#my lifes not sucky enough to feel this way about it

[simonisferal]

who vented in chat? 🤦‍♂️

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Asahi Azumane NSFW Profile

Yandere! Asahi Azumane x fem! reader

TW: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, light somnophilia, masturbation, panty sniffing, breeding, lactation kink, mentions of pegging, Asahi wears lingerie, size kink but remember that Asahi is very large and it's written with the idea that everyone is smaller than Asahi, one very, very brief mention of reading not eating enough, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Before having you in his life, sex was something Asahi wasn’t super comfortable with. Despite coming more out of his shell with the passing years, he’s never truly shaken off his shyness, and so the prospect of casual sex is absolutely not something he’s interested in.

He’s had a girlfriend or two and is thus not a stranger to women’s bodies, but he’s found that he’s simply just not that sexual of a man. Sex just wasn’t important to think about – he gets easily flustered even as a fully grown adult, and while he can handle mature conversations about intimacy, just the thought of being so lewd and bending someone over to have his way with them gets his ears turning red, his knees buckling and his words coming out all slurred and distorted because he can’t think clearly.

It’s embarrassing, if he’s being honest, and so he finds himself simply avoiding sex and, in turn, partners. And this extended into his personal sex life and habits as well – he’s not the most regular in terms of touching himself, preferring to just let the bout of horniness or the occasional incessant boner pass on its own.

He’ll do it occasionally to relieve tension and because he enjoyed how it feels, but it’d only happen a few times a month, if only because the embarrassment was difficult to overlook. After all, how lonely is it to look down and see his own hand wrapped around his cock? Familiar fingers gripping his red, swollen length in the comfort of his own room, the lame background music he’d put on to feel better doing absolutely nothing.

The reality is that Asahi is actually quite lonely before you step into his life – he's not quite smooth and suave enough to be successful with women or even be willing to put himself out there, and the realization that the only way for him to get some sort of sexual relief is via himself makes him too sad to indulge often.

And even once you step into his life, this is still true – except now there’s the addition feeling of yearning, wishing so strongly that it’s your fingers instead of his own (or perhaps your mouth, your breasts, or – god forbid – your pussy) that touching himself becomes even more of an emotional struggle.

And as time passes, Asahi sticks to his typical pattern of seldomly masturbating – but then his feelings grow deeper, his infatuation with you festering more and more, his thoughts about you delicately toeing the line between sweet and only slightly disturbing to downright depraved.

After all, how can he not imagine fucking you in every position he’s ever seen?

How can he not imagine the sight of you perched in his lap, pretty body bare for him to ogle while you scoop your hips up and down, moaning his name and guiding your lips to latch onto a bouncing nipple, your cunt squeezing down on him like a fucking vice?

The embarrassment is still there, of course, as is the shame and loneliness, but his feelings for you are just too strong to ignore, his desperation too insistent to quell. And with every gasping, toe-curling orgasm that wracks his body, Asahi comes closer and closer to deciding that he needs you, that just his hand or his pillow aren’t enough to satisfy him.

No, he needs you – your touch, your body, your pretty, tight, warm walls sucking him in so hard that you never let him go.

As the frequency with which he gets off increases, Asahi finds that he has a particular system for how he pleasures himself - and it involves a secret that he is not proud of.

He’s not especially proud of the fact that he relies exclusively on the (now a bit ragged) pair of panties you’d accidentally left at his apartment in order to get off, but it’s too late to change now. You’d had a rather serious dental procedure, and had turned to Asahi to request that you stay the night at his place to minimize your driving and responsibilities while the anesthesia wore off.

Asahi had of course jumped at the chance, ending the phone call with shaking fingers, a blush covering every inch of his face, and his heart practically beating out of his chest at the prospect of sharing a roof with you for a night just like couples do. And he’d been attentive to your every need; cooking you a warm soup, getting the best sheets he had and letting you sleep in his bed rather than the couch.

(Of course, he still hasn’t washed those sheets after you’d slept in them – if he tries hard enough to thinks he can smell you in the fabric, occasionally finding strands of your hair by his pillow and letting each one sit on the tip of his tongue for just a moment, savoring the taste of you.)

You’d forgotten a pair of underwear in your overnight bag, and while Asahi had meant to tell you, curiosity got the better of him and before he knew it he was picking them up, swallowing thickly, and thumbing at the double-layered section that rubs right up against your folds. It was all too easy to imagine how you must look in them – the mental image of you making a shiver erupt down his spine, needing to lean on his desk for support.

He felt a bit guilty for not returning them, but he couldn’t help it - they were so utterly you, your favorite color and a style he just knows would frame your cute little ass perfectly, your plush thighs and creamy skin sitting on display and practically begging to be kneaded, squeezed at, marked up and bruised with hickeys.

And that night, as he lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of your face and how he’d quite literally give up his own life just to kiss you once, just to feel your lips pressed snugly against his own, slowly the more risqué thoughts are drifting into his mind.

What would it feel like to have you kiss other parts of his body? How would you taste if he kissed your collarbone, gently suckled on a nipple, licked a long stripe up the puffy lips of your cunt?

How would you react if he were to teasingly kitten lick at your clit, or if he whispered a heated, honest I love you into your ear as he pushed deep inside of you and filled you to fucking brim with his cum?

His mind slowly drifts to more lewd areas, his body growing hot as he imagines you riding him like your life depended on it, bouncing up and down and making your entire body jiggle, your tits bouncing in his face and your voice thin and gasping as you tell him that it’s too much, I can’t Asahi, please, need you to fuck me now…

And soon, he’s deciding that he can’t just ignore the stroke of luck he’d gotten that day, that he’d somehow managed to come by a pair of your panties, something he’s only been able to dream about. And as he locks his door and dims the lights a bit, he’s snatching the pair of panties he’d neatly folded and placed on top of his dresser.

Immediately, he notices the slight fresh stain against the crotch, and his eyes go wide - you had already worn them? They’d already touched the slick, warm place between your legs, the place that gets Asahi salivating and bright red with just a mere thought?

With shaking hands, he timidly brings the cloth up to his nose, inhaling and moaning aloud as the smell he can only describe as you clouds his senses. They’re pungent, proof that you must have had a long day with them adorning your pretty body, and immediately his cock is standing at attention, his tip flushed and oozing precum in copious amounts, his balls occasionally twitching in desperation, practically begging to be touched. He lays the panties down against his face, tilting his head back slightly so that the cloth stays against his nostrils, the smell of you filling every breath his takes.

He gulps, wrapping his fingers around himself, hissing slightly at the pressure and letting his eyes drift closed. He gently squeezes, bringing his hand up to the tip, using his thumb to swirl around his slit for a moment as he brings the material once more up to inhale again.

He groans, the pleasure sending shivers down his spine, and before he knows it his fist is pounding down against his pelvis, long strokes against his rock hard cock as he grunts and lowly moans your name, airy breaths of oh – oh you’re so pretty, I love you – hah, love that pretty pussy of yours.

The pace is purposefully slow, his movements still a bit timid because he’s worried he’ll come too fast, that he’s too pent up, that the smell of you will send him over the edge way too soon.

He doesn’t want this moment to end – the pleasure, the exploration, the feeling of having you the closest he’s ever had. He continues to sniff and whine, absolutely amazed at the wonderful, musky scent of you, fantasies running through his mind about the way you’d react to him touching you, to him sinking his cock inside of you again and again and turning you into a trembling, incoherent mess all for him.

He can’t help himself from imagining what you’d smell like when you’re finally in front of him, a groan slipping from his lips as he imagines the way you’d feel perched on his face, your thighs caging in his head and your fingers raking through his hair as he slurps and sucks and moans against you, desperation lacing his movements because god he wants to make you come.

He can’t help but imagine you taking every inch of him inside that warm little pussy of yours, sucking him in and gripping onto his swollen length so tightly he’s sure you must never want to let go. And his eyes flutter close his lips part slightly, drool pooling in his mouth as he loses himself in the pleasure, the feeling of his hand so much better than normal now that he has something to smell, something that’s so clearly you rather than just his thoughts. His hand picks up a bit, and as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, panties still draped over his face when he stops short, eyes flying open as his hips buck wildly.

Tentatively he sticks his tongue out once more, rolling it against the crotch of your panties. Immediately his eyes are flying open and he’s whining your name, hips bucking up as he runs his tongue along the fabric once more, relishing the taste of you against his tongue.

Curses and whimpers of your name along with yes, o-oh yes yes yes, god feels so – so good fly out of his mouth. Suddenly a particularly hard clench of his abs makes him gasp, the words slurred and nearly incoherent as he moans out ‘m gonna – I can’t hold it in, a-ah oh god ‘m-!

His whole body tenses, every breath he takes smelling like you you you as warm cum spurts up and onto his chest, the t-shirt he’s wearing utterly destroyed as it just keeps coming, rope after rope. He’s moaning your name, eyes squeezed shut as he loses himself in your taste, imagining he’s buried as deeply in you as possible, stuffing you full of his cock that he’s all you can feel, all you can see and hear and taste and think of.

It takes him a few minutes to recover, and once his breathing is steady once more he’s staring at his ceiling, in shock of how good it felt to have your scent and taste, to make it seem just a bit more realistic. He’s careful with your panties as he delicately picks them up off of his face, chest still heaving with the residual pleasure of his orgasm, dutifully and carefully folding up the cloth.

After much debate he ends up slotting the panties neatly under his pillow, swallowing heavily and practically giddy with the knowledge that he’ll be sleeping so close to something of yours, his face mere inches away from you, basically.

And that night, as he lays in bed, he’s breathing in hard, hoping to get even the slightest whiff of you from below his pillow, sleep eventually lulling him into dreaming about you laying in his arms, his cum still leaking out of you.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your hands

Asahi’s always found himself drawn to your hands. Perhaps because his job requires so much of his hands between sewing, measuring, tailoring, and everything else, or perhaps because he’s simply attracted to them.

Regardless, Asahi quickly discovers that every time he’s with you, he’s always aching to reach out and intertwine his fingers with yours, to feel your palm pressed against his own.

And really, they’re just so small compared to his own rough, calloused hands – so soft and delicate, something he can stare at for hours without growing tired.

He’ll trace every line, every mole and mark, memorizing each and every detail because it all just feels so important. He doesn’t care whether your fingers are long and dainty, shorter and wider, veiny and pale, anything and everything is pure perfection to Asahi, and he’ll be worshipping your hands no matter what condition they’re in.

Even in the early stages of his obsession with you, he’s always been interested in them – the way you idly crack your knuckles, how you mindlessly tap random rhythms against your desk when you’re bored or waiting for something, how you run your fingers over your hair when you’re focusing.

He has a tendency to stare, and while he thinks that you don’t catch him often (you d0, but based upon the fire engine blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes immediately dart away, you figure it’d be kinder to not confront him about it), he’s been fascinated since day one with how they could possibly feel, how soft your fingers would be, the exact lines on your palms, whether they get clammy easily or not.

And once your relationship moves to the point of any sort of affection, Asahi’s preference for your hands will quickly become apparent – he’s trying to hold them at any chance he can get, intertwining his fingers with your own, bringing them up to kiss each knuckle individually, listing off a thing he loves about you for each.

He loves the way they feel against his own calloused palms, how your fingers are so much shorter than his own, how when you hold your palm up against his, you barely reach his last knuckles.

It only furthers his perception of you being so in need of protection, and he loves to feel those hands against him, touching him. He loves the sight of your fingers wrapped around his thick cock, barely able to wrap fully around, such a stark contrast to the hard, pulsing, veiny expanse of his length. He loves the friction as you thrust your hand up and down, biting his lip and knitting his brows together because even though it’s just a simple handjob it feels so much better when it’s your hands and fingers wrapped around him.

He loves how they feel against him when you’re touching him, running them along his front and down below his v line, how it sends shivers down his spine just to have you ghost a fingertip against his sensitive skin.

He likes holding your hand while he fucks you, keeping his grip on you firm as his hips steadily thrust into you, the pleasure slowly mounting. His fingers clench onto your own progressively tighter, until they nearly crush yours as he stares down at you with wide eyes, his lips falling open into a desperate moan of I – coming! while he buries his face in your neck, filling you with spurt after spurt of cum.

He loves the way you scratch his down his back as he hovers over you, the pleasure and pain mixing together while he focuses on holding off his orgasm for as long as possible, not wanting to end the feeling of being inside of you, not wanting to end the way you’re clutching onto him and moaning for him, begging for him and telling him that he feels so good Asahi ‘m gonna come-!

Asahi loves your hands, and at any given time he’ll be touching them in some capacity - whether it be holding your hand, resting his cheeks against your palm or sucking at your fingers while you toy with him and make tears well up in those pretty eyes of his.

He just loves them. 

His hair

He’s long harbored fantasies of you playing with his hair, to feel you giving it attention and mindlessly running your fingers through it.

He’s absolutely convinced that it would be the most comfortable, wonderful thing in the world, that it would be the single most amazing experience he’ll ever have, to have your attention solely focused on him, you touching him, maybe even telling him how lovely his hair is, how you’re jealous of how soft and smooth and pretty it is…

Just the thought of you complimenting his hair is enough to have him wildly blushing, his dark eyes staring at the floor in embarrassment and bashfulness, secretly yearning for you to tell him more, to compliment him again and again until he faints from all the blood rushing to his cheeks.

(And, though he’d never tell you, to his cock, too.)

And once you’re trapped with him in your new shared ‘home’, Asahi is still harboring the fantasy, even more so than before – and yet, he will never ask for it, never request for you to play with it, to run your nails against his scalp and gently tug on the roots.

He wont’ ask, if only because it feels wrong to request anything of you after he’s kidnapped you, when you’re so obviously still afraid of him.

So he waits in silence, praying for the day when you mindlessly start playing with his hair – he’ll always position himself so that his hair is accessible if the desire overtakes you, a small flame of hope igniting in him chest and extinguishing out every time you move and don’t come any closer to his head.

(He goes to bed on those nights with a heavy heart, his own tangling into his hair and tugging, your name slipping past his lips.)

But Asahi is a patient man, and once you do start absentmindedly playing with his hair, Asahi is beyond pleased to know that you don’t stop. You seem to grow an affinity for running your fingers through it, for braiding it, styling it, really doing anything at all.

He knows that you enjoy his hair – it becomes his favorite thing in the world to feel you play with it, and he spends hours with you sitting behind him with his head leaning back between your knees, his body starting out stiff because holy shit, he’s so close to you, but eventually relaxing, even falling into a slumber because the feeling is just so calming. He wants you to braid it, mess with it, do anything your heart desires with it because he loves the attention and the relaxing feeling it brings.

But of course, he also loves his locks for other, less wholesome reasons - the way you tug at it when he’s got his face buried between your legs, for example, and how your grip tightens against his scalp as you get closer and closer to release.

Sometimes you synch your cries with the tugs, something that Asahi is sure you’re unaware of, but he can’t help the way he forces himself to work harder, to focus more in order to get you off, in order make you have the most Earth shattering orgasm, the best feeling you’ve ever experienced, and with each hair tug he only becomes more determined.

