. Jungkook’s nothing special - contrary to all those co-ed’s.

Just another run-of-the-mill asshole who thinks he’s a god. You’re reminded of this now that you’re not cum-dumb, brain dribbling out your ears. And just when you forgot why you dislike him.

“You know what, Jeon?”

If you could move, you’d shove him off the bed and get out of dodge. As it is, you’re in no such position; knees weak, thighs shaky as phantom waves of pleasure shoot from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes.

You settle for a nasty scowl. Half as satisfying, but getting your point across all the same. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

His expression drops into a bitchy sneer.

You want to smack him, wipe that look off his face with your palm. It would be like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean?” Jungkook asks, brimming with gruff impatience. Good. Arrogant prick. “I made you squirt.”

Ignoring the pounding of your heart, you scoff and dismiss his words, no matter how true they ring. He doesn’t need to know you’ve NEVER done that before. “So? Even I can do that, you’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, bunching and releasing as his stormy gaze sears you to the bone. For the first time since he started this little - whatever it is - he seems genuinely pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line.

You swoon, the empty ache inside of you pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking show you who’s better.”

“Sure you will,” you simper with a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm.

As soon as you prop yourself up on an elbow with full intentions of hopping out of bed, a set of large hands stops you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any residual anger you harbored fizzles away.

He can’t expect you to — oh, but of course, he does.

“No, not like this,” you say while you squirm, attempting to roll onto your belly. “I can’t.”

Fucking face to face is too intimate.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, baby,” he croons, tone a mocking lilt as he cages you beneath him. “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cream all over my cock.”

Any response gets lost in a weak moan when he rubs himself against your slick folds, the fat head catching on the hood of your abused clit. You whimper, a sharp spike of arousal slicing through you, almost painful when it follows so swiftly on the tail end of your last orgasm.

You try one last time, voice reedy and thin when you say, “Jeon, please, I can’t - fuck.”

The tip slides into you without preamble, just far enough to feel it but not deep enough to get you off. The smug bastard thrusts gently, your tender, swollen walls suckling his cockhead, trying to pull him deeper.

Pure torture.

Mind wiped clean, embarrassment and protests all but forgotten, all your focus narrows down on how to get him inside you as soon as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks. “Got something to say? You’re squeezing down so hard. Want me deeper, don’t you? What a needy little slut you are for me.”

“Shit, Jeon, come on.” You pant, biting down on a whine. “Just put it in already.”

“Whatever you say.”

He keeps it slow, languidly works his cock deeper into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your muscles flutter, milk his thick shaft. It takes forever and a day before he bottoms out.

And then your eyes roll into the back of your head, hands flying up to anchor your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

He’s right there, cockhead snug against your crevice. Every ridge, every throb; it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher, stretched so wide around him you ache; he’s the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so stuffed full of cock before, it’s almost scary how good it is.

The taut skin of his belly grinds against your clit when he gets as deep as possible, pelvis flush with yours. “F-Fuck, Jeon.”

Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin.

You can’t decide if you want to slap him or have him fuck you into the mattress. Probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Fucking hell.

“See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

You groan, breathing deep and slow. “Are you always such a prick?”

He hasn’t moved, but you’re on the edge, and far from ready for this to be over. The asshole hasn’t delivered. You haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only he could shut his mouth long enough to get the show on the road.

“Bitch.” He rolls his eyes, his broad palms firm on your hips while he shifts until your thighs rest over his. “Ready?”

You snort, shoot a comment about his dick not being that special and more than ready to tack on another scathing retort when he decides he’s had enough of your lip, pulling back and snapping his hips forward in one smooth movement.

It punches the air from your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a near-silent gasp when the head nudges the spongy tissue of your g-spot. The sudden flood of warmth spreads out to all your limbs, pussy throbbing around him.

Your voice is shaky, spread thin, “A-Ah!”

Jungkook isn’t faring any better.

Hot palms tremble against your skin, the furrow to his brow pulling at his piercing, his mouth slack and glossy. His abdominal muscles tense with every stutter of his hips, flexing and resisting the urge to plow into you at max speed.

“Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft you are.”

Incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you, and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp keens, rough hands, and frantic fucking.

He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, punctuating his filthy murmur of, “Perfect fucking fit, just like I knew you’d be.”

You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body as you do your best to keep pace. Every other thrust has his cock slamming into your g-spot, your toes curling in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough.

“Jungkook, I’m - I’m,” you sound wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence. “Please.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he growls, voice full of gravel and hips never missing a beat, “I got you. Now do it, cum, wanna feel you squirt on my cock.”

A fingertip finds your clit.

Rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies.

Crying out, you clutch him close as the bubbling pool of heat overflows, crashes into you like a tsunami. Helpless against the rushing tide. Your body spasms, your cunt gushing around Jungkook’s pistoning cock.

The slick slap of your skin almost as obscene as his groan, low and lewd, when you clench and clamp down on his shaft. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows and stare up at Jungkook with glassy eyes. The early afternoon light highlights the lines of his body, the curves of his muscles, the splashes of color etched into his skin. Tremors wrack your body as you lay there while he chases after his own pleasure.

“Shit, I’m gonna — fffu-ck!”

One last thrust buries him to the hilt, his cum flooding, filling you to the brim. Face slack with pleasure, his head drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He pets your sides with gentle hands, his breath puffing across the sensitive skin of your neck while his body twitches with aftershocks.

The both of you are weak, fucked out.

You lay under him for a long time, silent except for your shuddering breaths. Your bodies coming down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest and grunt.

“Get off.”

A flood of cum follows his swift exit, thick seed dribbling down your folds and pooling on the sheets beneath your ass. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a primal sort of appreciation curling through your belly.

Well, that’s new. And something you refuse to unpack now.

Flopping down beside you, Jungkook stretches, his expression far too self-satisfied for your liking. “For being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”

Leave it to him and his goddamn mouth to ruin the afterglow.

You shoot him a sour look, dragging yourself to your feet.

There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter, before you regain your balance. You clean yourself gingerly with a towel hanging half out of the hamper.

Sore, tender, and vindictively pleased to see the white streak of his cum stain the dark terrycloth.

The asshole laughs at your disgruntled look, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head and he watches you with dark eyes as you bend to get your panties.

Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s noticed the covert looks. You scowl. The smug bastard.

“Don’t be like that, baby. We had a great time.”

Scoffing, you refuse to dignify that with a response, and tug your shirt over your head.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

He ignores your sarcasm and continues, nonplussed, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life. I think you’re gagging for another ride.”

You pick something up off the floor, chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel. Anger pulses, white-hot and only partially satisfied by the pained groan from behind you as the object makes contact.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You know what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”

“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like me - I think you’ve always liked me.”

You ignore the burn of your cheeks, and scoff.

The man’s ego is big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that was the best sex you’ve ever had. That you came so hard your toes curled, and your hands went numb.

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

Keeping your back to him, you’re about to put on your pants when an iron grip shackles itself around your wrist. You tug, testing the hold. He’s unyielding, spearing you with an intense, depthless look.

“...Jeon?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink, swallow and flounder for a response. “Um, I - home?”

He frowns, and tugs you back towards the bed with a huffy sneer, “Get back in bed.”

Wait, what.

You blink, and blink again at the blush stealing its way across his face, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a soft pink, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours. Can’t help asking, “...What?”

“S-Shut up!”

“I didn’t even-”

“Just come back to bed.”

Still in disbelief of what’s happening, you let Jungkook rearrange you to his liking. You find yourself tucked into the curve of his chest, your nose pressed against his collarbone with his buried in your hair. His lips rest against your forehead, dropping the faintest of kisses to your brow.

“...We’ll talk when you wake up.”

You can’t tell if you’re curious or horrified, but for now, getting a few more hours of sleep sounds like an excellent idea. And, you suppose, it could be worse.

Shacking up with Jungkook isn’t all that bad, so long as he keeps his mouth shut. 

[exocynraku]

13 + warrior cats for the ask game!!

13: worst blorbofication not sure if this question is asking for the worst of the fandoms blorbofication or MY worst blorboficaiton but i'm going to go with mine and its . brokenstar . hes one of the Worst-er villains in the series imo because of his whole sending children to war thing but there's something about that and his whole character thats just so interesting to me you don't know who your mom is, your adopted mom doesn't really care about you, your dad is part kittypet which means you are as well which is supposedly 'bad'. you are labelled as 'broken' even as a child. your siblings, who potentially could've been the two to save you from your future fate are dead, killed as a punishment from starclan. starclan killed them. starclan must want you dead aswell. you spend your entire childhood. you want to prove yourself to starclan, you want to prove yourself to your mysterious mother, and so you want to be strong. you want to be as strong as possible, and work your way up the ranks-- but your mentor is too 'weak' and 'pathetic' to train you, so you go to your father, the only cat you have now for training instead. your father becomes leader, with the weak little white cat as deputy. he dies, and then it's the flirty fox's turn, the one distracting your father. distracting him from training you. she dies, and then finally, it's your turn. but this isn't what you want. you want to lead, you don't want to be led. and how long it is going to take for your father to die? and what do you owe to him, why should you serve him like a pet at all? he may have trained you, but it's the least he could've done. he didn't take care of you when you were a kitten or tell you about your mother or anything like that! so you kill him, because YOU want to be the strongest and now you are. you have so, so much power. and you see starclan. you see the ones who wanted you dead, suddenly congratulating you for what you've done. and it feels good. you've proven yourself to them. though, something's happening. new kits are being born. they're playing in camp, smiling and giggling. you never did that. when was the last time you smiled? their mothers love them. yours never did. if you were never allowed to be happy, then why should they? so you train them, and maybe there's a few.... casualties... along a the way, but now they're just as strong as you are! and the weak, the old decrepit weak, just like your old mentor. why should they stay here? they never did anything for you, just as your mentor did. so you exile them. and now you are even stronger. though, there's someone getting in the way. the medicine cat. who you look... oddly similar to. but that doesn't matter. you pin a murder on her, and have her exiled. and now all of your problems are fine, yes? for a little bit, maybe, but then you go and try to attack thunderclan, and-- oh. it's that medicine cat you exiled. your surprise holds you back, allowing her the chance to, in one swipe, strip everything and anything away from you. it's quiet now. a dreary old den you lay in, guarded by cats you've never met. the wretched smell of thunderclan coats your nose. the medicine cats comes and sits with you. she feeds you something, they don't taste very good. you start to feel weaker. this isn't what you want. you want to be strong. you start to go numb, feel smaller than you were. but this isn't what you want. none of this is what you want. why can't you just what what you want? your life is being stripped from you. that's not how this was supposed to be. you were supposed to be leader, forever. leader, forever? that's a childs fantasy.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤. 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 [𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Dan Heng x fem!reader

Warnings: school AU, just fluff.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Eve - 遊生夢死

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I usually don't like to write smth like this, but I made an exception by writing this work once as a bday present for my dear friend. I still think I'm not very good at feeling this character, but I hope it's not too noticeable XD

You remember exactly when it started. You remember perfectly well when your life became so unstable and restless, but happy and saturated, as if filled with bright colors for the first time.