He loves the way you get rough with it, the slight tinge of pain that accompanies it, and it never fails to make him groan, to sigh out your name against your cunt.

(Sometimes, when he’s in the mood but you physically aren’t in a position to touch his hair, he’ll reach up and tug at the strands himself, imagining your fingers instead of his own. It gets him whimpering, desperation for you so thick that he can nearly taste it, but Asahi just can’t help it. It’s an obsession in and of its own right, and he can’t deny how much he loves it.)

DRIVE:

Asahi’s drive is really quite average – he’s not an incessantly horny man by any means, and while he does have the occasional passing fantasy or wet dream, he’d never categorize himself as a hormone-driven man. He doesn’t watch porn, doesn’t follow any social media influencers whose content borders on the edge of distasteful, and he sometimes even fastforwards through sex scenes in movies simply because he finds it uncomfortable to watch two people having sex – even if it’s fake.

And so Asahi finds himself mostly avoiding intimacy on that level, though it’s not entirely on purpose. He’s by no means a saint, though; he’s still human, and when he sees a woman with particularly large breasts or perfectly manicured fingers there’s always the fleeting thought of what if, the fantasies clawing in the back of his mind of how he’d love to latch onto a nipple and suck, to imagine how much better those fingers would look wrapped around his cock or cupping at his balls.

He rarely touches himself, sure, but he’s not a stranger to sex, his limited experience still experience nonetheless.

And so while it’s very, very easy to fluster or rile him up,  he generally isn’t hard and desperate to fuck you at all times. He values you for much more than just your pussy – you’re his dream woman, the person he views as his life-long partner, the one he wants to spend every waking moment with and share every last breath. He’s content to just hold you, to press a soft kiss against your temple and whisper a little confession of love rather than pin you down and fuck you until you’re crying.

(Of course, he won’t say no if you were to beg him to touch you, his face only turning red and his voice cracking a bit as he rushes out a quick yes! Um, yes of course, I’ll uh, be right back… and then leaving the room to take a few deep breaths and whisper to himself that it will be fine, she wants you, you’ll do well, don’t overthink it.)

Asahi is very dependent on what you want, always concerned about your opinion and vote and desires, and so while there are times that those wild hormones do in fact take over and his body starts begging him to slip down that cute pair of panties he bought for you and sit you directly on his cock, to bounce you up and down and use you like some life sized sex toy, watching as your breasts jiggle and your face contorts up into that sexy, perfect little ‘o’, Asahi won’t until you make the move to do so.

(It’s out of respect and lucidity for your consent and state of mind. He already feels guilty enough from having stalked you and stolen you away to live in his modest apartment with him, and forcing himself onto you is absolutely the last thing he wants to do.)

He’s not constantly horny, but it doesn’t take too much to rile him up. A few suggestive words and lingering touches can have him needy and eager to touch and please you in mere seconds – casually tell him over dinner that you feel so empty, Asahi, won’t you come fill me up and watch the way his entire body stiffens, brown eyes meeting your gaze and immediately looking at the table in embarrassment, his face flushed a bright red and his knee bouncing under the table as he mutters out a are – are you sure? I don’t want to leave you hungry – not that you haven’t eaten enough! That’s not what I’m saying, I just – um, I uh… Do you really want that?

(His voice gets a bit vulnerable at the end there, his tone higher and his eyes daring to meet yours again, his mousy brown hair falling around his jaw like a halo.)

Leave a hand on his bicep and gently squeeze, biting your lip and making a show of raking your gaze up and down his body and you’ll see the way he gulps, the sound audible as he shudders a breath, his pants already growing tight and nudging against you.

(You can actually feel the warmth of him through his jeans when he does this – cock warm and ready and throbbing.)

For him, your pleasure is the number one priority, and as such it’s his duty to prioritize what you want when you want it, rather than his own desires. You should be in charge, should be the one calling the shots and telling him that you’re okay with him fucking you like he so desperately wants. You should be the one to tell him that it’s okay each time he nervously and compulsively asks you if it’s okay for him to kiss you or touch your waist or unclasp your bra or moan your name or come -

And even once you’re both naked and touching one another, he views his own orgasms as a background to yours. He mostly just wants you to feel good, and he’s pretty much at your beck and call for whenever you’d like to feel the euphoric high that only an orgasm can bring you, in whatever way you’d like him to get you there. He’s game to finger you, to eat you out, to fuck your cute little pussy that makes him moan and whine every time, even your ass if you bring it up.

Asahi never fails to deliver, and he’ll never, ever complain. He loves to touch you and get you moaning, even if he’s a bit shy and flustered the whole time. It makes him so, so happy to know that he’s the one touching you, that he’s the one making you feel so good and satisfied.

But before you begin feeling any desire to be with him in an intimate setting, Asahi still has urges. He still very, very badly wants to touch you and feel you against his skin, to trace out the map of your body and chart every mole, hair, blemish and roll.

You’re just so fucking perfect to him, and he can’t help but desire you physically when he sees the way your breasts bounce as you try to reach the top shelf in the kitchen (he’s more than happy to come to your rescue and grab the jar off the top shelf, secretly smitten with himself because he’d put it there with the hopes of creating this moment).

He can’t help but want to taste your saliva when he sees you sweating on a particularly hot day, the bead rolling down your temple and following the curve of your cheekbones, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along his lips because fuck, he bets you taste sweet.

These urges are still present and strong, but because of his commitment to not force you into anything, Asahi finds that he has to satisfy himself in other ways. That is, it doesn’t necessarily feel good to sneak into the extra bedroom he’d transformed into your personal room, but as soon as he catches a whiff of your scent and sees your sleeping, relaxed form on the mattress, his mouth goes dry and he’s shuffling forward before he even realizes it.

You’re sprawled out on the mattress he’d bought especially for you, the soft t-shirt and short set he'd gotten you sitting haphazardly on your hips and riding up to expose a bit of your stomach. It makes him gulp, his eyebrows drawing in a bit as he slowly, carefully, sits down onto the empty space beside you on the bed.

He can’t stop staring at you – you’re so pretty, and as your lips part slightly and you breath, he can’t help but whimper slightly – he can only imagine how it would feel to kiss you, to feel your lips against his own and feel your tongue brush against his.

Would you bite his lip, tease him with a bit of pain before kissing him harder, pushing your tongue inside and moaning into his mouth because it just feels too good? He hopes so, and it’s not long before he’s imagining all of the other things that mouth of yours could do – he’s sure your kisses would feel like heaven against his chest, lips wrapped around a nipple and sucking lightly, tongue flattening out to run over the pebbled skin again and again and making him shiver.

He’s sure that your lips would feel even better lower, pressed against the juncture of his hip and thigh, moving up and to the side, slowly – so fucking slowly – moving towards where he really needs you, where he’s pulsing and throbbing and leaking so much precum that it almost looks like he’s already reached his high.

He closes his eyes briefly as he imagines the way you’d suckle on his tip, your pretty lips puckered and those eyes of yours staring up at him from between his knees, how you’d pull back to press small kisses and kitten licks against his sensitive skin.

The thought has him groaning lightly, a hand coming down to carefully push his boxers down just a hair, just enough to let his cock spring free, slapping heavily against his lower stomach as he bites his lip. He makes sure to settle the waistband just below his balls, a hand idly moving to grope and squeeze as he continues to stare at you. It feels wrong to be touching himself while so close to you, while you’re totally unaware, but he just can’t help it – he’d been furiously pounding away moments ago in his own bed, eyes squeezed shut and flashes of you playing through his mind, but the knowledge eats at him that you’re only a wall away, your pretty body ripe to ogle and fantasize about and right fucking there…

Guilt weighs heavily in the back of his mind, but as he wraps his fist around his base and slowly pulls up, the heaving breath he lets out has the shame creeping to the back of his mind. It’s so much better with you in his sight – he watches the rise and fall of your chest, your breaths and soft and light, matching the pace of his fist with it.

His toes curl and his lip catches between his teeth, the dull, teasing pleasure from such a slow pace making his head tilt back. He stays like this for what feels like hours – his eyes never moving from your sleeping form, his pace matched to your breathing, just simply breathing in deeply and letting his eyes flutter closed as he exhales, the scent of you you you filling his lungs and making him feel dizzy.

Some forty minutes later, Asahi’s breath is hitching, little whimpers and bitten back moans filling the otherwise quiet air, his fist slowly speeding up out of his control, his orgasm slowly building and mounting, his cock so sensitive and hard and wet –

He comes with a strangled, too-loud I love you, his eyes struggling to stay open as he strokes his way through it, his hips bucking up into his fist and cum landing in ropes along his fingers and wrist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he’s chanting under his breath, his breathing uneven and labored as he tries his best to be quiet, terrified to wake you up.

You’re still so ethereal in front of him, looking like an angel as he slows his fist to a stop, his entire body trembling at the aftereffects of his orgasm. He swallows heavily, shaking fingers stained with cum reaching out and nearly, barely brushing against the soft skin of your forearm, clenching his teeth tightly at the contact as it sends one last, final push of pleasure through him, a few final beads of cum oozing from his tip and making him whimper your name.

He doesn’t touch you any more than that, scared to wake you up or cross some invisible line of privacy and consent, but thus starts a pattern. He’ll sneak into your room every week or so, spending far too long simply staring at you, moving to every angle imaginable just to see you, to see all of you, all the while furiously pumping his fist, doing his best to bite back every moan because god, what would you say if you saw him?

(He hopes you wouldn’t stop him, that you’d instead berate him for being so dirty, that you’d reach out and stop his wrist, telling him in that lovely, sweet voice of yours to earn it, Asahi, show me that you deserve to come. And god, the fervor and desperation in his movements as he’d lick and suck between your legs is too good to be embarrassing.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

As a general rule, Asahi absolutely crumbles the moment any sort of positive comment towards him falls from your lips. He’s never been the most confident man on the face of the planet, and while time and a successful career have helped mitigate that a bit, he’s still a bit doubtful about himself, always just slightly insecure and unable to believe in himself.

And for the most part he doesn’t mind, but he always, always appreciates your support in the area of his lacking – declrataion of you being happy or grateful or pleased with him leave Asahi’s throat feeling tight and his palms clammy. But specifically, Asahi has little to no confidence in himself in the bedroom – and to hear you say anything even remotely positive about his skills in bed gets him hot under the collar, the desire to please you making his fingers itch and his pants feel much too tight.

His lack of confidence between the sheets stems from the belief that he’s sure that he won’t be able to satisfy you, that his touch and love won’t be enough to get you off, that you’ll end up just using your own fingers because he just wasn’t good enough.

He’s convinced that you’ll grow to prefer your own touches and ministrations over his own, that you’ll simply sigh and roll your eyes when he asks you in that timid voice if you’d sit on his face, if you’d let him play with you, if you could just please let him taste you, he’s been thinking about it all day…

It’s never ending cycle of negative thoughts and assumptions, always absolutely sure that things will go the worst possible way once he becomes intimate with you,  and honestly you’ll quickly pick up on this.

When he’s hovering over you, brown eyes staring wildly down at you, impossibly wide while his mouth opens and closes like a fish, unsure of what to say or do because you’re finally right in front of him, like he’s been dreaming of for months, you’ll notice the way he’s too stiff to move, his every muscle tense and his eyebrows knitted together so tightly that he almost looks like he’s in pain.

(A few soothing words will have him instantly relaxing, though – run your hands up and down his arms, cooing at him that he’s so handsome, that he looks so good over me Asahi, you’re so pretty, and maybe tell him that you’re so excited, you’ve already made me feel so good baby, and you haven’t even touched me yet and you’ll see the way he visibly perks up, embarrassment written across his face but this sort of shy, boyish joy taking over as he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is too sloppy, too needy, too wet, but it’s the push he needs to finally press himself against you, your slick folds against the sensitive underside of his cock making him hiss into the kiss and his arms nearly give out.)

He’s too nervous to try fingering you or eating you out the first time he’s got you naked in front of him, but he also knows that you need prep before you take him, his girth enough to stretch your walls out to a painful degree if you don’t get some aid.  

(Take the initiative and guide his fingers down your body, going slow and making all sorts of keening and sighing noises, until he’s finally pressed up against you. Tell him that his fingers feel good when you’re helping him rub slow circles over your clit. Overdo your hips bucking at the sensation just to give him that extra assurance that he’s doing a good job. Gasp his name as he slips a finger inside and purposefully clench down on him, letting him hear you babble on about how he feels so good and he’s so big and he’s exactly what I’ve been imagining… You’ll see the determined purse of his lips, every ounce of concentration going into making you cry out his name, making you squeal out more praise, getting you to gush on his fingers and tongue and give him what he’s been dreaming of for months – the sight of your pretty body convulsing up in an orgasm, your cunt spasming and clenching down on him like a fucking vice.)

Towards the beginning of your sexual relationship you’ll find that more often than not he’s at a  standstill, something that is more than obvious to you, and in moments like these it’s best if you just tell him what to do. When you take off your bra, breasts bared for him as he unabashedly stares, his lips parted and his eyes wide, guide his hand to squeeze at one, sighing at the sensation and telling him that it feels good baby, you can go a little harder if you want, too.  

When he’s carefully (and almost tentatively) rubbing your back, giving you a massage and doing his best to relieve your back pain without hurting you, moan out his name and tell him right there, god Asahi you’re so good at this. It’ll leave him blushing and squirming, his cock growing hard and suddenly he’s hearing your moans as moans, seeing the pleased expressions on your face as being expressions of pleasure.

You need to follow his every action up with a bit of praise the first few times you fuck – when he slips a finger or two inside, bite your lip and make a show of gasping, telling him that he feels so good, please Asahi, just like that!

When he’s going down on you for the first time, tangle your fingers through his hair and tell him that he’s doing so well, it feels so – so good Asahi, mmm please don’t stop! And when he fucks you for the first time, gasp sharply and moan, tell him that he’s s-s0 big! Stretches me out so good, ngh –

(Asahi has always seemed gentle to you, even after having kidnapped you – tall, sure, but more afraid of his own shadow than anything. But once you moan that out, that gentle man you’re familiar with is gone – you realize just how strong he really is as his hips crash into yours, your cunt stretched and nearly split open with the sheer power and vigor of his thrusts, each one seeming to reach deeper inside of you, coming faster and faster until your moans at all forced, genuine incoherent nonsense slipping from your lips because god, you’ve never been fucked like this before – this fully, this desperately.)

He loves to know that he’s the one making you feel so good, making you cry out and curl your toes. When you say things like ‘so good Asahi’, or ‘yes, just like that’, he’ll become a blushing, flustered mess, but it’ll only drive him even further in his mission to please you, to get you to come.

After all, in his mind, your pleasure is so much more important than his own, and he’ll give you anything and everything he possibly can to get your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your pussy clamping down around him.

His actions will pick up speed and eagerness, and if you weren’t so fucked out while he’s got his tongue against your clit or his cock stretching you out, you’d be able to practically feel the desperation to get you to orgasm rolling off of him in waves.

He just wants to know that what he’s doing is feeling good, that you’re enjoying him, that you’re loving this wonderful intimate moment as much as he is. He loves your vocalness, and it helps his confidence to hear you so openly praising him and his body.

 So tell him, while he’s hovering over you, his cheeks flushed, his hair falling in waves over his shoulders and a few beads of sweat rolling down his temples, how big he feels inside of you, how you’re sure that nobody could fuck you like Asahi can, and he’ll make the cutest little gasp, before he’s thrusting into you even harder, burying his face into your neck and chanting your name over and over.

He loves it.

Breeding  

But unlike a lot of men, this kink doesn’t stem exclusively from a sense of possessiveness or ownership over you. (Of course, he very much is possessive over you and hates the idea of another man interacting with you, but still.)

Instead, Asahi’s fascination with the concept of breeding you mostly stems from a genuine desire to knock you up. Asahi craves a domestic life with you; the mere idea of being one big, happy family is something that makes his heart melt, that makes him giddy with excitement and an embarrassed flush spread across the bridge of his nose. There’s so many cute, wholesome things that Asahi wants to do with his future children; family pictures, reading to them before bed, dressing them up in his latest fashion designs, making them go eww! when they see Mommy and Daddy kissing…

And when you step into the picture, this natural desire for children only steps up, increasing astronomically because Asahi genuinely believes that you’re his soulmate, the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with, and he couldn’t be happier.

 And while he’d never force it upon you, he really loves the idea of getting you pregnant and giving you the family that you both deserve. He wants to give you the baby he so desperately wants you to have, to see you softly rubbing your tummy and smiling at him, showing the world exactly who you love, who you choose to be with, who you’ll be spending the rest of your life loving and loyally staying alongside. He thinks he’d be a good father, in his oh so humble opinion, and that he’s completely, absolutely sure that you’d be a wonderful mother, and that together the two of you could have a happy, perfect family.

But of course, Asahi is no pure angel saint – he may not be the most possessive over you, but he can’t deny the wonderful side effects that come with pinning you down and breeding you. That is, there’s something about the fact that it’s his cock emptying load after load inside of you that gets him harder than he’s ever been in his life.

There’s something about the fact that it’s his name you’re moaning out to finish inside of you that makes him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching and his thighs flexing involuntarily because god, you’d sound so fucking good moaning his name.

The idea that it’s because of him that the cute little bump throwing your body off proportion even exists makes him feral, hands eagerly ripping at your clothes and slotting you in his lap, grasping at your hips and physically bouncing you up and down on his cock until he’s groaning your name and stuffing you full again and again and again, leaving you dripping white and smelling his cum, like him.

He’s not the most possessive yandere, sure, but even Asahi can get behind the idea of marking you as his own, of claiming you in the most natural, animalistic way. It satisfies something deep within him – the same thing that urges him to rush forward and keep you from getting too close to the open flames on the stove, the same thing that urges him to buy the pretty flowers on his way home from work and tuck one behind your ear. He’s never given much stock to gender stereotypes, but it just feels right to have you be his sweet little housewife, to be your big, strong protector, to be your provider in more ways than one.

And while bringing you gifts and keeping a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach are certainly ways he loves to provide for you, he’s more than willing to provide for your more carnal needs, too.

He’s more than happy to fill you to the brim with his cum, the sticky white dribbling out of you in big globs that he pressed back in with a thumb, voice shaky as he jokes about having to buy some sort of a plug just to keep everything inside.

(The next morning you find a pretty, purple plug on your bedside table, Asahi looking sheepish as he tells you that it’s the only way to really be sure, you know? Can’t have you wasting anything…)

He’s more than happy to keep his cock inside of you after he’s come, to make sure you’re plugged up, to keep you laying so that you’re hips are elevated, so that his cum will surely reach your womb, so that your body will have no choice but to give him exactly what he wants.

And during sex, the thoughts racing through Asahi’s head absolutely reinfornce this – as his high approaches, there’s a mantra repeating over and over in his head to  come inside her, fuck a baby into her, get her pregnant so she’ll never leave you.

His hips will speed up, the sound absolutely obsene as he throws your legs over his shoulders, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he watches your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts, the mental image of you swollen and round and so fucking fertile leaving his head spinning and oh fuck fuck fuck –

He’s coming with a whine of your name, burying his face into your neck and grasping tightly onto your breast, chanting your name under his breath and pressing himself just a bit deeper inside, anything to try and increase the chances of it taking.

The idea of knocking you up clouds his senses as his hips plow into you, the sensation so overwhelming that he’s nearly crying, but fat tears welling up and streaming down his face to land on your own while he clutches onto your hand, the emotional end of realizing that he might get you pregnant hitting him at full speed and making him dizzy with desire and love.

He’ll oftentimes whisper sweet nothings about how beautiful you’ll look, how much he wants to give you children, how deeply he wants to come inside while his hips are pounding away, practically ramming into your cervix with each powerful, passionate thrust.

He loves the idea of having a baby with you, and it’s just an added bonus that giving it to you feels so good. 

Size kink

No matter your size, Asahi will be taller, stronger, bigger.

He’s six feet tall, muscular, and despite his timid disposition, he’s very much a force to be reckoned with. Despite transitioning to a career less focused on physical prowess, Asahi largely retained his physique.

He’s a little softer now, the muscles covered by a small layer of fat, but he’s still got definition lining every inch of his body, the short-sleeved t-shirts he wears doing very little to hide the outline of his biceps. When his shirt rides up as he pulls his hair back into its signature bun, it’s impossible to miss the way he seems to tower over everything and everything, his presence something commanding the room, making everyone else just feel so small.

And while none of it is on purpose, Asahi slowly notices with time just how pronounced this difference is.

He sees it in the way that your palms compare as he timidly snake his hand against yours, swallowing heavily and avoiding eye contact because god, not only are your hands soft and warm, they’re practically engulfed by his, the sight making something scratch at the back of his throat.

He sees it in the way that your arms just barely wrap around his torso when you hug him, your fingers lacing together. (Of course, this took him a very long time to notice – he was too flustered by the fact that you’re hugging him to really notice any details, and even then he’d been too preoccupied by the feeling of your clothed breasts pressing against his chest, willing everything in himself to not get hard, to not let the blood rush to his cock as he imagines the way your legs would feel wrapped around his waist.)

As time passes, Asahi discovers that not only is he noticing these things, but there’s something about the sight that gets him hot under the collar, his breathing more strained than usual and his voice coming out a bit crackly.

And really, this kink stems from his protectiveness of you and his need to feel like your savior, but there’s just something about having you underneath him, seeing how small your body is in comparison to his own that really gets to him.

The idea of you being a fraction of his size, of your body being so much cuter, tinier, and softer than his own is something that makes Asahi blush, the red spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collarbone, the idea that you’re such opposites yet so perfect for one another simultaneously warming his heart and begging him to fuck you because he just loves you so much.

And while your size difference is something that Asahi has always rationally known about, it’s so much different to actually see it, to be physically forced to recognize that he’s just so big compared to you.

When you’re naked below him, looking up at him with those vulnerable, beautiful eyes while you clutch the pillow underneath your head and shakily swallow, Asahi is hit with the sudden realization that you so clearly need him, need his help to do everything, and that includes turning you into a panting, drooling mess with his fingers, tongue and cock.

He loves the foreign surge of dominance he feels, how powerful and manly it makes him feel to see you under him, looking up at him like that, your lips swollen and puffy from kissing and biting them, from enjoying the pleasure he’s so focused on delivering to you.

He loves watching you take his cock; how it stretches you out to the point where you’re tensed up, fisting the sheets and telling him to slow down because you need time to adjust to his massive length.

(Of course, Asahi immediately stops, panic eating away at him because what if he hurt you? There’s not a sadistic bone in his body, and when you have to tell him things like that it only reminds him how easily he gets lost in you, how quickly he succumbs to the carnal urge to just fuck you so hard that you’re screaming his name and showing everyone exactly who owns the tight little pussy he’s fucking and filling with his cum.)

He loves to intertwine his fingers with yours while he thrusts into you, marveling at how his fingers dwarf your own while his cock stretches you out so fully, so completely that it’s almost visible against the skin of your navel.

He’ll purposefully fuck you in positions that really showcase this difference in size, too – of course his favorite is missionary, getting to look at you while he slowly rolls his hips into yours, but there’s something exquisite about folding you into a mating press, too. The way he’s strong enough to practically force your ankles up to your ears, his entire body hovering over yours as he pounds into you, watching the way you seize up because the angle is just so fucking deep.

It’s not his favorite, but he’ll fuck you from behind, the position slowly morphing from doggy into prone bone as he becomes more and more desperate for you, soon laying almost completely on top of you while his hips stutter into yours, the sensation of warm cum flooding you and the feeling of Asahi in every inch of your space making your head spin.

Even non-penetrative positions have this effect on him – watching you settle between his legs and eagerly jerk him off gets him clutching onto the nearest surface, the sight of your fingers, so small and sweet and pretty compared to his own, making his knees feel weak because fuck you’re so delicate compared to him.

And god, your mouth? It’s over for him the moment that your lips wrap around his tip, the sight of a much-too-big cock forcing its way down your throat threatening to bring him to orgasm much, much too soon.

Every part of him is bigger, and he just loves how obvious his muscles and height make it that he’s the protector in the relationship, that he’s the one providing for you, keeping you safe, keeping you happy.

Because after all, he’d do anything to keep you happy. 

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Hair pulling

Quite honestly, Asahi’s not sure where this kink came from. His scalp has always been a bit sensitive, his hair silky and in remarkably good shape for little he brushes it, for how poorly he cares for it. And while he’s kept it long for all of his adult life, he’s still just the slightest bit insecure about being a man with long hair – the lingering stares of others making him slump his shoulders a bit, wishing they’d stop staring.

And so, he’s never really viewed his hair as something sexual – no girl has ever really pulled it, and on the rare occasions when he’s touched himself, a hand never manages to travel north of his chest.

And even on the more practical side of things, he’s never really been one for pain, for enjoying the stinging sensation of sharpness against his skin, of feeling the dull throb of a bruise being pressed on. He’s never really found it to be sexy, and by extension he’s never bothered to explore hair pulling.

But then he becomes intimate with you and as he’s kissing you, tongue tracing the shape of your teeth and moaning into your mouth he feels it –

Your nails scraping against his scalp, digging in and grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling and tugging.

He actually moans, the sound high and whiny and so girly it nearly makes him cry, but he can’t help but beg you to do it again, a hand coming up to secure your place against his scalp.

There’s just something about the your fingers tunnel into his hair, gripping the brown locks between your nimble fingers while his tongue works fast, desperate circles against your clit, his fingers curling and arching just the way you told him to. Every tug at his hair drives him to work harder, to suck harder and lick faster because he just wants to please you, and the way you’re mixing pain with pleasure is making his hips buck against the mattress, unable to control himself as he whines against your cunt.

When your nails lightly scrape against his scalp, Asahi can’t help but close his eyes and moan, the vibrations going straight up your spine as he doubles his efforts, wanting to get you to come to an almost unhealthy degree.

And yet, as your hands pull harder, coaxing him into fingerfucking you harder, moving in the specific motion against your clit he knows you love, all you can do is throw your hair back and moan, little gasps of oh Asahi, oh please – I’m so close, don’t stop!

There’s something about the light touch of pain that makes him shiver, that makes the excitement stand up at the back of his neck, his eyes growing dilated and his efforts even more vigorous because fuck, you deserve to come, and by god is Asahi going to be the man to do it.

It’s become a staple of him giving you head – you always burrow your fingers into the loose, flowing brown locks, pulling him ever closer to your sopping cunt, something Asahi couldn’t be happier about.

And if you really want to leave him a flustered, panting mess, lightly tug at his hair without any warning in a non-sexual context – reach over during breakfast and give a light tug and you’ll see in real time as his face turns red, gaping like a fish and letting a hand drop his fork and wander down to his crotch, the table covering his motions. (Though the sound of a zipper slowly undoing is hardly difficult to identify, nor is the way the slick, clicking noises echo through the room as he shakily tells you to f-finish your breakfast…)

Lingerie

Perhaps it’s a result of his heightened attention paid to fashion, or perhaps it’s just Asahi’s nature, but as his infatuation with you develops, so too does his desire to see you all dressed up for him.

He doesn’t view you as a doll, per se, but Asahi finds that one of his guiltiest pleasures is to put you in clothing he designs specifically for you – pretty colors and cuts he thinks accentuate your curves, always sucking in a sharp breath and muttering out this awed, overtly genuine wow that makes you too embarrassed to respond.

And it’s sweet, more than anything, because the dresses and outfits he creates for you really are flattering – except that as your sexual relationship develops, he starts taking certain liberties, his creations becoming more and more risqué.

The lingerie he designs for you is tasteful, at least – it’s flattering as well, always in shades of pinks, reds, and white to enhance your natural coloring, his fingers always trembling when he helps you put them on, catching a bit of lace between his thumb and index finger and sighing out your name in a tone much too airy to be normal.

You look absolutely stunning – and he finds that fucking you with the lingerie still decorating your body only makes his kisses more heartfelt, longer, more needy because you’re just so damn pretty all dressed up and practically wrapped up like a gift for him.

But really, where’s Asahi’s true lingerie kink lies is not in you wearing it, but rather in him wearing it.

It’s beyond embarrassing to him and something that would take a long time for him to admit, but there’s a certain part of him that would actually like to try on a few of the lingerie sets he sees in magazines, tv and social media. Some of them are just so fucking pretty, soft pastels with lots of lace and ruffles, things that scream feminine and soft, pretty and fuckable.

And while Asahi knows he’s supposed to be the ‘man’ in the relationship, it’s a guilty pleasure that he just can’t shake – and so, when you one day catch him staring at an ad for a brand new baby blue two piece set on his phone, you ask him if he’s going to get it, cocking a brow at him because it’s rare for him to ever buy you lingerie sets rather than make them himself.

(He’d told you once that he can fit them to your body better than any manufacturer can. And what he hadn’t told you is that there’s a certain allure to knowing that you’re wearing something that he made you, not some unknown, random worker with no appreciation for you or your beauty.)

Immediately Asahi is scrambling to cover it up, nervously chuckling and denying your words, but when it shows up the next day and Asahi mumbles if you’d be willing to um, give me an opinion about something, you’re intrigued. And as you open the door to reveal him, familiar brown eyes are unable to meet your own gaze, his body language clearly nervous at your scrutiny.

But really, the sight of the six foot tall, burly man clad  in the soft material hugging his body and bringing out the natural tan color of his skin leaves you oddly breathless, the sight strangely bizarre and erotic.

The bra cups are a bit loose, though you can still see his pretty, pink nipples hard as a rock underneath the sheer material. The bra may be loose, but the pair of lacy, red panties most certainly are not – his cock threatens to burst out of it at any moment, his balls hanging on by a thread to stay inside of the dainty fabric.