One look. Two words that planted a feeling in your chest that could be awakened by a man who barely decided to take the first step, which he will never regret.

✧ ✧ ✧

Thoughtlessly tracing the margins in your notebook with a pencil, you get bored, yawning quietly at the last desk in the middle row. The office is filled with the tired voice of the teacher and the quiet whisper of your classmates, who can't wait to go home. Raindrops patter softly on the windows, making you even more sleepy.

Today is your birthday. How ironic that it was on this day that the sky cried from the moment you stepped outside the school.

At least you'll be able to come home soon and get some sleep.

Your gaze lazily rose to the gray clouds. For some reason, no one around seemed to care about writing a synopsis or the raging elements outside the window. This day could have been much more intense if you had friends, right? Perhaps so. But you've always been comfortable being alone. Being alone also has its charms. You are always focused on your own thoughts, not filling your head with unnecessary meaningless chatter. Yes, from the outside, friendly communication really looked quite fun, but is it really necessary if now it seems to you that everything is in its place?

You sigh softly, about to return to your notes, when your gaze catches on another bored figure by the window. Exactly. There was always someone in the class who seemed like a kind of kindred spirit to you. For sure, Dan Heng thought about his life the same way you did. You've never seen him smiling cheerfully in the company of classmates. His gaze is just as extinguished, directed at the gloomy sky. Funny… You didn't pay much attention to him, but whenever this guy came into your field of vision, he looked like your reflection.

Although you can't even remember what his voice sounds like.

This does not mean that you never had the desire to talk to him, but you often found him reading another book or leaving school alone with headphones on. Perhaps these are just excuses for your self-doubt, but you sincerely believed that your company would be superfluous for him. Dan Heng always looks so cold, detached, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by the lack of any connection with society.

Just like you.

Hmm… if you think about it, he could have been quite popular with girls if he had been more sociable. His hair always looks so well groomed. Slightly curly short black strands gently shimmer even in the dim sunlight, barely breaking through dense clouds, contrasting against the background of bright turquoise eyes. Aristocratically pale skin and pleasant facial features. Yes, Dan Heng can definitely be called handsome. Maybe he's even your type.

Although, how do you know what your taste in guys is, because you've never fallen in love.

But when those expressive sea-green eyes meet yours, for some reason my heart feels so restless in my chest. Is it out of fear that you seem to have been staring at Dan Heng for a while so obviously that you even managed to get his attention? Yes, but… it was like there was something else.

You look away, burying your face even more in the palm of your hand propping up your head, turning back to your notebook. It was probably the first time you made eye contact with him. What is this feeling? Somehow… It's restless.

You flinch when you finally hear the loud sound of a life-saving bell, knocking you out of your embarrassing thoughts. It must have been so long since you talked to anyone but your parents that even such a small thing could throw you into confusion.

You hurriedly gather your things from the table, scooping them into a bag before heading for the exit, following the crowd that has already managed to run out into the corridor, when a strange hand of the man behind lands on your desk, enclosing you between his body and a chair.

«Wh-what?..»

You turn around uncertainly, facing the chest of a guy with an indifferent expression on his face. The fright on your face is gradually replaced by complete puzzlement.

— D-Dan Heng? Something happened? — has your voice always sounded so quiet or just this time?

— Did you bring an umbrella today?

— Huh? An umbrella? — your eyes widen with even more shock when two things put you in a stupor at once. This is a Tribute to Heng. He's talking to you right now. And asks… About the umbrella?! You're hardly sure you've ever heard his voice, but what he said now seems absolutely absurd.

— It's raining outside. I saw you looking out the window and thought you might not have brought an umbrella.

— Oh, that's right… Um… — you're nervously going over all the memories in your head up to the moment you left the house. And really…

Your thoughtful look, replaced by confusion, said more to Dan Heng than your tongue was able to utter now.

— We live not far from each other. I spend.

✧ ✧ ✧

«What's going on?!»

You awkwardly huddle with a silent classmate under an umbrella as you walk steadily in complete silence to the sound of raindrops hitting the asphalt. There are so many questions in your head that you would like to ask, but for some reason the words get stuck deep in your throat. How the hell does he know where you live? Why did I come up to you with such a strange offer in the first place? Why today?

There must have been some truth in the rumors that Dan Heng was a strange guy who didn't walk around the classroom quietly enough.

You give the guy short glances, having time to notice how calm he looks in such a situation. The same as always. You also notice how his shoulder gets wet from the incessant rain while he holds an umbrella over your figure, which is moving further away from him.

How embarrassing is this… You are gradually approaching Dan Heng, feeling the heat tingle your cheeks even under the cool breeze. It's just to avoid feeling guilty. No more than that.

The longer the silence hung over you, the more clearly your heart was throbbing somewhere in your ears, making you even more nervous. Are you so uncomfortable just because it's practically a stranger to you, or is it because it's Dan Heng?

Your eyes light up when the fence of your house is visible on the horizon. You can finally get through this stress alone.

— Um… we're here.

You both stop, and a short sigh leaves Dan Heng's chest, giving you an unreadable look from top to bottom. You've never thought about how much taller he is than you, but now it seemed like you were nothing more than a scared kitten cowering at his feet.

— Yes. Then… Till tomorrow.

Dan Heng's lips pursed up, and his gaze was blunted somewhere in the asphalt under his feet, which made you relax a little. Ah… he's probably embarrassed too, because you really look alike. It is unlikely that Dan Heng is used to communicating with anyone. He gives the impression of a man who voluntarily chose solitude, but for some reason he exudes sadness, the nature of which you cannot understand. You wanted to ask why he decided to accompany you, why today… But you just nod, grabbing the strap of your bag, hurriedly running to the door.

— Y/N!

For some reason, you were almost sure that this was not the end. Exactly… It wasn't sadness.

You turn around, meeting Dan Heng's furrowed brows, flushed cheeks and sparkling turquoise eyes as he tightens his grip on the umbrella in his hand, looking at you, seeming to carefully consider what he wants to say.

— Happy birthday…

— Huh? — it seemed to you that your heart turned over in your chest, pausing for those few moments that felt like an eternity while you stared into Dan Heng's deep eyes. In these quiet waves, which shimmer with soft ripples in his eyes, you can read tenderness, awe, which creep through your body with a tremor that you have never felt before. Your stomach is cramping with an unpleasant, but such a warm feeling that makes you even more nervous. It's all like a fever attack that will kill you if you don't hide behind your door right now.

You open your lips, whispering your answer, which probably only the rain hitting the roof of your house has heard.

— Thank you…

But Dan Heng heard you. That's probably why he hurried to turn around and head home as soon as possible, in order to hide the way the corners of his lips lifted in a soft smile under a wet umbrella.

[asgardianhobbit98]

Four for Valentine: Week 2 "The Letter"

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / Reader

Characters: Dwalin, Thorin, Gender Neutral Reader

Important Tags: written from Dwalin's POV, romance, angst, death, alcohol consumption, grief, love, redemption, healing

Words: 1146

Summary: When Dwalin attempts to heal his grief after the Battle of Five Armies, his finds himself not just grieving Thorin but also his sibling. But in the depth of night, ghosts come to life, and Dwalin finds that the letters are more healing than he originally thought. (I really meant for this to be fluffy but then my brain made it bittersweet instead because apparently angst is all I can manage today)

Written for my "Four for Valentine" event 🩷

My dearest y/n.

They are calling it the Battle of Five Armies: a Historic event, it seems. I certainly won’t be forgetting it. And I will make damned sure no Dwarf ever forgets it either. Just like I am making sure that no Dwarf ever forgets Smaug’s taking of the Lonely Mountain. Two points of important Dwarven history… and two moments in my life I would rather forget than remember. But it is crucial I don’t forget. If people remember it feels like people also remember you. Both of you.

My brother said writing down feelings is better than cutting down Orc filth. I still disagree. But I can’t deny that it helped me greatly when I lost you. It will certainly help me greatly now that I have lost him.

I loved you. You were my sibling, how could I not? But even if you had not been my family, I think the two of us would have gotten along well. You were funny in a way I didn’t really get, but which others seemed to find endearing. Thorin certainly found it endearing. More than he dared admit.

You see, I found a letter of his in his belongings. I didn’t mean to rummage through his things. It fell out when I was moving it. So don’t come yelling at me from the rocks now! And I only read it because it was addressed to you.

I hadn’t read your name in so very long. Maybe it was the already present grief, but I suddenly grieved you once more. I had to. Because when I read his letter to you, I saw the life you could have had if I had just been quicker in getting to you. That damned dragon!

He is dead now. Smaug. Revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I thought.

You would have had a life with Thorin. I know it. Because he wrote so. He loved you. Dwarves only love once. He was more devastated than he admitted to any of us. I knew he slipped away from us for a long time after the fall of Erebor. I knew he grew quiet. Distant. I never in a million years thought it was because of you too. I thought his family, his people… And here I was grieving you in front of him, burdening him with my own shite.

Yet, he never once said a word. He simply supported me.

He loved you.

You could have been his. He could have been yours.

Maybe this is for the better after all. If you had been here, you would have had to grieve him. The loss of Thorin is one I do not know how to handle.

I wish you were here to help me.

Perhaps the two of you are there in the afterlife, living among the rocks of Erebor, reunited at last.

Stupid.

Dwalin put the pen down and crumpled the letter in his hands with a little more force than necessary. He threw it aside where he watched it land among all the other attempts. Alone in a room in Erebor, finally home, Dwalin thought he might find some solace in a successful quest. But everything felt wrong.

With a sigh, he moved over to his bed and simply… drank himself to sleep, like he usually did. It helped with the nightmares, it helped with the grief, and it put him right to sleep. It was a win win, really.

Balin hated watching him do it, but Balin wasn’t around at the moment. He was on his way to Moria to continue furthering their people’s wealth; to try and retake the mountain. Meanwhile, Dwalin was still stuck in the past, in his grief… doing nothing with his life… or so he thought, at least.

…

As the darkness engulfed him, a restless sleep devouring Dwalin, he found that the alcohol actually did very little to help him. Rather than steering him onto a path of just dark, dreamless sleep, Dwalin found himself suddenly standing in his room.

Actually, that wasn’t the best description on where Dwalin found himself. He was in his room, yes, but he was sort of… standing by his bed, watching himself sleep.

It was a weird position to be in, and for a long time, Dwalin did nothing but stare at himself.

Had he died?

Was this the afterlife?

But no, he was breathing… Snoring, actually. It was a rather pitiful sight.

There was a strange humming in the background. As if someone was singing, but it wasn’t one person. It was a vibration so loud it sounded like a thousand people humming. It was peaceful, almost recognizable. As if Dwalin had always heard it in the background whilst walking in the mountain, or out and about.

But he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The humming was interrupted by a little shuffle in the room behind him. He turned, finding it rather difficult and slow to do so, and watched…

You.

And Thorin.

Both of you looked ten times better than you’d ever done alive, warm peaceful looks on your faces at all times. The two of you were picking up Dwalin’s attempts at writing a letter to you, reading them with your heads held together, arms locked in a loving touch…

“Y/N?” Dwalin asked, staring at his sibling with pure… shock. And Thorin, his king… “Thorin?”

Both of you looked up at him. But it was you who answered Dwalin: “I like your letters. They make me happy.”

Dwalin must have looked quite dumb as he simply stared in shock, because suddenly you began to chuckle. That chuckle… He’d missed it.

“My dear Dwalin,” Thorin said, “you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Both of you chuckled a bit at this.

“You both are…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “Yes, quite. But that doesn’t mean we’ve left you.”

Thorin nodded along. “We’re always with you. In the rocks that make up your home. In your memories. And we’ll be waiting. Until you’re ready.”

You smiled. Thorin smiled.

…

And far too soon did that ‘dream’ end because suddenly Dwalin woke up with a start in his bed, looking around the room, searching…

He pushed away the bottle of alcohol. His heart lighter, and went back over to the crumpled up drafts of a letter.

Okay… he thought to himself… I’ll keep writing if it makes you two so damn happy.

Chuckling for the first time in a long, long time, he wrote at least twenty long letters in the candlelight, telling the both of you everything that he wanted to. Because he missed you both, and he loved you. And if you two really did read his letters, then he was going to keep at it until he was sure you both knew just how much you meant to him.

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!

reblog and comment = love and support 🥰

[le-monchou]

what once was, now is || k project

anna struggles to fill mikoto's shoes. yata and kusanagi attempt to help out. || word count: 251 words || hello gays and guys and others, im back in this hole after 8 years, i hope you like my writing. find my cringy mikoto suoh fic titled tasukete ageru on quotev and tell me it sucks lmao i wrote that in 2019 and then rewrote it in 2021.

the city outside is too vibrant for anna's tastes, but the bar inside is far too quiet for her. not right now, when mikoto's loss is still fresh and bleeding, despite the crown firmly affixed on her head. and maybe this is how mikoto felt when he was eighteen and unsure, and despite having izumo and tatara, he stood alone.

anna doesn't like the feeling of being alone. the sound of footsteps behind her makes her turn around to find yata waiting patiently, and for once, his voice is quiet. gentle, like she was seven and terrified of everyone who wasn't red like they were. "dinner time, anna."

she knows what she has to do, but her feet refuse to move, firmly affixed to the cement of the terrace, and somehow far below her, a car honks. the world continues on without the people who were her whole world. "i can't move." she whispers. "the red is too strong."

"and we're here. we'll help keep you safe." misaki responds, and somehow, anna's heart breaks further, because how have they been dealing with their youngest succeeding mikoto? how could she have been so selfish? "and you can take your time, anna. mikoto-san's right there behind you, and we're behind the both of you."

through tears resting heavily on her lashes, anna sees misaki's red shine bright for the frst time in a long time, and she sniffles as her feet finally move, and suddenly, the bar doesn't seem far too quiet anymore.

massive thanks to @kresurrectionfest for organising something like this!! im rewriting all my drafts to keep this fandom going little by little haha

[edanfig]

I will be the first to say that the Grishaverse has its flaws. There are many problems with it but my main criticism is with the fandom. Especially the ones on booktok/bookstagram that always are like “my least favorites trope is when the fem!mc loses her powers in the end” and I look in the comments and see people saying “Omg like Alina”.

It doesn’t make any sense to me, I feel like I’ve seen that trope in less than 5 books, but maybe I’m wrong. However, Alina losing her power totally makes sense in the book. She doesn’t even want the power, her whole thought process is “means justify the end”. She says multiple times after the first few chapters in the Little Palace that she doesn’t like being a Grisha. It wasn’t healthy for her and she wasn’t thriving; hell, the people there didn’t even like her. Alina gathered all the power from the amplifiers to take down the Darkling, and it was said multiple times by her mentors that the power she was gaining was unnatural.

Her gathering of the amplifiers was breaking the natural order of things and creating rifts that we later see in KoS/RoW. Alina’s powers wiping themselves out after she strained herself and fixing the problem that was breaking the natural order makes so much sense. Her powers getting rid of themselves was restoring the world to what it was supposed to be.

Also people act like Alina was upset that she lost her power, and while I think she mourned the power she’d gained in that time, she wasn’t too sad. She enjoyed it because she could live a peaceful life with Mal, doing what she wanted, free from the constraints and stress from politics and dealing with life and death.

Certain people were just completely making things up about how Alina was feeling, forgetting she was a child who liked the idea of being a Grisha. After she got a taste of what it was like, and the stress (mental and physical) that came with it, she hated it. She hated when she became a saint because people were treating her like a thing not a person. Alina did everything she did to do what was right and when she was done went to the peaceful life she craved with Mal. And for some reason people interpret this as “Leigh didn’t want Alina to be happy” when you can clearly see she’s happier living a quiet life.

[cycat-carisi]

Commitment

Pairing: Trevor x Nicky (1x06 Pete's Wife)

Summary/A/N: In 2x22 (The Heir) Trevor mentioned that he almost moved in with a woman, but that she wanted him to commit. In 1x06 (Pete's Wife), Trevor gets Sam to look up Nicky, a woman he thought could have been "the one". I said, why not make them the same person and explore the moment that T-Money bailed on his own happiness. You know, because why not sprinkle a little more angst into this fandom :)

Tags/warnings: Cussing

Words: 1094

Additional note: I kinda feel like Trevor's unfinished business has to do with his commitment, accepting that money doesn't define his worth and having someone actually love him in return. So, I kind of want to make this into an H-Money series and weave in cannon moments plus steer these two in the right direction towards each other.

AO3: link (or below the cut!)

“Why so mopey, bro?” exclaims Chet, half-drank beer in his hand.

Trevor’s frown deepens as he plunks himself down on Ari’s expensive sofa.

“Yeah, dude. Who shit in your cornflakes?” chimes David Woodstone, swigging back his own chilled can of alcohol. “Thought you were having Nicky over tonight.”

Ari pipes up next as he saunters towards his friends. “Trouble in paradise, my man?”

Trevor releases a sigh. His voice quiets. “I think it may be over, guys.”

A collective gasp resonates through the lavish apartment.

~

“You taste scrumptious, sweetheart,” Trevor coos between kisses to his girlfriend’s neck. He feels her hum with affection against him.

“Babe,” Nicky begins, her voice tender and sweet. “What are we? I mean, we’ve been on and off for the better part of a year. I love being with you, but this whole arrangement where one of us comes over, we spend time together, and then one of us leaves again just doesn’t feel right anymore. I want us to be more than that. Being with you feels right, Trev.”

Trevor’s stomach drops. His whole body freezes. Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying? He props himself up on an elbow to meet her gaze. “What do you mean, Nicky?”

She must sense his unease because Nicky’s expression drops as she answers. “I mean, I want to have a proper relationship with you. I want to take this,” her fingertips graze his bare chest before pulling back to her own, “to the next level.”

“Like move in together?” Panic begins to set in. Trevor’s voice raises an octave.