And when you take a few steps forward, looking at him with wide eyes, he feels his heart drop when you say oh Asahi, you’re so beautiful.

(If you look closely enough, you can see his balls visibly clench at the compliment, the skin angry and red at the tightness of the panties.)

So while it’s not the manliest thing, Asahi can’t deny that it makes him feel good, and you’re always so touchy and sweet when he’s wearing it.

And so when he’s in more of a submissive mood, wanting you to take care of him, dote on him, love him and show him that you’re just as desperate and hopelessly in love as he is, he throws it on and sits patiently on the bed, waiting with baited breath for you to pull the strap out and make him feel like a good little boy.

(And god his moans are pretty, his little gasps and whines when you toy with the fabric making you power-hungry, the sight of his cute little hole clenching as you toy with him, bent over and panties pushed to the side is the stuff of fantasies – he’s just so fucking obedient when he’s all dressed up for you.)

BIGGEST FANTASY: 

Going hand in hand with his breeding kink and his want of starting a family with you, Asahi has a few guilty pleasures when it comes to the idea of a pregnant you.

He just can’t help it – his biggest domestic fantasy is having a family with you, and every time he sees a pregnant woman out and about something inside of him just snaps, the flood of images of you all knocked up making his knees nearly buckle.

(Of course, in these images you’re sometimes clothes and sometimes not – the clothes, when included, are always too small, making your breasts look even bigger and your stomach ever rounder.)

Something about the roundness of your body, how your curves are enhanced, how you look so fucking fertile really gets to him, especially with how your breasts begin to swell.

Something about watching as your nipples begin to darken, your areolas get larger, and the way the flesh begins to hang heavier, looking so full and ready to be emptied really gets to him, sparking some odd, primal instinct in him that he didn’t even know he had.

He’s staring constantly, brown eyes darting to the way his t-shirts are stretched taut against your belly bump and engorged breasts, how you look so perfect and domestic and like a real mother.

He’ll be much too shy to say anything, too nervous at your rejection of the fantasy he holds close to his heart, but he really wants nothing more than to just latch onto a leaking, aching nipple, wrap his lights tightly around it, circle his tongue over the sensitive skin, and suck.

He wants to taste you; feel the white liquid against his tongue, nurse off of you in such a human, natural way.

He almost feels as if it’s his reward - he put the baby inside of you that’s causing you to produce, he’s the one heading to work everyday, making money to bring back to you and your slowly growing family.

He’s the one that spent hours between your legs, fingering your pretty cunt and giving you load after load after load of hot, potent cum.

He’s your protector, and it’s his deepest fantasy to be rewarded for all his hard work with your breastmilk. He’ll never, ever admit it, but when he fondles your breasts and nibbles at them, sucking at them with a vigor you’ve never experienced before, those are the thoughts racing through his mind. 

              “I’m home!” Asahi calls, closing the front door and letting out a small, satisfied sigh at the sight of his little home. Touches of your style are everywhere - the couch has your favorite color throw pillows, your favorite art is on the walls, pictures of the two of you hanging in frames on the shelf above the fireplace on the far side of the living room. It makes him smile, something warm and fuzzy settling in his chest.

              He slips his shoes off, shrugging off his coat and venturing further into the house. Normally you’d be in the kitchen by now, preparing dinner and wanting to have a nice meal while the two of you discussed your days, telling one another how much you missed the other. When he doesn’t find you in the kitchen, his brow arches and he calls your name once more, a small pang of panic bolting through him at the thought of you not responding.

              “Oh! You’re home!” He hears you exclaim from behind him, and heaves out a small sigh of relief. He turns around with a soft smile on his face, but that smile vanishes as soon as he takes in your appearance. 

              You’re wearing one of his old tee shirts, the material a bit light and comfortable, and a pair of your favorite panties peeking out from under the hem. You look so fucking pretty that it takes him a moment to register your words, brown eyes dilating and focusing on the sight of you in his shirt, the smooth expanse of your thighs, the smile on your face that gets his knees weak. But as he takes in the full sight of you, something else catches his eye – immediately saliva is pooling against his tongue, his fingers twitching and his tongue flicking out to lick over his lips.

Two small, uneven pools of wet form right over the swell of your breasts, staining the fabric a darker shade and making his mouth water slightly. The sight of your chest straining heavily against the shirt has him taking a step forward hastily, aching to get closer and closer.

              You notice his staring, and you scratch the back of your neck a bit awkwardly. “Welcome home, love. Sorry, I was just about to go start pumping but the laundry had me busy. I lost track of time.” 

              He just nods, not able to take his gaze away from you. You blink, before quirking the corner of your lips up. Although your husband had never asked, you’d noticed his affinity for your chest increasing tremendously after you’d begun lactating - he thought he was smooth when he’d oh so innocently walk in on you with your pump, watching your milk fill up the bottle, but you knew better. The fixation in his eyes as he stared was telling, the way he’d play with his hands and fingers, struggling to keep eye contact with you making it oh so apparent. And so, with a confidence that only he could allow you to develop over the years, you realize that maybe it was alright that you hadn’t started dinner quite yet.

              You bite your lip and slowly walk up to him, until you’re close enough to hear the slight wheeze in his breaths. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob as his eyes dart between your face and your breasts, trying to decide where to look. You almost laugh. “Asahi...I have an idea, if you’d be willing to try it out.”

              His gaze meets yours with a bit of reluctance, and his brows tighten. “S-sure! What did you have in mind?”

              You smile, leaning up on your tippy toes and placing a kiss against his cheek. “Well, since I haven’t started dinner yet, and I didn’t get to start pumping, and you’ve been gone all day, working hard and making me proud, I think you deserve a little reward.”

              Asahi visibly flushed at this, and his eyes widened a bit. “A reward? What do you mean?”

              You bite your lip, reaching out to take one of his large hands into your own, before carefully placing it over one of your breasts. He gasps sharply, his entire body tensing as he feels the wetness underneath his palm. You look up at him, doing your best to give him as seductive and sultry a look as you can muster. 

              “Well, I was thinking that maybe I could give you a little treat? As a thank you for everything that you do for me. It’s been waiting all day, and I’m so, so full… would you like that? Do you want a little snack as a reward?” You ask, watching his reaction carefully. His brown eyes are so warm, so genuinely shocked, and for a second you almost wonder if he’ll say no, or push you away. But before you can take back your words, he’s eagerly nodding, walking you backwards into the living room and settling you down into a sitting position on the couch. He crouches below you, on his knees in between your legs, still in the nice clothes he’d worn to work today. You grab the hem of your shirt, carefully lifting it over you and throwing it to some unknown part of the room. The cold air hits you, and you feel your nipples harden and the skin of your breasts tighten up. 

              Asahi lets out a mix between a moan and a whimper at the sight of your bare chest, staring in awe with his mouth open. When you see him not moving, you carefully reach your hands up, cupping your breasts and gently squeezing, causing a small stream of milk to leak out of each nipple.

              “Darling, don’t you want your reward?” You ask, squeezing extra hard, sending a spurt of liquid out, his eyes following the arc as he licks his lips.

Asahi gulps, a low growl escaping him as he gently pulls your hands away, instead latching his mouth around a nipple and sucking -

              You sigh softly, the feeling of his lips applying pressure and his tongue swiping over your nipple much more erotic than you had been expecting. His lips work against you, tongue swirling against your sensitive areolas as his cheeks hollow. He moans against you, the taste of you overwhelming his senses and setting his body alight with pleasure. He can feel his pants growing uncomfortably tight, but he just sucks harder, listening to your coos and cries above him. 

              His hand reaches out to cup your other breast, squeezing a bit more firmly and watching the milk leak, before he leans back, releasing the nipple from his mouth with a popping sound, and squeezes once more, harshly, watching as a stream of milk arcs through the air and directly into his parted, awaiting mouth. You both moan, and he swallows. He rubs his fingers over your nipples, and looks up at you, licking his lips. 

              “I think it’s time you showed me just how good you taste down here, too.” He says, grinding his clothed erection against your crotch. You moan, nodding your head and tangling your fingers into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed at the sensation.

            And, thirty minutes later as he’s pulling out of you, hissing slightly at the overstimulation, Asahi can only pant, a hand once again coming up to lightly squeeze at your breast, the kiss he gives you heated enough to have you melting against the mattress, too relaxed to even notice the way he pushes himself back in again, gasping into your mouth and pushing through the overstimulation because he needs this, needs you.

            After all, he can never get enough of you.

[binothesteptrashcan]

Ok it’s ranking Fives time and I’ve definitely forgotten a couple but now they’re all dead anyway so whatever also Season 4 Spoiler Warning

1.Brisket Five- Iconic. Apparently always wrecking shit for the other Fives and seems to take pride in it. I feel like he was the one who created the commission bc he just has that aura of I Want to Cause Problems. Wish we got a full episode on him and why he’s named Brisket Five and the other shit he wrecked instead of ep 5.

2. Apocalypse Five- I mean he tried to kill Homewrecker Five what more could you want in a man. Only second because he missed.

3.News Paper Five- Great with numbers even by Five standards. Opens up questions about the news paper itself like what timeline is it from? Is it a Five produced newspaper? He is in a timeless zone why is he reading a newspaper? Is it just for the crossword/sudoku? It’s probably just for the crossword/sudoku.

4.Drunk Five- me too buddy me too. Presumably got kicked out of the deli/diner/whatever it was and I hope it was because he saw Homewrecker Five coming and was preparing to get rid of the lowest common denominator.

5.Waiter Five- I don’t trust him no real Five would ever work customer service willingly there’s something else going on but he also serves Homewrecker Five a sandwich without enough sauerkraut and sucky coffee so points for that.

6.Booth Five- Boring. Bland. Might as well be Shitty Exposition Five and his only redeeming quality is that I must assume he was trying to motivate Homewrecker Five by telling him to give up so he would do the opposite and save everyone which clearly backfired.

7.Literally Any Other Five I’ve Missed- idk like Old Man/Technically Mentally Younger Five from seasons past or Baby Five or Pre-Time Travel Five you get the picture.

8. Homewrecker Five- Last and certainly Least what the fuck dude. Why are you like that. Why did you give up on your family your entire life has been about getting back to them and keeping them safe like you didn’t even try? Also why not go get Delores????? why did you not tell Lila about the way home immediately????? What the fuck is wrong with you????? Why are you working for the CIA and how did you not notice your boss was in a fucking cult he had a tattoo????? Fully convinced Five from seasons 1-3 was actually either Brisket Five or Waiter Five and he got fucked over by some cosmic entity and is being forced to work customer service and is currently biding his time before he goes and saves his family for realsies.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 10

pt 9 here

Content: direct cont of last chapter, just more unshamed flirting, uncanon hcs on how he grew up, MENTIONED of Choso seeing reader as untouched (?), small time skip for my own sanity. Choso is an ex smoker- ill circle back to that, talk of exes, not so much stalking- again, next chap will have that dw, some excerpts from Winnie the Pooh- another hc of mine, its happening guys. Word Count: 6.8k

(a.n) wow, a whole month and im barely posting, (sorry) new writing style too👍🏽 the lil .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚⊹⋆ ⁺   . guys mean a different scene btw.

Taglist: @eristi @sunaumi @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @1arminsimp @hannas16 @chosowhore @tojicvmslut @ofalcaodacolinablue @thesharkcollector @mochipip @hotvillianapologist @ziklope @saeline @morinuu @b3llair3 @24hrnanami

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Looking at you, Choso felt the sudden urge to tell you just how much he loved you. Sitting in his shabby apartment- not caring for the mess or how dingey it was. Still- you cared enough to go see him. He knew it was you- and it will always be you. Be it the dissolving cold medicine in his tummy- or if he really felt this way. In that moment, Choso was so sure he loved you, issues and all. “This is what happens when you spend more time outside than inside.” you hummed, being able to hear his ragged breathing from the chair.

“I hardly get sick.” he coughed, making you perch your eyebrows, all but saying ‘be real.’ He gulped, feeling his sore throat make it difficult to swallow.

“It's true.” he huffed, looking at you seriously. “You strike me as someone with a…” you hesitated, trying to find the correct word. Making him look at you with curious eyes, “-with a wavering immune system.” You grinned, making him nod his head in agreement. “You don't get sick?” he asked, tone sincere. “I never get sick.” you hummed, flaunting your health in his face. “It's been 3 years since I had a cold so-” you laughed, “I can truly say- I don't get sick.” he looked at you with believing eyes. 

“You're right though- I do have a sucky immune system,” he sighed, twiddling with his thumbs in his lap, you hummed with a smile. “Too much of what growing up?” you asked, sensing it was caused by something from his upbringing. Choso grimaced, not wanting to admit it. Mind flashing back to the instagram story you posted at the beginning of the semester. Something about ‘why smoke when so many things are trying to kill you-’

You twitched your head, waiting for him to answer. He inhaled, looking away from you as though you were already scolding him. “I used to be a heavy-” he started, lowering his tone. “...smoker.” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut- waiting for you to start speaking. You sighed, making him turn his head over to look at you again, eyes squinted and arms crossed. Nodding your head ‘no’ disapprovingly. “Not anymore though-” he defended, not wanting to upset you. Face churned with worry that this was something you'd never forgive.

You gave him a half laugh, “Choso- I don't care if you used to smoke-” you furrowed your eyebrows, not knowing why he thought he had to defend himself to you. “I mean-” you started, seeing his face fall. “I obviously care if you do- but this was before you knew me.” You smiled, making him exhale the breath he held in his chest. “And besides, who am I to scold you on a bad habit?” you hummed, making him open his mouth to speak. “It doesn't bother you?” he leaned onto his hand planted on the bed, intrigued to hear your answer.

“It would bother me in a- ‘want you to be healthy’ way.” you droned, looking away from his face- being able to see small glimmers form in his eyes at your words. “But if it's your choice, and you want to do it. Don't let my opinions base your choices.” you assured, making him rest back onto his bed in ease. Pressing the back of his head onto the wall in thought. Even if you told him not to- he'd still use your words to make his life choices. ‘Because it is only you who I am trying to impress.’

Inhaling sharply at the feeling of heavy tension in the air, looking to his nightstand and scanning a small stack of books. Noticing he had some of the same ones you had on your nightstand. “Winnie The Pooh?” you asked, looking at his blushed cheeks and pinched eyebrows at your observation. “I uh- I used to read it to my brothers.” He mumbled, seeing your delicate hands pick up the green cover, flipping through the well cared for pages with a smile.

“I brought it with me knowing if I left it, they'd find a way to destroy it.” he laughed. You looked back to him as you gently flipped through the pages, smiling when you saw the small rips and folds from how long he had it. Noticing his slow blinks and how he was manually breathing now-

“All the years I spent repeating those pages and I don't remember a single thing from them.” he muttered, looking down at his hands- almost sad. You blinked back to look at him, “Why’s that?” you hummed with a small smile, secretly elated that he was finally opening up a little, instead of asking about you. “I never focused on the words.” he muttered, looking at the tearing corners of the green cloth cover.