“Well, maybe,” she keeps her voice soft, “but maybe more than just that? Maybe we can make our commitment to one another clear.”

Trevor’s brain stalls. Commitment. One simple word yet so many implications. So much weight behind its meaning. He adores Nicky, but does he love her? Does Trevor even know what love feels like? Does she love him? Is that what this is about?

His silence must have gone on for just a little too long. Nicky’s shoulders droop, and a defeated frown creeps its way onto her features. “Never mind,” she sighs, moving to get up.

“Nick, wait!” exclaims Trevor. And the look of hope that lights up her face as she turns around shatters Trevor’s heart. He tries to play it cool like he always does. “You know me, babe! I...I don’t deal well with all this intimate stuff.” Somehow, those are the only words he can think of.

A tear. It appears there in the corner of her eye, but she refuses to let it slip out. Nicky puts a hand up. “Save it, Lefkowitz. I should have known better than to push you towards this. I should know that you’re not that kind of guy.”

It’s like a hot iron rod is being driven through his chest, yet Trevor does nothing as he watches her dress, gather her belongings from the drawer he lets her use, and leaves.

~

Trevor’s head hangs between his shoulders as he leans forward on the sofa. “I royally fucked up.”

“Dude,” David preaches from beside Trevor, “chicks think that they can just tell their men what to do. Take away our autonomy.”

“But I really–” Trevor shifts, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I picked this up on the way here.” It’s then that Trevor reveals the small velvet box.

“Holy shit, bro!” gasps Chet.

“No fucking way!” shouts David.

Ari’s eyes widen into saucers.

Trevor holds the open box in his palm; its contents glitter in the afternoon light.

Sure, he gets invited to all the parties. Sure, he likes to splurge on a nice suit every once in a while. But the truth is, Trevor is not rich like Ari or David. Instead, he works hard and pays his rent, but while desperately tries to fit in with his friends’ lavish lifestyles, Trevor just isn’t really there yet.

So, the rock in his hand isn’t huge or overly expensive, but maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

“Are you insane?!?!” Ari exclaims as if this must surely be some kind of prank.

“Bro, you are so whipped!” David gargles out a laugh, which sparks Ari to join in. Chet just stares, dumbfounded.

Trevor’s eyes dart between his friends, forcing a smile and a laugh amidst his confusion.

“You’re not serious, are you?” chides Ari, his words making a pit form in Trevor’s stomach.

When Trevor doesn’t answer, Ari just scoffs. “Trev, engagement spells the end of all fun.”

“No bro-nights. No drinking. No exclusive parties,” adds David.

Ari seizes the opportunity to continue. “You’ll just be dragged into the world of domesticity. Dinners with her friends and her family. Wedding planning. Then come the kids. Diapers. Being forced to stay home all the time. Not to mention that she won’t want you working in the city away from her. She’ll force you to take a safe job in the burbs and isolate you even more from us. I mean, we’re chick magnets, so she’d obviously be jealous all the time.”

The pit in Trevor’s stomach grows; it’s heavy and pushes acid into his throat. The question he had earlier resurfaces in his brain. Does he love Nicky? Is she the one? But would she try to change him or stop him from doing the things he enjoys? He is still young, with so much life to live and so many things to tick off his bucket list. But then, why had he just gone out and bought a ring?

“Trev, buddy,” Ari says, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shaking Trevor from his thoughts.

Trevor gazes upwards, finding David as the one about to speak. “She’s probably got the plans for your future already mapped out.”

“Dave’s right,” Ari interjects. “You’re blinded by shiny stones and what-ifs. You’ve only been hooking up for the last year. Are you really ready to give all this”, he gestures around the room, “up for one person who probably wants to dictate the rest of your life? You need to look out for you, pal.”

His brow furrows as Trevor glances around absently.

Trevor always felt like he was going to be something. A few more promotions, and he would be raking in the dough. Then it would be him in a penthouse like Ari’s. Him hosting parties on a yacht. Him being able to afford Nicky the life she deserves. But right now, he couldn’t stop himself from living and enjoying the life that would get him there.

Not yet at least.

Feedback is loved ♥

[faksyan]

12/16/19 :3

ooohh boyy that got really long. lots of mgs rambles under the cut. thanks for the ask!!! very slight nsfw mention in the second one, nothing major.

12) the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I'll be honest I'm actually still familiar with some of the games only on surface-level (fake fan I know), and I don't think I have anyone like that from those I know well.

Well, Paz, but I talked about her a bit in the last ask already. She is full of rage and loneliness and gets just a glimpse of real affection and friendship and I find a lot of these themes very compelling. And I guess all the women in general, because fandom spaces usually gravitate towards men, and with mgs it's even less surprising. I really, really like Eva in Snake Eater, but that's mostly due to my own interpretation rather than the writing. I feel like her understanding of love must be really interesting as someone who was taught to pretend/actually feel on some level love on command, and I also think it's interesting that she was the one The Boss opened to. I really wish so many mgs women's traits weren't so tightly linked with romance, man. Quiet is also so cool, but she too suffers from being reduced to just that.

I really like The Boss, she's such a interesting contradiction - cold and strict, but also full of love for the while world and ready to give everything she has to make it just that much better. I would love to see in more detail things about her and Sorrow, an actual game with her as a protagonist would be awesome. Strangelove's tapes in pw are absolutely fascinating as well, the one where she's talking to Joy's ai almost made me cry, and she generally has some pretty interesting take on some things. I really liked the part where she talks about how ai would be an amalgamation of people's consciousness rather than of individual's in the future, because that put into words part of why I hate ai-generated images and text that people call art.

16) you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Well, I can get people liking anything on account of different tastes, so this is more about popular takes I don't really get because of how different my reading of canon is, I guess? Like the idea of bbkaz being abusive to a point where Kaz was having a horrible terrible time every day at every corner. I've seen it in some fics, and kind of get where people go with it, but I think Kaz "almost blew himself up with a grenade so he wouldn't be taken prisoner" Miller would rather die than be treated like shit. He would blow up their shared tent if it ever came to it ya feel me. He is too proud and too impulsive and too much of everything. They respected and listened to each other and I'd say a lot of their issues were kind of more subtle? in a way. What they had definitely wasn't healthy in many aspects, but it was in ways where they both could ignore/didn't feel were that bad at the moment, that type of thing.

I read through almost the entirety of ocelhira tag on ao3, and i could write a whole list of stuff about them that I personally see differently as that part of the fandom. I'm very picky when it comes to them, in no way those are bad, and I've /seen/ them being executed in a way I enjoyed, I just don't really get them. The main things I don't really see are, as follows:

That they hate each other (next to zero basis of that before the ending of v, and even this can be argued about.)

They would punch each other on the first meeting or shortly after (never seen either of them as people who would resort to violence in a more business-like setting. because that's how I see them approach what they have. Ocelot mainly uses violence in specific scenarios like interrogations and is good at controlling his emotions. Kaz is impulsive but he is a businessman to the bone. Maybe he'd punch Ocelot at some point but definitely not early on. I feel like the main instigator of random CQC is Snake after all, and without him they would figure things out differently.)

They would fuck on the first meeting or shortly after (Ocelot is weird about intimacy and doesn't trust anyone and is a spy who's probably never had friends or lovers, in any meaningful sence of the words. Also he's on aroace spectrum to me. I don't think Kaz would have sex with a person he genuinely despises even if he found them appealing, out of sheer stubbornness. If he hates a person he hates them, same reason why I don't think bbkaz would work in any way past v. Even if Kaz tried to hook up with Ocelot in the beginning, he would probably kill him for a mere insinuation. Give me the intricate details of getting to know a person and figuring shit out, they had nine whole years.)

There's probably more, but this is getting like. super long sorry my bad. And sorry so much of it is about ships, the platonic tags are barren as a desert I gotta write and draw some myself✌️

19) you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

Vocelot a bit maybe (not necessarily romantic or sexual) because the whole concept of them having a close relationship could go a very fucked-up route (like a bit more than the average mgs level). Not really ashamed, that's why I like it, it has a sort of a Hannigram feel to it. Even in case where they genuinely care about each other, there are still some weird power dynamics and mind games and codependency. I just generally find ideas of brainwashing really unsettling.

Also I really like Huey as a character. am I allowed to say that. am I getting fed to the bears. I can and will elaborate at some point, I just really like characters who are unredeemable impossible hypocrites (hey, that's part of why I'm a Kaz Miller fan) and Huey is just. vastly misunderstood when it comes to what caused him to spiral, none of which helps his case but it's INTERESTING. Instead he's just being reduced to a punching bag without taking a look at what exactly led up to it all. Grantedly, I don't think Kojima thought about it that deeply at all, but it came out as a vivid critique of how society and especially military treats men who are disabled/not "masculine" enough/can't stand up for themselves. to me. and I like that.

[seraphiism]

hiii ms kay!!! congratulations on your milestone!! you deserve it so much :) may i request "dreamscape event: dusk + ☁️ gojo + bellflower" for your event? thank u so much and best of luck in school!

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘

( yes, i need you, my fairytale. )

chara : gojo satoru fandom : jujutsu kaisen quote cr : quote by vladimir nabokov a/n : hello friend !! thank you so much <3 i appreciate you and your kindness! the luck is very much needed!

・❥・[ dreamscape event ] ༊*·˚ ⌛fluff • ☁️ gojo • 💐 bellflower : everlasting love

gojo satoru doesn't really believe in fate. there are too many abstracts in this world, too many musings, too many-- well, whatever-- the point is that he finds no purpose in dwelling on things that exist as mere concept and not reality, because what's the use? in a life full of burdens and ongoing loss, there is no safety in slowing down and contemplating the woes in sentiment.

-- is what he would say, naturally, about love, because what does he know of it? maybe he has loved before, and he has, of course he has-- but the people he loved are long gone and turned into something born from his own faults. he has loved before, but he doesn't say it; the words turn to a rust that lines his throat, reminds him of a past unforgotten.

he loves now and it's a different kind of love with you : hopeful, light, and maybe a forever kind of love he doesn't think he wants yet desire so-- because in a shitty world where happiness is a stranger, maybe he wants this silly typical happy ending, after all.

it's just a thought at first, fleeting, then gone. but it grows so quietly with time, creeping into his life, and it is almost painful because he believes it could be possible.

he runs his hands through his hair, sighs a little louder than intended. there's a glint in the corner of his eye, a brief reflection of the gentle sun on the cool metal that rests on your finger. you pause, head tilting instinctively in question.

"i'm almost done, satoru." your hands gingerly peel the clementines. "that hungry?"

he stills, nearly forgets every heavy thought that has weighed on his mind by the knowing of such kindness. he approaches with a grin, rests his hands on your waist.

"hungry for y--"

you shove a slice in his mouth, roll your eyes despite the quiet laughter that escapes you. you are more than used to his nonsense, days gone by filled with joyful banter that shines a light in dark days.

"too sour." he mumbles, brows narrowed in dramatic discontentment. "have anything sweeter?"

"oh?" you grab another slice, unable to hold back the smile that blooms on your lips as you feed him again. "better?"

he shakes his head. another slice, then one more.

"too bitter this time. you don't taste it? are you getting sick on me?" there's genuine concern in his voice, a rare expression of worry surfacing in bright blues. "here--"

you think to respond, tell him that it tastes fine, but he presses his lips against yours, overwhelms your senses with a sweetness that lingers for longer than either of you expect. the moment he pulls away, you stare at him with utmost bewilderment before your countenance turns into something of embarrassment and false annoyance.

"you're so fucking embarrassing, satoru."

he hums, content, wraps his arms around your frame as he kisses you on the lips, on the cheek, on the nose-- you laugh, unable to pull away from his grasp, and he knows that this is true happiness.

( no, gojo satoru doesn't quite believe in fate, but he knows that there is something between you two in forevermore, and he knows it will be a love lasting. )

[starstruckkittensweets]

“A Dance with the Devil” | Dabi x Reader

Fandom: My Hero Academia  Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 6.2k 

A/N: This is my very first attempt at writing for a non AoT character, and of course it had to be this guy! On my recent rewatch of MHA to prepare for Season 6 my crush on him was reignited (no pun intended I swear) and now with recent events in the anime and manga I’ve fallen into a hole I can’t seem to get out of. I started this as some basic angst/comfort, but it quickly morphed into something I couldn’t really stop writing. So here’s roughly 6k words of shameless self-indulgent comfort, fluff, flirting, suggestive talk, and awkward pining over some cigarettes and booze. The title’s partially inspired by that “dance with the devil in the pale moonlight” quote, honestly I had a really tough time coming up with a title for this because titles aren’t my thing! But I think it works for what it is. This is also my first time writing for him so I apologize if it’s a little choppy in some places; but I hope you guys enjoy! Oh and happy birthday Dabi you menace to society! 

Warnings: mostly SFW, smoking, alcohol consumption, suggestive language, Reader can be very insecure at times, Dabi is an asshole but he tries his best to comfort Reader, this is just very self indulgent and I want to give him a hug and maybe a kiss or two

He’s waiting for you on the rooftop, in your usual spot at the edge. A lit cigarette hanging from his fingertips, flicking the ash down on the city streets below. At the scuffle of your shoes on the stone he shoots you his trademark smirk, motioning to the tiny cooler at his heels.

“About time you showed up.” You give him a shrug as he settles down on the edge with his legs dangling below, practically pulling you down to join him. “Worried you might skip out on me, doll.”

“I had…” Your throat runs dry beneath that burning blue gaze. “…Just had some shit to do.”

He reaches into the cooler and pulls out a beer for himself, before pressing a bottle of cider into your palms. He’s always teased you for your dislike of beer—the way your face scrunches up at the tiniest drop on your tongue, the way it seems to suck out every bit of moisture from your mouth. It took you guys a while to find a drink that didn’t make your insides squirm. Finally settling on a brand of hard cider that was too sweet for his taste, but gave you just the right amount of liquid courage to keep these little midnight trysts afloat.

The bottle opener hanging from your keys trembles against your fingers; you can barely fit the cap into the little slit before Dabi’s hands close over your own, snapping it off in one swift movement. You mumble a quick thanks before tipping back the bottle, hoping to drown out the low chuckle he gives in liquid fire. Or the sight of that damn cigarette barely hanging on between his lips.

“Thought my presence didn’t make you blush anymore,” he croons, and all you can think of is how to make the alcohol work any faster than it already does. “Nice to see it still works, though.”

“It doesn’t…”

But your voice dies in your throat as you nurse the bottle close to your chest, counting the lights of the city sprawled below. It used to be able to calm you down, sitting up here at night, with or without the company of someone else. But tonight it’s different, and no matter how many sips of cider slide down your throat, you can still feel that heavy weight against your chest.

Crushing you until you can barely breathe. Reminding you of just how tired you are, how much of a failure you can be—how much you already are—

“Doll.”

Your jaw tightens when you look over at him. His fingers are already tracing the fabric of your jacket, just above your shoulder.

“…Yeah?”

“You’re quiet tonight.”

“Oh… It’s okay, I’m—”

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Oh.

You clear your throat again before raising the bottle one more time. “Nothing’s bothering me, I’m fine. I promise!” It’s the same lie you tell yourself every other day, hoping that just this time, it’ll actually be true. “Nothing you have to worry about, I swear. I’m all—ah!”

His palm is suddenly pressed against the mouth of the bottle, your lips barely brushing over the skin of his knuckles. You yank yourself back as far as you can—with his arm still around you of course—as he plucks the drink from your hands and holds it up to his face. The glass glints against the moonlight, painting his face in a pretty amber shade.

“More than halfway done. You never drink this much this fast. So tell me,” his voice is deeper now, making you tremble all over again, “what’s bothering you?”

Fuck, he’s right! You’re not the fastest when it comes to drinking alcohol—you both know he comes in first in that regard. But from the looks of his beer on the slab of stone beside him, he’s probably had three or four sips tops. And here you are making a fool of yourself, knocking it back like you’re some idiotic girl who’s just gone through her first breakup.

“…I didn’t think you were that observant, Dabi,” you try to brush him off with a laugh, but it only makes him tighten his grip on your shoulder. And then your insides are twisting up again, your fingers itching to grab ahold of something.

Answer him already. He’s caught you, it’s too late to try to save this.

“…Just had a shit day at work… Well, a shit week, more like it.”

But how is that different from any other week at work? It’s always the same, every day rolling by as slowly as possible, little events and annoyances piling up on top of one another until the tears start spilling. Until the weight in your chest becomes too much to handle, and you end up shutting yourself away from the rest of the world to scream into your hands—or a pillow, whatever’s closest to you at the moment.

But it’s not just work—sometimes it’s the neighbors across the hall or next door, others it’s family members with their incessant poking and prodding, or maybe it’s just a random stranger on the street who’s too focused with their own problems to make room for anyone else’s.

Grin and bear it. Be as nice as you can be. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Everyone likes to see a smile, right? So smile until you can’t, until your face begins to ache.

Even if they don’t always smile back.

“I’m just…tired. And I know I shouldn’t be, but I guess I am.” Fuck, why are you even telling him all of this? It’s not like he cares, right?

He’s got more pressing matters to deal with. More important things to worry about, besides your sudden change of mood.

“Sorry, I know I’m being stupid…” Your tongue feels thick against your lips, nails biting into the skin of your palms.

“It’s not stupid if it’s makin’ you this upset.” He drags his thumb below your eye, catching a lone tear before it can fall down your cheek.

No, don’t cry, don’t you fucking start, not now, please not now!

“I…”

You swallow hard and reach for the bottle, whimpering as he holds it just out of arm’s length. You don’t want to feel like this anymore—like you’re a burden, a child, so fucking helpless you have to be coddled.

“One more—just one more sip—”

“Not if you’re gonna suck it all down one go.”

His voice is firm, almost enough to get you to stop reaching for the bottle. But he’s quick to place it down beside his beer, before catching your wrists in his hands. You can’t bear to look him in the eye, instead staring down at the line of staples holding his hands together. Your cheeks are flared up as he leans in close; you can practically taste the smoke on his breath from the cigarette he’s been nursing all night. The same one that’s currently burning on the rim of his beer can, lying forgotten as he brings you close to his chest.

“B-but I—”

“’S fine,” he mumbles, pressing his scarred cheek against your temple.

You snap your mouth shut. What is he doing? He’s never this tender, never one to initiate any kind of touch on his own, unless it’s inherently sexual. The closest you’ve ever gotten was holding hands when the nights got too cold—and he wouldn’t let you live it down as you sat there in your apartment shivering, at least three blankets already wrapped around your shoulders, practically begging for him to warm you up.

He’s never shown any physical interest in you like this, apart from the constant flirting and lighthearted smirks he’s thrown your way over the last year or so you’ve known each other. Never gripped your arms or kissed your cheek or even hugged you. Apart from tugging you down onto the couch and pressing his chest against your back. But you know better than to think there’s more to those touches. You know better than to expect that kind of affection from a man like Dabi.

So then…why now?

With a shaky breath, you squeeze your eyes shut and begin to speak. “I’m just…tired and pissed. Tired of being the only one around here who seems to give a damn. Tired of feeling like nothing I do is good enough—no matter how hard I try. It’s just so…fucking frustrating!”

Your eyes are no longer hot with tears; instead your nails are cutting into your palms, teeth bared against the chill of the night air.