“I think it's because I always tried to make sure they were entertained- that they enjoyed what I read.” he mumbled, seeing you carefully flip the pages. Knowing it held sentimental value, Choso looked at your gentle grasp on the books as though you were holding his heart in your hands. Using all the care in the world as you examined it. “How old were you?” you asked, closing the cover and placing it on your lap. Scanning his soft expression at your question. 

“When you first read it to them?” You clarified making him bat his eyes down to his hands, unable to withstand the burning gaze you held to his skin. “Eight- maybe nine.” he mumbled, unpleasant memories flooding into his mind again. “Before your mom-?” you pressed, seeing his eyebrows furrow. With a small nod, he exhaled, “I picked it up one day. Not knowing I'd reread it for the next 13 years.” Choso scoffed Remembering the last time he read it to Yuuji, a bittersweet smile on his lips. “Sad huh?” he looked back at you, seeing your eyebrows curled up with sad eyes below them.

You inhaled, placing your hand flat against the book on your lap, “No, Choso. It's not sad.” You grinned, “It's actually really sweet.”, letting out a half laugh from your nose. Holding up your thumb and pointer finger, pinching the air “A tiny bit sad-” you whispered, making him let out a half laugh from his chest. “But sweet.” you assured.

Choso gave you a few slow blinks, feeling his throat dry. Closing his eyes in an attempt to blink, but keeping them closed. “M’tired.” he mumbled, making your shoulders tense- coming to the realization that you infiltrated his space uninvited. You widened your eyes, “Shit- sorry-” you whispered, placing the book on his night stand before going to stand up. Choso’s eyes flashed open, reaching for your wrist. Being able to fully wrap his fingers around it. Looking up at you with panicked eyes, a stare you hadn’t seen before.

“Stay.” he whispered, looking down at him with wide eyes, his grip on your wrist wasn't firm- showing you just how tired he was. “Please.” Soft tone making you blink down at him. It's not as though you needed any convincing. 

You smiled, pressing your other hand onto his knuckles. Soothing his nerves, “Okay.” you whispered, sitting back down. “I'll stay.” you murmured, his shoulders easing as his cheeks blushed at the embarrassment. “Lay down.” you instructed, reaching for the book again. Furrowing your eyebrows when you saw him slowly easing into his own bed. Almost uncomfortably. 

Choso looked over to you, resting his head lightly on the pillows to avoid the embarrassment of his bed frame collapsing. He huffed a pained laugh from his chest seeing your expression, “If I move too quickly- it'll break.” he explained, making you nod your head with a smile. “Now I know what to get you for your birthday.” you murmured to yourself, making him let out a weak ‘haha’, as his eyes threatened to close. His grip on your hand tightening, to be sure you wouldn't leave if he went to sleep.

Scooching the rolling chair closer to the bed, side of your thigh pressed against his mattress and you faced him. “I think it's your turn to be read to.” you mumbled, pulling your hand from his briefly and placing the book back on your lap, cracking it open, placing the spine between your closed thighs and holding onto his hand again. 

Thumb brushing gently against his knuckles, as your fingers flipped the pages. Tender gaze staring at you as though this was the first time he was ever taken care of. As though this was a marvel.

Making sure to keep your tone soft- inhaling softly before you started, “Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now-” the words fell from your lips in whispers, gracing his ears as he looked at the afternoon sun peaking through. His eyes scanning your features- the way the sun peeked through your eyelashes, how you smiled reading the childish words. When you looked back to him to see if he was still with you, and how gentle you were. Holding his calloused hand as though he was made of lace.

Eternally grateful for the universe putting you here. “Isn’t it funny how a bear likes honey?” you spoke gently, fingers grazing the edge of the old page.

Being able to see every unique characteristic that graced your skin thanks to the warm sun. “It's a very funny thought that if bears were Bees, They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.” you smiled at the silly rhyme, cheekbones glowing when you grinned. Unaware of how badly he yearned for you. How he missed you even if you were sitting inches away from him.

“How sweet to be a cloud, floating in the blue. Every little cloud always sings aloud.” hazy eyes looking at you through his eyelashes, parting his lips that threatened to speak before his mind caught up. ‘It’s you.’ he thought, feeling his lips move, the words at the tip of his tongue as you flipped the page.

Looking up at him from the book, making him close his lips, “It makes him very proud to be a little cloud.” you smiled at him. “Are you proud to be a little cloud Choso?” you hummed with a sappy smile, making him close his eyes and nod, “Only if you're a cloud with me.” he croaked quietly, making you tighten your grip on his hand before continuing to read.

Choso looked at you with a content smile on his lips, heart beating strongly in his chest. Blinks become longer and longer as you flip the page. Your words become mumbles in his mind as his blinking halted. His hand slowly went limp in yours as you continued reading softly. 

Hearing soft inhales and exhales from him as you closed the book. Soft eyes scanning his expression, finding it adorable how quick he fell asleep. But the adoration churned to sadness- not knowing precisely why he was never read to as a child. But knowing he grew up always taking care of everyone but himself, you saw it in the way he spoke to you. In the way he tried sparing your feelings anytime he'd say something out of turn, and most of all you tasted it in the way he cooked for you.

Thinking how crazy it was that even if you had been friends with him only for a few weeks- you still felt sad for him. You felt. For him. Which was more than you could say for anyone else you had met in that place. 

You huffed with a smile, looking away from him as you derailed your own train of thought. Now taking the chance to look around his apartment- at the walls, at the broken blinds, at the small kitchen. You looked back down to the hand that softly held yours, taking the time to admire them now that he wasn't awake to catch you. 

Calloused- but they were warm. Tender. Brutish knuckles that you knew held power behind them, softly scanning the scars he told you stories about. Slowly pulling your hand from his grasp, grazing the tips of your fingers on his painted nails. Admiring how well you painted them. 

Snapping yourself out of the daze you put yourself in, suddenly feeling very creepy for staring at your friend who was innocently sleeping. You nodded your head at your wandering thoughts, god. Here he was practically dying of the plague and you were being skeevy. With a sigh you pressed your hand to your forehead, trying to think on what to do now. You didn't want to leave- but it seemed even weirder to stay. You inhaled, pushing the chairs' wheels back with your feet, standing up and looking down to him.

All but saying it since it was smeared on your expression, thankful he was sleeping or else he'd see it. Here he was- man who you put so much effort into flirting with. You see, with most men- they were easy. One little bat of the eye and a sweet smile and they'd do anything to take you home. But with him- he'd offer to take you home, without any ulterior motives.. Walk you up to your doorstep to be sure you are safe. Which only made the kindness you had easier to give. 

So there you were, disguising your snooping as being kind. Taking quiet steps around his apartment. Not daring to actually open anything- but it was tempting. Hands behind your back as you looked at the small crack of his closet door. Squinting at it before looking to his kitchen, making sure to step quietly on the creaky wood floors. Looking back at him anytime a creak was a little too noisy. 

Curious as to what was in his fridge- as good as he cooked he must have more than enough ingredients in his fridge, right? 

Staring into Choso’s fridge, furrowed eyebrows staring at one old lime and a single bottle of ketchup. It looked sadder than the one at your own house did. You closed the white door and opened the freezer- nothing. You expected at least liquor- any college student with a fridge has at least a bottle to fall back on. 

You looked back at Choso, almost scolding him in your mind. And with the sight of his sleeping face- the marvelous idea popped into your mind. Taking a few steps to stand above his desk, taking the pink post-it stack and a black pen before writing a small note. Smiling as you wrote the stupid words. 

Placing the pink post- it on his night stand, smiling before looking down to his peaceful expression. Inhaling quickly before walking back to the entryway, coat in hand as you look back once more before opening the door- making sure not to lock it for when you'd be back.

Even in his sleep Choso heard the door close, but that's not what woke him. What woke him was his neighbor slamming their front door shut. Making him jolt awake in his own bed. Panicked eyes scanning the four walls of his apartment expecting to see you, only for you not to greet him when he woke. Choso felt a little disappointed. Mainly with himself for thinking you'd be here when he woke. That you'd wait for him. 

He sighed, sitting up slowly and trying to blink away his exhaustion. Looking to his nightstand and seeing a misplaced post-it, small smile forming on his ill lips as he read your writing. ‘Had to go get a few things. be good and take ur medicine! I'll be back soon :) - the best nurse you will ever have,’ he smiled reading your initials at the bottom of the note.

 And as you instructed, Choso took the medicine you placed on his side table, noticing his throat wasn't as achy as it was before you got there.

There was a hint of panic in his breaths, anxiety and trailing thoughts scared that you snooped. That you found something that you shouldn't have. Even if he hid everything- there was still the fear that he forgot something. Choso sighed and looked over to where he tossed his phone, faced down and silent. He picked it up and saw way too many notifications from his brother, with a sigh he returned his call. 

Closing his eyes as the dial rang through his ear. Hearing the receiver click- ‘hello?’ He heard his brother's voice in his ear. “You called?” he huffed, knowing his voice sounded a bit groggy. 

‘I was trying to cockblock you.’ Yuuji laughed, making Choso scoff and roll his eyes. Leaning an arm on the bed, knowing not to take his jokes too seriously. “You'd do that to your big brother?” taking a sarcastic tone, as he felt his brain pound against his skull.

Choso heard a quiet snicker come from the phone, ‘How are you feeling?’ Yuuji asked, Choso gave an exasperated sigh. “Better. I feel better. I think the worst is over.” Choso grumbled, hearing his brother let out agreeing hums.

‘Is your ‘friend’ still there?’ Yuuji asked in an accusatory tone, “No. No, they left.” Choso exhaled, flashing his eyes to that vent he hid his shame in. ‘Good thing or a bad thing?’ he asked knowing his big brother had a tendency to overcomplicate his own feelings. “I have-” he exhaled, staring at the door of his apartment, “No idea Yuuji.” he closed his eyes, feeling the confusion and those complicated feelings eat away at the illness.

He gave a strained laugh from his chest in disbelief, “I have no clue what I'm doing.” closing his eyes and remembering all the times you've tried to make a step forward. Only for Choso to take 3 back. “I’m fucking this up Yuuji.” he huffed, his baby brother was silent on the other line, hearing the worries spill from his mouth. 

‘How?’ Yuuji asked, only wanting to gauge how to go about this. “I came here for you guys. To be better. For you all to be comfortable and happy.” he started, hearing Yuuji sigh through the phone, ‘I've told you a million times- you don't have to worry about us.’ His brother had assured him of this plenty of times. Choso felt small whenever he tried to talk about it but the day came when he felt a wisp of resentment in his heart. And he knew he had to talk about it or else he'd grow angry towards the reason he was put on this planet.

And it was true, Choso eased off a little. After a lengthy conversation with Eso about how it feels to be plagued with being the oldest- his brother assured him he was put on this planet with no purpose. He didn't have to live just for them.

Then came the tattoos and the piercings, trying to find himself in the body mutilation. Somewhere in his heart he knew he came to college to find himself too. Just like you did.

‘You like this person?’ Yuuji spoke up, throwing Choso out of his thoughts. It was a thought he didn't want to think, in his mind he loved you. It felt like true love when he was with you. But actually saying it- telling his brother that you, a person he didn't know a few months ago, had invaded his goal of being better for his family. It was a hard thing to say, and to think.

That he wasn't there just for his family and himself anymore, he was here for you now too. 

“I do Yuuji.” he scoffed, hearing the smile form on his brother's face through the phone. ‘In a ‘this persons pretty cool’ or like how I feel about that actress from the hunger games?’ Yuuji joked, making Choso lean his elbows on his knees and smile, “Neither-” Choso scoffed, “In a way I feel consumed by them.” he mumbled, hearing pensative noises coming from the phone, ‘Maybe m’not the best person to speak to this about-’ he laughed, ‘I've never felt ‘consumed’ by how much I liked someone before.’ he admitted, making Choso nod his head disapprovingly.

Hearing footsteps darken his doorway- along with the brass doorknob turning, frightened that it was someone other than you. Only it was you- stepping into his apartment as though it was your own. Your shocked eyes looking at Choso’s face, not expecting to see him awake. “Sorry-” you grinned with a whisper, stepping in fully and softly closing the door behind you. Seeing he was on the phone.

‘Did they come back?!’ Yuuji blurted, “I'll call you later.” he mumbled into the phone, seeing you place handfuls of groceries onto the kitchen counter. Making his cheeks blush at how domestic this whole thing was starting to feel. His brother started yapping a million questions before Choso pulled the phone from his ear, “Later. Yuuji.” taking a stern tone as he clicked the red button on the screen.

In Choso’s heart he felt guilt- guilty for even thinking about questioning his devotion towards you. All he needed to see was that sweet smile grace your lips to remember how he felt. 

“I didn't know what to bring- so I brought it all.” you huffed with a smile, unpacking the groceries from the plastic bags. Choso looked at you baffled at the unnecessary act of kindness. Looking at him with sweet eyes, “You look better.” You smiled with closed lips, Choso’s cheeks tingled at the tone you took. “Do I?” he muttered, pushing a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. 

“Your color came back- Before I left you looked like a ghost.” You joked, turning around and placing a few bags of vegetables in his fridge, making Choso cringe knowing you had seen the sad contents of his fridge. “My uh-” he shifted on his bed, watching as you put away the various items you bought for him. “-brothers tell me I look like a ghost most of the time.” he smiled, hearing your shoes thump on the vinyl flooring. 

You scoffed, looking at his face once more, tilting your head as you examined his features. Choso couldnt help but squirm feeling your eyes on him. You let out a small giggle, looking away from him before opening a bag of bread. “You do.” he sighed in defeat, watching your nodding head as you pulled out two slices from the thin bag. 

“Shit-” you mouthed, looking up at him as you held the bread in your hands, “Can I… borrow your stove?” you grimaced, scanning his confused expression. “I'm starving.” you reiterated, noticing he made that face he made when his mind would run a million miles a minute as he thought.

What confused him wasn't the question- more like ‘You've already made yourself at home- why ask to use my stove? What's mine is yours.’ but what stuttered from his lips was, “Yeah- go for it.” as you reached into a cupboard, pulling out a charred skillet as though you were the one who put it there, your delicate hands turning the metal knobs on the stove. 

Choso watched you from a distance- as though if he got too close you'd fade away. Watching as you buttered both sides of each slice before placing them on the skillet, “You want one?” you hummed, unwrapping the yellow squares of cheese and placing them onto the toasting bread.

Choso smiled, “I thought you didn't cook?” he spouted sarcastically, watching as you plucked a plastic spatula from the utensil holder, “Two pieces of bread and a slice of cheese is not cooking.” you retorted with a smile, flipping the toasted slices of bread. “Your opportunity for a grilled cheese made with love is waning, Choso.” you teased, seeing his face fall at the sudden words. 