“I try and try and smile as much as I can, but it never gets me anywhere, and I’m just so damn sick of it! And some people only make it worse—no, most people do! But if they don’t really care then why should I? Maybe that’s my fault though, for expecting too much from…”

Your voice dies in your throat when you feel a faint tremble against your fingers. You hadn’t realized that, in the midst of your ranting, you’d grabbed ahold of the lapels of Dabi’s jacket, and now the man was snickering against the top of your head as he cages you in against his chest.

…What the fuck?

“Fuckin’ hell, doll,” he breathes out in a gentle voice, “if I’d known you’d look as hot as you do when you’re pissed off I would’ve ramped it up ages ago.”

Is…is he serious? You roll your eyes and shove him away, nearly knocking over the pair of drinks resting at his side.

“Shut up! I’m practically pouring my heart out and all you can do is laugh, asshole!”

But you’re giggling alongside him, despite everything. It’s weak and pitiful, but at least you’re not crying anymore. And your chest does feel a bit lighter now…

You hold out your hands for the bottle of cider, putting on your best puppy dog pleading face…to no avail as he stubs out his forgotten cigarette and reaches into his coat pocket for a fresh one.

“Don’t know, doll. I don’t want you getting sick or passing out on me.”

“C’mon, just give it to me.” At least the air is less tense. The two of you are back to normal for now. “I won’t pass out, I’ll take it slow. Now give me the drink!”

“Mmm… Dunno.” He slips a second cigarette through his lips and lights it with the tiniest blue flame from the tip of his finger.

“You got it for me in the first place, it’s not like you’re gonna drink it yourself. Now give it to me!”

“You mean the drink or something else? ’Cause I can think of a couple other things to give you right now, dollface.”

“Stop it, you know that’s not what I mean!” You shove his shoulder as hard as you can, eliciting a smug laugh from his lips. “Come on now!”

But then he leans in close—so close you can spot the little rusting staples on the corners of his mouth. “Only if you say the magic word.”

“…You’re joking.”

“Not in the slightest.” And the little upward twitch of his eyebrow pushes you over the edge.

You groan and throw your hands up in defeat. “Such a pain in the ass, fine then! I’ll do it!” Acting like you’re fucking five years old again…

A deep breath fills your chest, as you shift your eyes to meet his own. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke directly into your face.

“…Please? Pretty please?”

“Ooh, I love when you beg for me like that,” he says slyly, and just when you prepare to swat that stupid cigarette right out of his mouth, he’s hovering the bottle of cider over your outstretched palms. “Take it slow. No need to get yourself wasted for the wrong reasons, doll.”

You huff out a soft “thanks” before taking the smallest sip you can muster, well aware of those bright blue eyes on your body. When you’re done you let out a sigh, watching him as he takes another drag, a coil of smoke pooling past his mismatched lips.

“Although,” he continues with a smirk, “I like watching you speak your mind. Should do it more often; let everyone know what you really think of ’em.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that…” You clear your throat when some of the smoke slips past your nose. “I’m not…very good at that.”

“Seemed to be just fine a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well…I guess you’re the exception, then.” Unfortunately.

“Aww, I’m flattered.” He presses his hand to his chest, cigarette sealed between his fingers, and holds out his beer in the thin space between you. “So I’m just that special to ya, huh?”

“As if,” you murmur, clinking your drink against his own. “You just know how to push my buttons that much.”

Never mind the fact his face comes to mind practically every day of your life, even when you’re a handful of cities apart. Or the fact you keep the bathroom window unlocked every night just in case he decides to slip in for a quick visit. Or the rolls of gauze and bandages you have stuffed away under the bathroom sink, so you’re prepared if he ever comes in bleeding or burned beyond repair again.

The sly remarks, the taunting tone of voice—even the occasional dirty joke whispered against the shell of your ear. Every little bit of him just grinds your gears and makes your fingers curl. Sends a bolt of heat down your spine until you’re almost sure you’ll pass out…at least until he decides to shift that burning gaze onto something else instead.

“Anyway, how are the others?” Desperate to get his attention off you, despite the tiniest flutter in your chest. “The boss not running you too ragged, I hope?”

He shrugs his shoulders, stretching his arms above his head with a soft groan. The pit of your stomach flares up when the hem of his shirt rides up, showing a sliver of the scarred skin of his abdomen. “Not really, hasn’t been too demanding the last couple weeks.”

“That’s good to hear. At least you have some time to kill between jobs, too.”

“All the more reason to swing by here,” he adds, tapping his drink to yours before taking another sip.

You’re well aware of his less than favorable views of the world you live in, and the profession that comes along with them. It wasn’t hard to piece together; one too many refusals of going to the hospital rather than your tiny apartment when he needed some patching up led you to convince him to cough it up. Not that he shied away from villainous activities in your presence. Just spared you from the details of some of his more gruesome jobs. And at the end of the day, a small part of you is thankful for that, even after all this time.

The two of you slip into easy conversation between sips, a thin trail of smoke hovering over your heads. He keeps the names of his cohorts under wraps, as though they’re not blasted over the evening news every other day or so. You’ve only had the pleasure of meeting Toga, after she stubbornly—and not so stealthily—followed Dabi to one of your nightly meetups on this very rooftop. She’s not so bad, once you look past the sharpened blades strapped around her waist and thighs. A bit hyper and outgoing, but she can be a lot of fun to hang around with.

She’s always begging you to spend a girls’ night with her to talk about boys, but you know you’ll never hear the end of it from Dabi if you agreed—meeting up with a dangerous villain on your own, knowing full well they could kill you at any moment, and everything along those lines. He fails to see any irony in this; when you asked him about it one night, he simply slung his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close.

“You said it yourself, doll, I’m the only exception around here.”

Still, once in a while you’ll get a text from an unknown number (probably one of those burner phones Dabi’s always using), and you’ll end up spending the rest of the night talking to Toga. She’s a great listener, too—and a master at keeping secrets. Even without the threat of a fiery demise, she’s promised not to spill to the rest of their little band about your relationship with Dabi.

If you can even call it that, at this point.

“Just so you know,” he breaks the silence with a grunt, “don’t look for me in the next week or so.” His voice is softer now, taking a longer drag from his cigarette than before. “Something’s come up, boss needs everyone this time.”

“Oh…okay.”

Your knuckles hurt from how hard you’re clutching the bottle. He never means it, whenever he gives a date like that. A few days could easily turn into a few months—a couple weeks at most, if you were lucky. Worst case scenario, this could very well be the last time you saw him.

Heroes did it all the time. How many sullen faces flashed over the news at night, sharing bittersweet memories of their loved ones lost to needless combat? You never saw yourself as a fan of heroes growing up, never even aspired to be one yourself. It wasn’t a lifestyle that appealed to you, with how isolated it seemed to be. And you were well aware of the risks that came with being one, or even caring for one.

It’s the same for any villain out there, maybe even more. Treat each day as though it’s your last. Otherwise you’ll end up cuffed and chained in a cell—or maybe even six feet underground. There’s no room for meaningless attachments or unwanted feelings. Squash those down now while you can, or you’ll regret it even more down the line.

This would be the sixth time Dabi’s left you. At least this time he’s given you a fair warning.

“…How long will you be gone?”

“Can’t say.” Another drag, just one more sip of his beer. The hollow sound it gives as he places it down makes you feel a bit better about your own drinking. At least I’m not the only one who’s almost finished. “No way of knowing how long this’ll take.”

“Oh.” Just drop it, you’ll only get yourself worked up. “…So no Toga either then, huh?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Sadly no—but she’s never gonna shut up about you until we get back. Little shit,” he adds under his breath.

“…Okay.”

This time he turns to look at you; you give him a smile, trying to ignore the swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“You don’t sound okay.”

“Hm? Nah, I’ll be fine. You got shit to do, I get it. I’ll just be waiting for you until you get back.”

If you come back.

It makes your stomach squirm, the thought of not having Dabi in your life anymore. He’s an asshole, no way around it. He’s the reason your couch constantly smells of burnt skin and smoke, the reason for all those bloody bandages clogging up the little trash can you have in the bathroom. He keeps you awake until the ungodly hours of early morning, has a habit of stealing snacks from the fridge whenever he pleases, and always has you on edge whenever you’re out in public. As though any random passerby will catch a whiff of smoke from your clothes and immediately trace it back to Dabi.

But he’s also the reason you’re not as scared walking home in the dark anymore. The reason you watch the sun go down with a smile, wondering if tonight he’ll stop by for a quick visit. The reason you’re not as lonely as you used to be. He might be a villain, but he’s a damn good security blanket. Not to mention a free heater whenever the nights get cold.

“You go do what you gotta do, and don’t worry about me, alright?”

You can’t help but grimace at the bottle in your hand—not a drop left inside. Wordlessly he plucks another from the cooler, flicks the cap off with ease and passes it towards you. The alcohol still burns down your throat, though not as strong as before.

Just don’t leave me out here all by myself.

The next few minutes crawl by in complete silence, save for the sounds of the city below. He presses his cigarette into the stone before lighting up a fresh one with the flame at his fingertip.

A sudden boldness grabs ahold of you, and you find yourself motioning to the little cancer stick between his lips, before tapping your finger against your mouth. He shakes his head with a soft laugh, taking another puff and plucking it from his lips.

“I’m startin’ to think I’m a bad influence on you, doll. Drinking, smoking… What happened to that good girl image of yours, huh?”

Your nose scrunches up at the smoke near your face. “You were the one who thought I had that image—I never claimed to have it myself.”

A quick inhale, a glowing speck of blue, and suddenly you’re coughing up a storm, pounding at your chest with your fist.

“You sure about that?” He’s outright laughing now, as he reaches in the cooler for another beer. “Still can’t handle a tiny bit of smoke, huh?”