Nodding his head quickly once he processed your choice of words, “Plates?” you asked, even from a distance you were able to see his pupils dilate. He smiled, seeing your lips form a smile along with him. “How mad would you be if I told you I don't have any…?” he grinned, making you suck your teeth harshly, a snide comment forming on your tongue but holding it back. 

Plucking two white kitchen napkins from the stray roll he had on the counter, placing the well toasted grilled cheese onto it before scooping it in your hands. Taking a few paces towards him, looking down at your feet as you stopped right before him. “You need plates.” you practically scolded, making him look up at you with a bashful grin. “I know.” he whispered, taking the napkin plate from your hands- his fingertips grazing against the back of your palm. 

The feeling of shock from touching you diminishes with every purposeful graze from his hands. You irked your head, shaking off the goosebumps that formed on your arms as you walked back to the stove, flashing a few stares to him as you buttered the sides of your own grilled cheese. 

Placing the toasted bread onto your own napkin plate, tying a small knot onto the bread bag, cleaning up after yourself as Choso held the sandwich in his hands. Waiting for you to finish so he could eat. 

You looked up from the counter, huffing with a small chuckle, “Choso you can eat.” You flashed him a toothy smile as you turned off the stove, “M’waiting for you.” he spoke with all the honesty he could muster.

'I will always wait for you.’ he thought, a glimmer shining in his eyes as he bounced his knee slowly. 

“Don't wait for me Choso.” you muttered, as though you read his mind, picking up your makeshift plate and walking over to him, sitting back onto his rolling chair as he watched you with a grin. 

Nodding your head- practically having to give him permission to eat, raising the sandwich to his mouth and taking a bite. Following what he did as you both chewed in silence. 

“Why'd you bring me groceries?” he spat, almost as though his mouth spoke before he could think about it. You thought about it- not having any real reason other than it felt like it was the right thing to do. “No man should have to live with an empty fridge.” you settled on that being a decent response, Choso nodded his head, agreeing with what you said. 

“I'll pay you back-” he declared, seeing your face glow with a cheerful smile, “You don't have to.” you scoffed, holding the crumbly bread in your hands. “S’what…friends do for each other.” there- you did it again. You hesitated before calling him your friend. Choso noticed this since you tried to present him to your roommates friends.

“Why're you so nice to me?” he breathed, avoiding your eyes as he looked down to the sandwich. “Were back on this again?” you kidded seeing his smile fall- actually thinking on why you were being kind, “If we're being honest- you brought this up first.” He defended coyly, “Choso.” you called his name seriously, making his eyes bat up to look at you with a hung head, “I’m nice to you because I like you.” You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at him. 

“You're nice to everyone though-” he retorted quietly, trying his best to not let the blatant jealousy show through his tone. “I pretend to be nice to everyone, yeah-” you smiled, “But I have never been- this. Nice to anyone before.” You assured, your cheeks warming from his borderline possessive words. 

Choso looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, all but asking ‘Really?’ nodding your head in response. “I promise.” Those words meant more to Choso than you'd ever know, it was as though you swore on the thing closest to your heart to him. Placing the sandwich onto the napkin atop your thighs, holding out a childish pinkie and looking at him with soft eyes, ‘Promise.’ you mouthed, Choso raised a hesitant hand, holding out his pinkie as he looked into your eyes.

Interlocking your pinkies as he felt the difference in size, “And I don't like anyone enough to be this nice.” You pulled your pinkie from his, seeing his expression show he wasn't fully convinced on the idea. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” you hushed, seeing his eyes peek up and look at you through thick eyelashes. 

Nodding his head earnestly, leaning in a little bit more, “I hate everyone in the world except you right now.” 

The words you meant in a joking way- only saying them to make him lighten up. It wasn't as though they didn't have some truth- right now everyone sucked and he was the only one who cared enough to make things better.

But to him, those words were all but a confession- a confession that all this time he wasn't a crazed stalker who embedded himself in your life. Those words made his doubts of what he was doing disappear almost entirely. 

“You mean that?” he spoke with avoidant eyes and blushing pink cheeks. You exhaled, earning Choso to look back to your eyes, “I do.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚⊹⋆ ⁺   .

After that illuminating morning spent with you, he made sure to be more cautious with what he'd say- how he'd act towards you. But his attempts at caution only made his slip ups more apparent. 

The last week of January passed by in seconds to Choso, having you sitting next to him in the classes you had together made life easier. Classes spent drawing on his pale skin to pass the time, and he'd let you- Choso would try his very best to control the warmth that he was sure made his ears turn a shade of pink. But it's not like he had to hide his shamed blushes from you anymore. 

Little by little your touch became a constant in his life- your soft hands pulling the rings from his calloused ones, fiddling with them in class as the professor spoke. Turning them while they were still on his fingers as his knee bounced nervously. Being able to smell your perfume- even able to feel your nails graze against his skin as you toyed with his jewelry. 

The habit of him walking you home slowly diminished in the first week of February, now walking to his apartment to spend more time together more often than not. Playing kids board games on his apartment floor after he told you that- “I never really played them.” when you asked if he's ever gone through an entire game of monopoly, “I only ever over saw as my brothers played-” he smiled, seeing you look at him bewildered. “Y'know. To make sure no one cheated.” 

To which you responded with ‘borrowing’ the board games from your house, bringing them to his apartment. Seeing it as an opportunity to get to know him better through the childrens games. What he liked most about the time spent playing the games was that you'd leave your phone on his kitchen counter, on do not disturb and faced down. He liked that there wasn't anything to distract you from him.

The topic of exes was brought up hesitantly by you- unsure if you wanted to know about his past in that aspect. 

Sitting on the floor of his apartment, knees crossed as you faced each other, “Any past lovers I should expect on my doorstep?” You hummed casually, placing a green uno card onto the small stack, “Not that I know of. No.” he smiled to himself, “That you know of?” you asked sarcastically, seeing him place a card into the pile with a scoff. 

“No. Don't expect any ‘ex lovers’ at your door-” he called your name almost in a scolding tone. You nodded mockingly, “Any at all?” you examined your cards as you plucked one from your stack. Choso looked at you- unsure of what you were getting at. “No?” 

“No girlfriends- or boyfriends- or partne-” you were interrupted by Choso’s shoulders slumping with furrowed eyebrows. Silencing your question as he placed a card onto the pile, “...Can I ask why?” You chirped, seeing his low eyes look up from the colorful cards and think about it. 

“There was just never time.” he sighed, feeling embarrassed by your curiosity. Making you nod your head in agreement. Choso didn't even want to think about your exes, how many there were or if you loved any of them. He liked picturing you as an untouched, pristine, glass statue- only to be held by him. And thinking that you will only ever love him. 

“Even when you came here?” you pressed, his lips forcing a smile- “Nope.” his response was curt- waiting for you to place a card onto the pile. “Why?” your tone was accusatory- almost as though you were trying to dance around the real reason you were asking these questions. “S’your turn.” he mumbled, looking up from his cards and looking at you, “..What?” you asked confused as to what he was saying.

“It's your turn-” he spoke your name- flashing his eyes down to your cards as you inhaled, understanding what he meant. Picking a random card and placing it onto the stack, Choso looked at your parting lips- daring to keep pressing the question.

Even if he was starting to feel a sliver of irritation- he found it adorable that you were curious about that part of his life. “Choso.” you spoke, earning his eyebrow to arch before he responded with your name in the same tone you used. You sighed in defeat, making him tilt his head to the side. Thinking very hard as he skimmed through the distant memories of anyone he had a crush on growing up. 

“Uh- there was my neighbor in the second grade- then in the fourth grade there was this girl who I used to chase around the playground- and then in middle school I started exploring the world of people I could like- then in my freshman year I got my first-” he babbled, oversharing the meaningless information that you asked for with a sarcastic tone, trying to prove a point. “Okay-okay. I get it.” you interrupted with a laugh “I don't see the point in talking about the past when it does nothing for us.” he spoke as he arranged the cards in his hands. 

‘Us- I’m already calling me nd you,‘us’ he thought as you spoke “It helps me get to know you.” You defended, “You ever have a question- ask me it directly, please.” he smiled, “Don't dance around it-” 

“Have you ever loved anyone?” you interrupted, Choso looked at you with tender eyes. “Like- love, love?” you clarified, only your question didn't need any clarification, Choso knew what you were talking about. 

He nodded his head no, “No I haven't.” he admitted, looking down to his cards before picking one and placing it in the growing pile. “Have you ever loved anyone?” he repeated your question, for once, you were left scrambling for words. “N-no.” You admitted almost in defense, “There were times I thought I was in love.” you started, mentally Choso was cursing whatever person you loved before him. 

“But I was just a kid. So no, I've never loved anyone.” you finished, placing a card on the useless pile, and gathering the cards since neither of you were really playing the game anymore.

The salty conversation ended right there, Choso didn't want to hear of your past relationships- and you didn't want to embarrass him further by asking again. But the tension in the air was gone the next time you saw him, bringing up how you were thinking of moving out of your house. 

Choso’s hands picking upa stack of playing cards and shuffling them with his hands, “Why?” he asked, scanning your irritated expression as you thought about the roommates waiting for you. “People just- suck.” you smiled, seeing his hands carefully put away the  cards in the torn up box. Standing up and walking towards the kitchen counter, eyeing your phone as his back faced you.

Knowing you wouldn't be able to see if he took a peek- just one peek. 

Pretending to keep idle hands as he feigned looking at the game boards, “Your roommates again?” he asked as his hand inched towards your phone. Hearing you let out an exaggerated sigh, “Yes, they've been extra annoying recently.” you closed your eyes, waiting for him to come back with a new game. 

Choso gulped, his fingers flipping the side of your phone quietly, “Why's that?” he mindlessly replied as your phone screen light up. Seeing you kept the family picture of him and his brothers as your background, “They've been nagging and nagging about how I don't do my ‘chores’-” you complained, “I'm not even there as much anymore.” you continued.

Choso’s eyes scanned the growing list of notifications- squinting his eyes as he saw a text from a contact named ‘asshole’. You sighed, defeated by the growing list of issues awaiting you at that house. “And I'm broke.” You closed your eyes, leaning on your palms as you leaned your head back. “Broke huh?” he muttered, scrolling as he smiled at your claim. 

“Yup. No more sugar daddy money left- which is unfortunate.” You whispered to yourself. Choso heard it- but to protect his peace and not pick a fight over your choice of words. He ignored that little comment.

“Scrabble?” he mindlessly asked, “Nah s’too much thinking for me right now.” 

‘See you later today’ the message read with a heart, Choso couldn't help but think that you were being lured into something from that message, “How about-” he trailed on, placing your phone back onto the counter quietly as you sighed, “Connect 4?” he picked up the battered box and heard an agreeing ‘okay’ from your lips.

Walking back to the dedicated ‘board game’ spot at the center of his apartment, sitting down and placing the box between you. “Y'know- I looked at these apartments before I chose to live in that house.” you smiled as he slid the lid off the box, Choso’s face fell- thinking of how cruel the world was for taking away the opportunity of having you as a neighbor.

“You didn't like it here?” he joked, making you let out a small chortle as he set up the blue plastic. “I just didn’t wanna be alone.” you admitted, seeing Choso hold up his hands- a red chip in one and a yellow chip in the other, taking the red chip from his hand before he pushed your chips to your side of the grid.

“And you're thinking of moving into a unit?” he scoffed almost sarcastically, waiting for you to decide where to put your first chip. “I mean- even if they're constantly freezing. I just might.” you admitted honestly, seeing Choso’s fingers hover above the slot. Staring at you as he pictured you being his neighbor. 

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, “You don't like that idea?” you scoffed, seeing him nod his head ‘no’ before dropping a yellow chip into one of the slots, “You're probably thinking, ‘gee why not just move into my apartment while you're at it.” You giggled, dropping a red chip into the grid without thinking too hard, Choso titled his head- almost as though that's exactly what he was thinking.

“M’kidding. Choso.” You clarified, making him exhale at how flustered he was starting to feel. “It wouldn't be any different than it is now though-” you smiled, seeing his shaky hand drop a chip into the game- almost purposefully avoiding the ones you previously dropped, “I'm already here everyday.” you scoffed, unknowing your words were only making Choso’s ears burn below his hair.

“S-speaking of-” he found an opening of asking you the question that had been heavy in his mind ever since you brought it up, “I was thinking about- uh-” he struggled to find the words, “The uh….date?” he stuttered, blinking his eyes down to his chips and back at you. 

“You remember that?” you smiled, if he was being honest- the words hit him like a ton of bricks aimed directly to his heart. “...You don't?” he asked- pained and saddened. “Of course I do- I just,” you grimaced, “Didn't expect you to remember.” you admitted, “Y’know, since you were dying of bubonic plague.” you joked as you dropped a red chip into the game. 

“It was a small cold-” he defended, “And I do remember.” he continued, scanning your lax expression as he tried stepping through the seemingly difficult conversation.

“I wasn't gonna hold it against you-” you smiled, “You were feverish and on the brink of death-” you bantered, “I was not.” he defended himself, “You wanna take me out on a date Choso?” you asked teasingly- already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him again. 

“Will you let me?” he blushed, you looked at him surprised by his quick quip. With a smug smile, you were thinking things that should not be thought of at that moment.

-

pt 11 here

IM SOOOO SORRY FOR TAKING SOO LONG, PT 11 WILL BE POSTED ON VALENTINES DAY..... HEHEHEHE... (when can I start writing about the intimate things ;-;)

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[frvnkcastles]

ENOUGH FOR ME ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: It’s Frank’s birthday and you just want him to know he’s important.

Warnings: Language, minor mention of injuries, mostly just fluff :)

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s note: Happy Frank Castle Day <33 Just a small break from all the trauma content to celebrate our best guy’s birthday with something fluffy and friends-to-lovers adjacent. Enjoy :)

”It’s your birthday?!” Your voice was nothing short of shocked as you looked up from Frank’s bloody abdomen where your haphazardly done stitches adorned his toned body, your eyes scanning his for any sign of humor, but he stared back at you completely serious and unwavering. He had just made an off-handed comment about turning forty-four, and the admission had shaken you to your core — you didn’t even have a card for him!

”Yeah”, Frank shrugged, ”it ain’t that big of a deal, sweetheart.”

You were positively astounded and, with all your might, entirely of another opinion. The man did so much for the city, for people like you — whether they appreciated or not — and the least he deserved was some appreciation in return. You tried your best to show him some without crossing any lines, as you were still just friends, after all. And surely, had you only known, you would have gotten something for his special day, or at least gotten ahead of him and wished him a happy birthday to make sure he knew he was remembered and thought of.

Instead, he had been fighting all night and gotten a nasty wound from a knife on his stomach, leaving him bleeding on your couch, like it was any other sucky night.

”You don’t like celebrating it?” you questioned, supposing that he had had plenty of traditions with his family, and that his celebrating of the occasion had died with them. You were pretty sure he knew that was a part of your question, at least the look he gave you was one of the obvious kind, but he still graced you with an answer.