“I can handle it just fine. I spend all my time with you, after all!”

The laughter dies down, the cigarette’s back in his hand…and your stomach twists when you start to feel that heavy weight settling back in your chest.

You’re going to miss these nights. Just being stupid with him over a couple of drinks, as though you’re the only two people in the world. That damn smirk, those cocksure blue eyes, the way he always seems to find his grip on your shoulder, your hips, your—

“Pass me your phone.”

You quirk an eyebrow but obey nevertheless. Not the smartest move, handing a well-known villain your phone, but you’ve done worse than that in his presence. You still remember the night you gave him your number, the second time he found himself in your apartment, bloodied and beaten and leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter. You had rolled your eyes, grabbed the nearest pen you could find, and scrawled the digits on the palm of his hand.

“In case you need a doctor again,” you sneered, and he only responded with a smirk. “Keep this up and I might start charging you for your visits.”

But he kept coming back, and you never did charge him.

It takes him a few moments to find whatever he’s looking for. Hell, he could be sifting through all your personal texts to your family and you would be none the wiser.

A cool breeze slips through the air; you bring my knees up to your chest and continue to stare at the city below. Listening to the furious clicking of keys, the soft hum when Dabi finally seems to find what he’s been looking for.

A soft tune fills the air around you. He places your phone on the little slab of stone between you, looking rather pleased with himself as he turns the volume up to the highest setting. And before you can blink he’s pushing himself to his feet, his cigarette forgotten beside his drink.

He snaps his fingers, taps his heel with each beat of the song. It’s an older one, a song you haven’t heard in quite a few years. Not something you would associate with the villain beside you. Then again he’s always been full of surprises, hasn’t he?

He spins on his heel—nearly knocking over his beer can—and flashes you a smirk. It’s hard to keep a straight face as you watch him swaying from side to side, the elated look on his face making your throat close up all over again.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you, only twirls around once more in time with the music. But then he’s smirking again, stretching a hand out to you. You shake your head as fast as you can, and that fuzzy feeling in your chest only worsens as he slowly makes his way over to you.

“Ah, I…I don’t really dance.”

“Too bad.”

A startled yelp fills your ears, your shoes scraping against the rooftop as he pulls you into his chest. Fingers laced around your wrist, his other hand pressed against the small of your back. Too warm—your hand slips against his chest, in the dip of skin between his scars and the collar of his shirt.

“D-Dabi, I’m serious!” Another gasp as he tugs you in and spins around. It’s a miracle you manage not to step on his heavy boots. “I can’t dance!”

“If you think you can’t dance, you haven’t been doing it right, doll.”

It’s almost overwhelming, being this close to him, face to face like this. So close you can count each individual staple embedded in the skin of his face, holding him together. The ridges of scarred skin beneath his eyes, the glimmer of the triple piercings on the side of his nose—

Fuck, he’s staring—I’m staring—!

“Aww, what’s the matter?” You can barely hear the music anymore, with his voice so close to your ear. “Still scared of me? Thought you were braver than this.”

“I am! You’re just…” An insufferable piece of shit. A constant headache to deal with. A cocky villain who thinks he can sweet talk me into anything he wants to do. “…Just…you.”

“I’m flattered, doll. That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He spins you both around one more time, keeping his hand firm against your back. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you got a soft spot for me.”

“As if!” You hate to say it, but it’s getting a bit easier to move your feet, keeping rhythm with his own. “I don’t think I could ever have a soft spot for you.”

“No? Well, that’s a shame. I was kinda hopin’ for a different answer.”

Suddenly he’s pushing you away, keeping his hold on your wrist, snickering at the soft grunt that slips through your lips. He yanks you back in, twirling you beneath your clasped hands, before your back slams into his chest, and his arms coil around your waist.

“For someone who claims they can’t dance, you’re not half bad.” You can feel him smirk against your cheek as your blood freezes in your veins. So close, so fucking close. “You have no problem keeping up with me.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you choke out as he readjusts his grip, shifting you around so your chest is against his own once more. “You’re throwing me from side to side. Is this what you call dancing, Dabi?”

He traces his lips with his tongue, and suddenly you can’t stop staring at the little silver piercing right on the tip. Wait, how long has he had that? And have I seriously just noticed that now?!

“It’s dancing as long as you’re having fun.” His voice is a low growl in his chest, sending a surge of heat right to your stomach. “And I’m having a blast right now, doll.”

You suck in a breath at the touch of his fingers against your back, slipping under your shirt to graze the skin beneath. He quirks an eyebrow, readjusting his grip on your wrist, before spinning you around one more time.

Fine. He wants to play like that then, huh?

Before you can think about it, you’re wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, pushing into his chest with all your might. He stumbles briefly before regaining his step—but you’re already leaning in close, lips pressed against the shell of his scarred ear.

“And what would you do if I said yes?” Suddenly you’re grateful for the alcohol coursing through your veins, giving you that extra leap of courage to pull this little act off. “If I told you I had a special spot for you, huh?”

But he doesn’t falter like you thought he would. Instead he jerks his body to the side, tugging you down until he’s dipping you towards the edge of the roof. The city sounds are little more than low hums; completely irrelevant with those bright blue eyes on your own.

“That depends. What would you want me to do?”

“Dunno.” The words spill out faster than you can stop them. “I’m down for anything you have in mind.”

“Is that so?”

It’s only when he pulls you back into his chest that you realize the mistake you’ve made. The hand around your wrist comes to rest against the column of your throat. The tiniest squeeze has you wincing, your face flushed with heat, your heart exploding in your chest. His fingers heat up ever so slightly, and a shiver drips down your spine.

His flames have never frightened you. They’ve killed plenty of people, reduced countless buildings to rubble and ash. They’ve left ragged scars along his body, a testament of just how dangerous they can be if left unchecked. He could easily kill you if he loses control—or simply if he feels like it.

But fear is the last thing you’re feeling right now. All you can see are those beautiful blue eyes, the same shade as the sparks emitting from his palm, the scent of smoke still strong in the air…

And the sudden rush of heat that’s pooling in your stomach at the mischievous glint in his eye.

“Be careful, doll, or else I might get the wrong idea.”

I can stop and leave right now if you want. Tell me what you want.

You should listen to him. You should shake your head and admit he’s right, that you’re way in over your head, so your night can continue underneath the stars. Before one or both of you has drunk too much and you stumble back down the fire escape and into your apartment. You should stop this before you do something you know you’ll regret in the morning. Before you end up ruining whatever dynamic you have, crushing any sparks of that forbidden something else you’ve been wondering about for the last few months.

But instead you curl your fingers around his own, pressing them deeper into the skin of your throat.

“Trust me,” your voice is barely a whisper, “I want this.”

In the few times you’ve imagined kissing Dabi—when you’re unable to fall asleep in the dead of night, or when you’ve had a few more drinks than usual—you always thought he would be rough. Quick and searing like his flames, leaving no room for you to breathe. You wondered if he would be demanding with his hands, tugging at your hair, nipping at your mouth, or slotting himself between your legs. He seems like the kind of guy to have priorities like that.

You suck in a breath as he leans in, mismatched lips pressing against your own. The first thing you notice is the slight tremble of his palm, the way his fingers quiver beneath your own. But he’s pulling away from your throat before you can blink, curling his hand around the back of your head.

His skin is burning against your own, but his mouth is startlingly soft. Even with his scars and piercings he’s still so gentle, cradling you into his body as though you might break. Soon your hands are in his hair, fingers tugging at black tendrils and pulling him in as close as you possibly can.

The song finally ends, a breath of silence before another one takes its place. It’s a slower beat, one meant for romantic dances or sensual dates between lovers. A part of you wonders if he chose these songs on purpose, just to try to win you over.

Your breaths are getting shorter with every traded kiss; your knees begin to buckle as he slides a hand down to rest at your waist. Every inch of you is blazing with heat, the alcohol making your head swim, your nails desperately scraping at the hem of his shirt, your chest tightening at the ragged patch of skin splayed across his stomach—

Your heel knocks into something on the roof, the sound of a splash filling your ears. The two of you jerk away from each other in time to see the bottle of cider tipped over, the alcohol dripping down the edge of the roof.

“Better watch yourself there,” he snickers against the shell of your ear. “Don’t want you getting hurt all the way up here.”

“I’m fine!” But your words are already starting to blend together, the faint pounding of your head matching the beat of your heart.

“Like hell you are—two drinks in and you’re already tipsy. Let’s call it a night, sweetheart.”

“I said I’m fine!” You can’t stop yourself from smiling as you swipe your palms over your eyes, watching as he leans down to grab the (now) empty bottles and cans. “You…you just made it worse, you know!”

Kissing me like that, how can I not act a little tipsy?

“Aww, you’re so sweet.” He throws the rest of the drinks into the cooler, flicks the remains of his final cigarette over the side of the roof. “C’mere, let’s get you to bed.”

“But you’re tipsy too, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” he replies with a smirk, leading you down the fire escape as carefully as he can. “I know how to handle my alcohol, unlike a certain someone I know.”

“…Shut up or you’ll be dancing alone next time…”

“That’s a shame, I had a completely different dance in mind.” He licks his lips again, flashing that damn piercing on his tongue, as though you’re  not already lightheaded enough. “But we’ll save that for next time, doll. When we can both remember it.”

“Huh, bold of you to think I’d want to remember it.”

His arm presses into the rung above your head, caging you against the steps of the fire escape, just outside your balcony door. It’s hard to stop the smile on your face as he leans in close, looking rather insulted at your little comment.

“You really don’t think I can make you feel good?”

“I don’t know—if you’re half as good as you are at annoying me…then I might have some pretty high expectations.”

He chuckles, his smoky breath warm against your cheeks. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong when I get back.”