”Nah. I don’t hate it, but I dunno”, he contemplated, ”just doesn’t feel that important. Curt comes over a beer usually and that’s about it.” You nodded while handing his shirt back over to him and starting to pack up the first-aid kit on your coffee table.

”So… would you mind if I did something small next year?” you asked sheepishly, the gift-giver and avid acts-of-service person inside you itching to come out. Somehow, Frank had become one of the most important people in your life, and to you, his birthday felt like an occasion to mark in some way, at least.

”You think you’re gonna be starin’ at my ugly mug for a whole ’nother year?” he grinned while pulling his shirt over his head. The self-deprecating joke got a disapproving look from you, and he simply chuckled. ”Sure. If you really want to. But you gotta tell me your birthday, too.”

So you did. And exactly a year later, on his forty-fifth birthday, you had lived up to your promise. You suspected he had forgotten all about it in the past 364 days, but at least it would make it an even sweeter surprise.

”Would love it if you came over tonight. No pressure, it’s not life-or-death. Just thought we could hang.” You sent your text message to him before you could overthink it too much. Should he not turn up, the worst case scenario was that you’d get to eat an entire cake by yourself — not a half-bad situation to find yourself in.

But, despite his tendency to only show up after getting himself in trouble, he ended up sending you a text message back.

”I’ll be there.”

As the hours ticked by, you realized you maybe should have agreed on a time. Nonetheless, you refused to let sleepiness take over, even when midnight dragged over and your jaw stretched with a yawn. You had spent the entire evening switching between your living room couch and the kitchen counter, impatient and nervous about how the night would unfold — a part of you hoped he would be surprised, but there was no telling if it would be a good surprise or not.

It was nearly 1 AM when there was a knock at your door, and you came to life at the sound. You rushed to answer the door, a sincere smile curling your lips high up when you found Frank waiting on the other side, a bottle of wine in his hands and a curious look in his eyes. Heat rushed into your cheeks as you realized the coyness in your message, and how he may have interpreted it, but you surely didn’t oppose whatever ideas he was coming over with.

”You okay? I know you said it ain’t anythin’ serious, but…”, he wondered while stepping across the threshold and shrugging off his jacket. You carried the wine bottle into the kitchen, and he followed you, only stopping when he saw all the food you had prepared. ”Shit. Guess it’s good I came prepared”, he added, and you chuckled nervously.

”I’m okay. I just wanted to do something for you”, you confessed, twisting your fingers as you watched him take it all in and process.

”You really didn’t have to, sweetheart”, he chuckled before licking his lips and tilting his head at you, ”what’s the occasion?”

You stared back at him, trying to discern whether or not he was messing around with you, but his eyes seemed honestly surprised and maybe even a hint confused. ”It’s—it’s your birthday, Frank”, you stammered, your internal alarm bells going off. Shitshitshit, it’s too much, you did way too much!

Frank covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh. ”Goddamn. It is, ain’t it? Shit. I haven’t been keepin’ track of the days at all lately”, he snorted, and at his amused reaction, you managed to relax a little. Maybe it wasn’t a lost cause yet.

”Yeah, so… I didn’t want to do anything too overwhelming. I just thought I could feed you for once and—and there’s cake for dessert”, you explained hesitantly, and if only you hadn’t avoided his gaze, you would have seen his eyes visibly soften, his lips twitching with a small smile.

”Hey, that’s really fuckin’ sweet of you. Wow. Dunno what I did to deserve this”, Frank exhaled, a little taken aback but letting his smile take over — a good sign in your books. Even more so was the way he stepped over to you and gently cradled your head so he could kiss your forehead, brief but sweet and definitely welcoming blush to your face.

”You didn’t have to do anything, Frank. But for the record, you do a whole lot. You keep this city safe. You keep me safe. You bring so much peace to more people than I can even imagine, and you don’t get any thanks for it. And beyond that… you’re a good friend. And a good person. And I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really appreciate and cherish you and I—I don’t know what I’d do without you anymore”, you rambled away, your heartrate picking up when he chose to stay right in front of you, his hand fallen to your neck as he stood only inches away.

Frank nodded slowly. ”No one’s told me anythin’ like that in a long time”, he admitted quietly, and for a second, you wondered if you had broken a boundary. ”Thank you, sweetheart. Can’t tell you what it means to me”, he continued, however, calming your nerves just enough to crack a smile at him.

”Well, we might have to reheat the food but it’s a good thing you brought this over”, you cleared your throat and gestured at the wine, and with a soft chuckle, Frank nodded.

”Hey”, he spoke once more, and instinctively, you looked up at him, despite the immense feeling of vulnerability that rendered you silent under his gaze. ”I’preciate you, too.”

With a shy smile, you placed a hand over his heart, and hoped to radiate all the warmth, gratitude and love you had for him.

”Happy birthday, Frank.”

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 5: Man Of The Hour

Life is mildly less sucky with depression being more managed (also the mood boost from Renaissance Faires 😁) and my weekends being free again for me to travel to see my person. Still full of dumpster fires but I want to scream about it less. Also, been in feels very similar to the ones that inspired this whole endeavor so... enjoy?

Anywho, here's part 5! Enjoy, my little nerdlings. As always, feel free to yell at/with me in the comments, tags, reblogs and/or ask box. If you see any mistakes feel free to message me about them. 😬👌

Part 1: Hop Fucks Up, Part 2: Pride and Prejudices (Joyce Edition), Part 3: One of Us, Part 4.1: With A Capital P, Part 4.2: Robin's Boy

Steve Harrington was an odd duck. That's what his grandmother always used to say. She would pat his already proudly coiffed hair as he hung off the arm of her rocking chair and tell him as much whenever his parents took him to visit. He would beam at her with his big (reportedly pinchable by every aunt and grandmother in the family) cheeks and quack at her before cracking up at himself like he told the funniest joke and she would let him laugh until he rolled himself off her armchair to the plush carpeted floor. She would laugh and reach way over the arm of her chair to poke his stomach or cheek or nose, sometimes just his little forehead, before leveraging herself up out of her chair and taking herself to the kitchen to boot his mother out of it. Steve Harrington was a certified 'odd duck'.

Steve isn't sure, as he sits in that old rocking chair he had stolen liberated from his parent's house when he moved into his new apartment, when he became whatever he is now. He slowly rocks himself back and forth, the chair creaking a little as his weight shifts. The kids and other teens are chattering on the walkie but it's nothing too pressing, just nonsense and junk food emergencies, Mike cursing out Hop. His ribs hurt and his nose is sore but it doesn't feel like anything is broken. It sucks he knows what broken feels like. It sucks that Robin is kind of mad at him for getting hurt enough Owens pulled rank and had him dropped off at home and assigned someone to be the Party's chauffer for the rest of the day. It sucks that all the kids have their own plans tonight, leaving him to try and find ways to keep himself distracted without their usual insanity. A lot of things just kind of suck these days.

He feels himself smiling and picks up the walkie to confirm that he was alive and resting like ordered when he hears Dustin bickering with Robin about invading his apartment to check on him. That doesn't suck he supposes. He knows Robin and the kids care and he knows that eventually the soldier tasked with driving his hellions around is going to be bullied into driving them to see him, other plans be damned and the thought makes him smile.

The smile drops when he hears what sounds like a soft knock at his door. It's too sharp to be Widow Bea two doors over who leans on her walker and kicks the bottom of his door with her soft leather slippers that belonged to her late husband when she needs him to fix a cabinet or mix batter for whatever pastry she was making that week. And it's not the distinct pattern of Clara Damon from down the hall who will come and tap at his door to ask if he has an extra cup of sugar or spoonful of flour as she bats her eyes at him simpering about how she's making cookies or a pie or a casserole of some kind and inviting him to dinner with her and her folks to have some. He's always got an empty pantry and a surplus of plans when Clara Damon comes knocking. He and Widow Bea have standing poker nights with the other older ladies who all meet at the recreation building.

(It used to be the Harrington house. But his parents decided to sell to prove a point when they up and kicked him out and Owens needed a place to set up a promised recreation space and the gym was already a relief supplies warehouse.)

But the knock at his door isn't either of those. It could be someone else in the building. Could be one of his neighbors who have started to associate Steve Harrington with fighting mutated wild dogs caused by government experiments gone wrong and hauling around kids who seemed to cheat death and holding I.O.Us signed by the U.S army instead of the absent Harrington socialites who are known for swanning into town, flaunting their wealth and making themselves scarce again. The ones who he can sometimes hear whispering about him as he makes his way down the street or through Melvald's.

The knocking comes again, louder this time and firmer. It could be a lot of things and he doesn't want to deal with any of them.

Steve sighs, it could be important. He gets up to answer the door, breathing slow and shallow and letting himself lean on walls as he makes his way to the door. A third round of knocking and he's starting to get tired of it. He takes a slightly painful breathe to call out to whoever is trying to knock down his door to calm themselves down when, "Hey kid, Harrington, you in there?" That stops him a foot from his door.

His ribs hurt and his nose is sore and his leg is throbbing where a demodog got a lucky swipe on the meat of his thigh. But nothing is broken. His leg will be fine in a day or two. He hates that he knows what broken feels like. He hates that he knows what infected feels like. He hates that he knows the stone in his stomach and the clenching vice around his lungs has nothing to do with his injuries. His ribs scream at him when he pulls himself as tall and straight backed as he can, shifting himself so his weight is on his good leg and he can (hopefully) use the hallway wall and doorframe to support himself long enough to talk to Hopper and send him on his way.

He opens the door with a smile and feels himself falter a little when he sees Hopper standing there in a big tan canvas jacket and baseball cap and he's reminded of the times the older man would show up on his parent's doorstep with the same look on his face asking questions Steve didn't always know how to answer.

"Hey, Hopper." His voice is light and smile wide and loose and he just needs to keep this up. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Heard you got a bit banged up on a patrol?"

Steve shrugs. It takes more than he'd like to hide the pain that causes. "Just a couple bumps and bruises, nothing I can't walk off after a decent night's sleep. Owens is just paranoid these days, ya know."

"Owens huh?"

"Uh, yeah? That's who told you right? Cause I took a couple hits?" Hopper doesn't say anything, just looks at him with something that Steve might have once thought was concern about his potential injuries. He doesn't know why today of all days Hop decided to show up cause he got knocked around a little more than planned but it doesn't bode well when something in his face shifts and he lets out a tired sigh. "Oh, but don't worry!" That came out louder than he intended. "I'm totally fine. Like I said, I just need to walk it off and I'll be back out there in no time. You don't gotta worry about a thing, I've got it handled. Like I said, Owens is just overreacting. Nancy can cover for me tomorrow and then I'll be right back on the roster I promise. You and Mrs. Byers don't have to worry about a thi-"

"Steve. Shut up." He feels his jaw snap shut, the edge of his tongue and inside of his cheek getting caught in his teeth. "I didn't hear it from Owens. The kids told me. Owens knows you're hurt?"

"Uh, ye-yes sir. He's the one who sent me home. Gave the kids a detail to transport them and keep them protected while I'm out of commision. One officer to drive them around and they're being tailed by at least 3 others in case anything happens."

"Four soldiers just to replace you?"

"Oh they're not in that much danger! I'm perfectly capable of watching them usually, its just that Owen's guys are still kinda green even this deep in. Most of them just can't wrap their heads around the whole 'other dimension stuck in 1983' side of things." Hop's eyebrows shoot up under the bill of his cap. "But again, it's fine! I always take point whenever we go into a new sector and those guys are good as backup at least."

"But you're hurt." His eyebrows have come back down but now they're furrowed like he's confused or upset.

"Just a little!" He is not making things better. "I swear Hopper, you guys don't have to worry about a thing. I've got it handled, you don't have to-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington! Just shut up!" Steve flinches back, stepping further into his doorway as Hopper yells. The older man sighs, a big hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He tries not to think of the times Robin and the kids have made fun of him for doing the same, calling it one of his 'dad poses'. "Look, I didn't come to try and give you shit about getting knocked around a little being stupid and playing soldier. I came to- I was going to ask." He sighs and his shoulders slump a little forward and his eyes are focused on the toes of Steve's (very comfortable) bat slippers that had been a gift from Wayne once the kids had told him Steve had been the one to drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. "Did you want to come over for dinner?"

Steve doesn't think he heard him right. "What?"

"Joyce is making some sort of spaghetti casserole-"

"Isn't that just baked spaghetti?"

"And we wanted to have you over. We haven't talked much since I came back. I'd like to change that."

"What?"

"You, dinner, at our place? With me and Joyce and the kids? I think Jonathan is bringing Nancy." Steve flinches and Hop silently curses himself bringing up the ex who cheated on him and the guy she cheated with.

"Why?"

"Uuh... Talking?"

Ah, he had it now. "What did the kids do? Just, lay it on me man, and I'll take care of it. Did they say something? I can have them over tomorrow and talk to them. Was it Mike, it was probably Mike, I'll get him to apologize, just-"

"Goddamn it Harrington I just wanted to ask you over for some dumbass spaghetti casserole thing and a decent conversation. Maybe watch a football game cause no one else in that house seems to enjoy a good game."

Steve isn't sure what's happening. "You want me to come to dinner. To talk?"

Hop sighs again. "Yes, kid. Just. Dinner and talking."

"Uh huh. Right. I'm just- I just need a minute." He tries not to slam the door in the man's face but he's definitely trying to be as fast as possible. He's not sure what the hell is going on but it has to be something because Hopper wouldn't just invite him over. And Joyce Byers definitely wouldn't want him in her house for something as simple as a talk and to watch football. It takes him longer than he'd like to reach the walkie on the little side table by his grandmother's rocking chair. His ribs are screaming at him and his elbow smarts from banging it on the corner as he turned into the sitting room.

"I need some sort of backup at my apartment. Like now please?!" He waits a second before pressing the speaker button again, "Over."

The walkie crackles and he hears an assortment of concerned chatter. "Steve?" Dustin's voice breaks through the general din. "What's the problem? Over."

"I- I'm not sure how to classify it? I've Got Hop at my front door but I think there's something wrong with him? Or something is trying to trick me it's him? Oh shit did I get Vecna'd??"

"Steve," Nancy snaps, shutting up most of the chatter and giving his rising panic something to focus on. "Why do you think it's not Hopper? Or that he's not in control of himself?"

"He- He invited me to the cottage for dinner?"

"What?"

"Yeah just dinner and talking? And that- that's weird right?"

Nancy sighs and Steve hears Hop say something from outside his apartment. He's running out of time. "Why is that so weird Steve?"

"Cause he doesn't like me. And Joyce really doesn't like me." He feels like that's obvious. "They don't like me and they're busy with other stuff. They wouldn't willingly ask me over for dinner and football or some shit so something has to be up."

"Seriously kid?"

He doesn't scream as he drops the walkie-talkie, spinning around to face the voice behind him.

"You're calling an emergency cause I invited you to dinner?"

Again, he feels like this is obvious. "Yes. I don't know what happened but we're going to fix it Hop, I promise. Or, like, if you're something controlling Hop or wearing his face or some shit I will figure it out and I will find the most painful way to kill you."