His words are a kick in the gut, a grim reminder of the reality around you. He slips your phone back into your hand and slides the door open to let you both in. All the while your mind is racing, wondering if anything you say will get him to—

“Stay with me.”

“Already planned on it, doll.”

He sets the cooler down on the counter before flopping down in his usual spot on the couch. His long legs bend over the arm as he shuffles out of his coat, the scent of ash strong as you settle into his side.

But before he can kiss you again you grab his face with both hands, bringing his eyes up to meet your own.

“I mean it—stay with me. Not just for the night…” Your mouth goes dry, the words aren’t coming as easily as you want them to. “…You just…you better fuckin’ come back to me, alright? Or else I’m locking you out of my apartment for good!”

You expect him to roll his eyes, to laugh you off or even tease you for being so clingy. But instead he tugs you into his chest, his lips warm against your forehead.

“Yeah, you got it. I’ll come back, doll.”

You don’t know if you believe him, if you should believe him. Not when you both know you’re going to wake up to an empty couch tomorrow morning, only the lasting smell of smoke to keep you company.

“I’m holding you to that,” you murmur, pressing a finger to the line of staples running down his chin. He twists away with a grimace, and the ache in your chest slowly begins to melt away.

“Fine, whatever. Just go to sleep already, before you really do end up kicking me out.”

You roll your eyes before nestling your face into the crook of his neck. “Suit yourself—goodnight, asshole.”

“’Night, dollface.”

You know it can’t last—not for tonight, maybe not ever. Maybe it’s the alcohol swirling around in your veins, or the smell of ash so strong you think it might choke you. But suddenly you’re smiling against the scarred skin of his neck, idly tracing over the ridges and stitches left behind from his flames. The effects of the alcohol and touch of his skin are lulling you to sleep…but before you feel yourself slip away, you lean in close and press your lips to the shell of his ear.

“Better come back to me, I’m still counting on that second dance.”

[yeahgen]

5,10,15,20

15 questions about mun’s taste in muses.

5. who is / was your favourite muse of all time to play?

wow you can't make me choose favorites like that im gonna piss eiden off and say it's aury just because

(but all swordboys are good swordboys)

10. if you play original muses with canon roots ( like oc siblings, coworkers, etc. ) or someone who’s been either just a name or a few lines of dialogue in canon, how do you build that character? do you pick the muse first and build from there, or do you need have the muse ready in your head and only then pick the connection, or a combination of the two?

considering the only fandom OC i've played so far is a flaming chicken idk if i'm the best to answer this question lololol

but i can talk about small side characters, which are a guilty pleasure for me because i can draw inferences from their (limited) canon appearances and play with headcanons from thereon. i think that's why i like TKRB muses so much, because they give you that freedom to explore. and it's fun if they have some interaction with the main cast too because you can build off of what little you know to create potential "canons" that fit.

....on that note this just reminded me i really wanted to RP mizuiro kojima from BLEACH once

15. which muses of yours have currently very dead fandoms?

they're all kinda quiet i guess? uhhh maybe kino no tabi???

TKRB is alive and well in japan (they just celebrated their 10-year anniversary of game launch) and the rest are all OCs or doing fine

20. ___________________

gri where r my toppers >:(

[neighborlywelcome]

Hi, I saw some of your other matchups for tadc and decided to do this for myself! I will say very quickly that I'm not comfortable being paired with Jax.

Currently I'm questioning my sexuality and I'm okay with being paired with any character, my gender I'm also questioning right now but currently I use she/they! My personality is basically at first I'm very quiet maybe saying one or two things but when I open up to people I become very loud and make a lot of jokes, I try to be as kind as possible (like if I make a somewhat rude joke I almost immediately ask if it's okay after), can be very chaotic, very caring, and somewhat on the more sus side. The best way to describe my appearance is like with Ramona Flowers often I dye my hair new colors (though not as extreme with me waiting till it's faded or a few months later), I have a lot of freckles all over my body, I try to have a goth/emo look, and I have a few very small scars. I'm very creative writing fanfiction, drawing, and trying to make my own series, other then those I love learning about old fandom stuff and reading as well, I also really like learning about lore of different games but I'm not really a massive gamer, I also have a massive passion for theater! I'm an Aries as well and also have a lot of plushies that I sleep with every night!

For my partner I look for someone who can be there no matter what, someone to help remind me that I'm loved, someone who I can joke around with and just be there with. The love langue's I look for a partner are words of affirmation and physical touch, while the ones I myself have are words of affirmation and quality time. My fave date is something quiet like going to see a movie or going to eat out at a small hometown restaurant!

I hope this is good and thanks in advance! Also have an amazing day/night!

Hi and thank you for your request! I hope you have a good day/night as well!

YOUR MATCHUP IS…

GANGLE!!!

You and Gangle would be a great match! You're both compassionate and caring, and not to mention creative. You would get along well and Gangle would be enamored by your unique personality and tastes, like your cool, colorful hair (even if she has a hard time admitting this because of how shy she is)!

You're both very quiet upon first meeting each other, which Gangle finds very comforting. I don't think she'd like if someone was very loud and excited with her from the get-go. You both take your time getting to know one another to open up to each other, and afterwards you're surely inseparable!

Gangle appreciates your kindness, and once she's comfortable with you, would love your jokes! She'll even reciprocate eventually with her own humor every once and a while. And when she's more open she would likewise tell you how happy you make her and how much she loves how caring you are.

Gangle loves drawing and writing and everything in between, especially when it's related to fandoms! She would love to share her works with you and vice versa, and would love to listen to your thoughts and opinions on any kind of lore. Creativity is very important to her, so suffice it to say it's one of her favorite parts about you. (And your love for theatre is also really cute given that's Gangle's theme.)

She would also love going on quiet, romantic dates with you whether that's walks around town or eating at small restaurants. She seems like a "watch a movie with snacks on the couch" kind of gal if you ever feel like staying indoors too. But anything you want to do is fine with her as long as she's in your company... and it isn't anything too loud or scary lol.

One of her favorite activities, though, is cuddling with her ribbons all wrapped around you since she knows how much you love physical affection. Plus, with all the plushies on your bed, she thinks it makes it the perfect cozy spot to relax and hang out together!

[shytastemakerthing]

hi! I hope you're having a nice day/night! can I ask for a TWST matchup?

I have she/her pronouns. I'm about 5'2, but I look a bit older than I am. I have dark brown eyes and black hair, and I'm Hispanic [Venezuelan]. My music taste is all over, but my favorite artist is Melanie Martinez. I like writing creatively and drawing. I'm in a lot of fandoms but my main three are MPHFPC, TWST, and PJO/HOO. I have attachment anxiety, and do get anxious very easily. I have a tendency to either be tired asf and not talk that much, or have too much energy. My personality is kinda rude at first, but I'll be nice if I like you. I'm a but on the introverted side, tho. My love languages are quality time, and gifts. Ty!

Hello! Thank you so much for your request! I'm finally able to get these rolling out so hopefully by the end of the week, maybe a little into next, I'll be able to have everyone's done! I thank you all so much for your patience, it is been a very hectic time for me between work, school, hurricane, and just Overall sickness that seems to be going around!

Note: This one was a little hard because I had too many ideas but I managed to narrow it down! I also saw there was no preference for romantic or platonic so this is romantic as default, if you would like platonic, don't hesitate to message me😊

CW: None!

I match you with........

Floyd Leech

🐚 He totally understands how you go from being tired and quiet to all of a sudden being the most loud and outgoing person on campus.... that's literally him. He understands the constant changes in one's mood and all that comes along with it. Honestly, out of everyone at NRC, he supports you the absolute most.

🐚 Floyd is absolutely someone who would love some quality time. Everyone always runs away from him because of.... well, just being him. So the fact that when you see him zooming towards you at breakneck speed with open arms, honestly, he feels all warm and fuzzy inside.

🐚 There is a lot that you guys could do as far as spending time together. You could meet him for basketball practice (if you show up to games, he will be showing off), you could come and see him at work (Azul begs you to come bevaise when you're there, the moody eel actually decides to work), but he will absolutely LOVE to go swimming with you, especially if he gets to be in his merform.

🐚 Floyd is a chronic gift giver, change my mind. He sees anything and everything a gift that he could give to you, and he loves when you gift him anything back. He will show up at random times with shells that he found, pretty rocks, a random flower, maybe even a free drink. But the one he is especially proud of, was a little charm bracelet that had a little eel on it with some shells and a pearl. He sees you wearing that and you have a very happy and clingy eel.

🐚 By default, if you're with Floyd, you're bound to see Jade a lot ad well. At first, it was rather creepy, but Jade was genuinely checking to see if you truly do care for his brother. Sure, people have shown interest in the past before, but more often than not, it never ended too well. So, to see that you genuinely love his brother, it brings an actual smile to his face. You certainly have his blessing.

🐚 If you draw Floyd by any chance, prepare for him to that that picture and literally frame it in his room. It's his most prized possession at this point. And if you ever ask him to model for you? Well, just make sure he keeps his shirt on because man does not care, if you wanna draw him, you'll draw all of him. If that's not your thing, voice it real fast. But he will LOVE it if you draw him in his merform.

🐚 Speaking of merform, he would be absolutely content to just lounge in one of the pools in his natural form, you just resting on his chest as he floats around. Usually, he hates being stationary for long periods of time. He gets antsy. But with you there relaxing, so content and comfortable snuggling up to him, he doesn't feel that urge to just flop around. Jade and Azul are both surprised and impressed.

🐚 Overall, he understands you better than anyone else. Between the constant changes in your mood (he is the same and has become a pro at reading you, and vice versa), how he lives it when you draw him, or the little gifts you receive from one another, I sure hope you like the Leech name because he is determined and certain that you're going to share it with him one day.