Hop runs a hand down his face again, he's going to have so many wrinkles after this. "Fucking Christ, kid. Is it so crazy that we wanted to try and get to know you? Make sure you're fed and taking care of yourself since apparently Owens isn't making sure you're alright?!"

What the fuck?

"Yes!" That seems to make Hop take a step back. "I tried for years to try and get the slightest acknowledgement from you! I've spent the last year taking care of the kids and monitoring the gates and fighting Powell and Owens every time they decide to try something stupid and almost get their men killed cause I realized you never meant it!" God he can hear his voice breaking and feel the tears starting to roll down his face. "You never meant it. But you meant it for El and Will and fuck, even Jonathan. And they deserved that. They needed you and you couldn't be there if you and Joyce were fighting with Owens and-" He can't hold back the sob that rips out from deep in his chest. "And I don't- I can't- I just-"

"Hey, hey kid. I need you to breath for me. Okay? Can you just let it out in one push and take a deep breathe in."

There's a large, warm hand rubbing up and down his back. His running nose is throbbing, his sore ribs are probably cracked now from how tightly he's folded in on himself and his injured leg feels wet like he pulled the stitches when he dropped to his knees on the threadbare rug. There's a deep rumbling voice talking to him, telling him how to breathe and asking him to sit up, let go of the walkie he can hear crackling as people call his name and ask Hopper what's going on. It's all just too much.

Why?

"What was that, kid?" Oh. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Why?"

"I fucked up. I'm trying this thing called owning up to my mistakes." Steve lets out a wet laugh that turns into a pained groan when it shakes his ribs. "Come on, let's get you up here." He tries not to cry out when Hop lifts him up from under his armpits, pulling at his ribs, but he knows he lets out a sharp whimper. "You fuck up your ribs?"

"What do you think?"

"Yeah, dumb question." Hop chuckles self-deprecatingly. "Look, let's get your ribs wrapped and we'll get you down to the hospital to get checked out an-"

"No. No hospital. Can't do 'em."

"Kid you need to get looked at and maybe some pain meds and antibiotics while you heal up."

"No fucking drugs." Steve practically growls, his teeth clenched and eyes burning as he stares up at Hop. "I'll take your fucking antibiotics but I can take a couple of ibuprofen and call it a day."

"A couple of- What the fuck, kid? You can barely walk and you're telling me you're not in serious pain?"

"I've had worse."

"Bullshit." The kid winces and the look on his face closes off. "Stop trying to be a hero and just admit you need help." Steve rolls his eyes.

"I'm fine, Hop. I've walked off worse."

"Again, I call bullshit."

"You know how thorough our Russian friends could be."

"What?"

Steve shrugs, an angry grimace on his face. "Once you live through Russian military questioning and hiking through Upside Down Hawkins, most everything after that's a piece of cake."

"Jesus Christ-"

"I don't think saying his name is gonna make him listen to ya now."

"Ya ain't cute, kid."

Steve gives him the same smile he always did whenever Hop crashed one of his 'King Steve' parties. "I'm adorable." He chuckles at himself and Hop finds himself laughing along at the kid's attitude. "What do you want, Hopper?" Steve's voice is quiet. It wavers in a way that tells him the kid is sad and hesitant and tired and Hopper can feel something niggling at the back of his mind. "You come over out of the blue asking me to dinner with your family like that's something we do. What the fuck man? What are you trying to do?"

"Like I said kid: I realized fucked up. Bad. And I'm trying to fix it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

Steve leans back, the rocking chair leaning farther back than Hop feels comfortable with considering the kid's injuries but he manages to not rock back so far he falls. "Alright then. So what do you need?"

Hop can't follow this kid at all and he's not sure when that happened. If it's always been like that. "What are you talking about kid? You're the one that's all beat up." His mind goes back to swollen eyes and bruised knuckles covered in a rainbow of haphazardly placed bandages being fussed over by a group of dirty but uninjured kids. Bloody sailor uniforms rounding up rowdy kids without a mark on them despite obvious injuries and a slight limp and what might be bruised ribs. Bandages being removed to expose red raised around a strong neck that looks like someone took barbed wire to it and bulky bandages poking out from beneath stolen shirts. "What are you talking about what I need?"

Steve lolls his head to look at Hopper. For the first time all evening his eyes are trained on the older man unflinching and not anxiously darting away. His smile is more a resigned grimace. "What do you need to get Robin -and I'm guessing the kids- off your back?"

"It's not just because of them."

"But it is because of them."

"I want to make this right."

"It's not yours to fix, Hop. I've made peace with that. Thought I'd made that clear to the rest of them."

"I thought the kids didn't know."

"Not about you being my emergency contact and like, in charge of making big medical decisions if they couldn't get a hold of my parents. But that you'd stop by the house to make sure I hadn't like drowned washing my hair after I took a beating. That I put more stock in that than I should have."

"You were right to put stock in that stuff Steve. Fuck, if I knew anyone else in that situation I'd assume they'd basically adopted you. It makes sense."

Steve shrugs, wincing less this time. "That's life, can't fix it now."

"Will you let me try?"

"I mean. I'm giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card here man."

"And I'm not taking it."

"Well. It's there, whenever you decide to take it."

"Thanks but no thanks, kid."

"Hey, your choice Hop. Ever get tired of the boardwalk just say the word and it's yours. Do not pass 'Go!'. Do not collect $200."

"Monopoly, really?"

"My head may have gotten a knock too. Not a concussion but I'm a little... swimmy."

"Swimmy?"

"Uhm-hmm"

Hop chuckles, "You're an odd duck, kid, you know that? An odd, pain in my ass, duck."

Steve feels his face splitting in a wide smile that pulls at a small cut on his lip and lets his head fall back, his body finally starting to come down from the adrenaline rush that has been this entire interaction.

"Quack quack."

Tag list (I think this is everyone?)(If you see this post and your tag didn't work let me know cause they don't always work for me Idk why):

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @ohimamarigold @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus @wonderland-girl143-blog @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @steddie-as-they-go @steveshairspray86 @youdrewstarsxaroundmyscars @i-amthepizzaman @wormapothacary @croatoan-like-its-hot @maya-custodios-dionach @ineffable-monster-romancer @asquareinverona @ellietheasexylibrarian @pukner @bookworm0690 @nightmareglitter @joekeerysmoles @salchica @lawrencebshoggoth @iheartjennaaa @child-of-cthulhu @anaibis @rocochen20 @katdeerly @samcoxramblings @fiore-della-valle

[sobriety-circle]

The comments on this post make me so upset as a sober person because it proves that a lot of people who drink don't respect sober people.

The implication that I get from this is that all sober people need help, and that support groups are our only safe space. While a lot of people do reach out for help in a variety of different ways for different reasons, especially if recovering from addiction, there are plenty of people who don't need help, or have recovered enough to not need help. These people still need safe spaces. We should be able to access fun things safely without needing mental treatment. (Also there is a growing inaccessibility of queer centers in my area, and I'm guessing this isn't a lone situation.) (Maybe I read too much into the comment but my points still stand without the context.)

I love libraries. Great idea, libraries are a great space for everyone, but we need more than just libraries. We need places to eat, and play, and environments that stimulate things beyond what a library can do. I'm sure libraries also can help with resources for those who need, and we should make this information more public without stigma. Also SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL LIBRARY.

And that's your own choice to make! If you think I'm meeting people WITH alcohol, you're wrong. The difference is that people like you likely have an easily accessible space for that. Sober people have to try harder to find these spaces, especially as a queer person.

I'm sorry you feel attacked as a "bar enjoyer." You should not feel discomfort caused by other people for your own decisions. As sucky as that is, this goes both ways. Stop telling sober people to suck it up, or that they're missing out (real things I have been told). Sober people and even recovering addicts do not often have equivalent safe spaces as those who drink casually. If you don't want to hear us complain, help us build dry bars.

Hm. I wonder why it's stereotypical that sober people don't like going out. It's almost like some people don't feel comfortable being in non-sober spaces and feel attacked when we ask for a dry space to exist. I would love to go to a late night venue and get out more, but I can't do that without anxiety. Others can't do that without risk of relapse.

The sobriety community is a very diverse place. I've met right wing sober people. Even Trump himself doesn't drink (nor does Biden if you were wondering). So this leads to a huge need for not just sober spaces, but sober spaces for other minorities. "We need queer friendly sober spaces," isn't something that should be made fun of.

I won't be a person who insists that all people who drink need to get sober. All I'm asking for is respect and understanding. I don't agree with a drinking lifestyle for me, and you don't have to agree with the sober lifestyle for you. I am just frustrated that sober people raise some very basic points about how we have a hard time finding places, and we are met with underhanded backlash.

If you (or someone you know) is struggling with addiction and is looking for help, I support you. Recovery can be rough, but you're so strong, and life can be so much better in the end. The fight is worth it. Stay safe, speak up, and be strong 💜

[sabrondabrainrot]

🌞Sun isn't self-sacrificing 🌞

Let's talk about that.

Guess whom is back on her copium? This lady. Anyways, time for more rambles and brainrot.

Disclaimer: This is going to contain spoilers from tsbs, tsams, laes etc. but I'm keeping it pretty generic and vague. Just being polite and covering bases.

To begin with, Sun has shown some self sacrificing tendencies but what matters with a self sacrifice is intent. Our Sun in the show has not intended to die for another person. At least, the current lore Sun won't. I get the vibes Sun actually understands that everyone loves him and he wants to live and be with them.

Sun suffers from extreme self esteem issues. He's ok with grinding himself away to nothing if it means helping others, especially his family. He spent a majority of his life being terrorized and guilted by someone he loved with no real end in sight. On top of that, he was made to feel useless and stupid so he has a hard to recognizes he's already doing enough just by being.

Adding to this, just because he doesn't value himself that much doesn't mean he wants to die. At his lowest, Yes, he wished he was dead, but that doesn't mean he wants to die. Sun has a lot of life in him and a lot of love to give. When he's not being tortured Sun loves living.

When you think of someone who loves living with his family, it's hard to imagine they'd so easily die for them. We have to look at Sun's actions and words. My biggest example of this instance is the first time he planned to use Star Power to protect NM/Nexus, he didn't plan to die. He knew he might get hurt but he told NM/Nexus he wasn't aiming to sacrifice himself. He was trying to actually keep NM from sacrificing himself, like Old Moon. It's so funny how circular the argument in that moment actually was.

It's a similar situation to when he went rogue and wanted to kill the 2nd Eclipse. He told Old Moon "Screw being a hero!" To me, this communicates he isn't trying to do the heroic sacrifice or anything similar. He was labeled a bad guy by Lunar in their argument and decided to just lean into that "villain persona". This also plays into the fact heroes go out of their way to save lives but Sun is explicitly out to take a life. Now for a clever segway, the reason why I see Sun as not self-sacrificing is because he knows what he has to lose and he knows how it feels to lose everything. Old Moon made him feel that loss. Just the same as Old Moon taught him how to feel pain.

Sun's one of the gentlest and kindest people in the TSBS shows and that's due to him not ever wanting to make other feel the awful things he's felt. Most of his actions in the show are how he typically would want himself to be treated (Dark Sun waves in the background).

Just to add, Solar is SO similar to Sun. It's honestly so funny. He works so hard and ALSO grinds himself down to the bone just to be a bit helpful to the people he loves. He also felt the loss of a loved one's sacrifice and had to kill someone to defend himself. (IE Sun killing BloodMoon and Solar killing his Moon) He even shares a similar self esteem issue with Sun!

They're just two peas in pod, I love it.

I was planning to come in with a bunch of examples of character who ALSO have the self sacrificing tendency who aren't actually self sacrificing but I'm tired from a long sucky Monday so I'm gonna schedule post this and do my self sacrificer propaganda later.

But yeah, if Sun does die it probably won't be from a sacrifice. Even though most Sun's have a history of dying for others or being murdered early. I think it's so sad Sun's get boiled down to nothing but a sacrificial lamb to many Moon's bloodlust. Or they live long enough to be the plaything of a bigger/greater evil then Moon. looks at Servant Sun.

[base0h]

Hello, sorry if I boring you..

I just would like to have a request with sanji, luffy and ace react with a s/o who doesn't fight as much as possible, because she wants to pretend to be a weak person (she doesn't it AT ALL)

one day they are about to take a violent blow and their "weak" s/o imposes herself and keeps the enemy VERY VERY far away with a simple slap

Sorry if it’s a suck request.. 🙈

a/n - ohhhhhh my goshhhh- this idea??? 💜👀nono it’s not a sucky request at all! Tysm for the request anon!

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, overpowered reader (y/n is always so cool 😭)

You don’t fight as much as possible, not because you were weak. But because of the fact that fighting and battles weren’t your favorite thing. So why not avoid it in the best way possible? Pretending you were weak. You’d become quite the actor, easily persuading the entire crew of your supposed “weakness”. You knew that the love of your life, Sanji, would do absolutely anything to keep you safe. That’s what made you feel guilty, his loyalty and love for you. While you were pretending to be weak, the chivalrous chef always had to swoop in and save you like the prince he was. It was whenever he got injured for you when you could’ve easily defended yourself when you felt the guilt deep inside your heart.

Perhaps this facade should end, it was only costing your lover and friends to risk their lives for your safety. God, you felt horrible. You weren’t weak at all! The fact that your crewmates got hurt for you, because they thought you were weak made something burn in your heart. You could easily protect yourself and your friends, so why keep this play going? It was time to end it.

The strawhat crew was in yet another close battle, one that you didn’t think you’d make it out of unscathed. Your assumptions were correct, a marine was just about to land a violent blow to your head with their rifle. It was like everything slowed in your vision. Was your mind so much faster than the world? You could hear the faint cries from Sanji, begging you to get out of the way. That’s what made you snap out of it, flicking the back of your hand into the marines face instead. The soldier flew so far away you couldn’t even see where he landed. The impact of your blow was so powerful that a small gust of wind was felt around you.

No words could describe just how shocked Sanji was to see you completely destroy the soldier like that. One little flick of your hand was all it took to send the soldier flying.. His mouth was hung agape, his eyes as wide as you’d ever seen them before. He couldn’t move, so distracted from your hidden strength. Poor cook ended up being hit in the head by a metal javelin, being slammed into the ground harshly. You immediately went over to him, kicking the javelin out of the marine’s hand, grabbing it and slamming it into the soldier’s face. The blow launched the pitiful soldier far far away, maybe if you looked hard enough, there was a little sparkle in the sky from where he flew.

Sanji didn’t think it was possible to love you even more than he did. But, you proved him wrong. There isn’t a number to describe just how much the man loved and admired you. Everything about you was so perfect, even before he knew about your true strength. The way you smile, when you lend a hand with cooking meals, even the way you talked with him! Oh gosh- he could ramble on and on for decades about just how amazing you were. (Please go along with my thoughts 💀)

You ended up carrying Sanji bridal style, blocking every attack from all angles, the epic and cinematic slo-mo shot as you saved your prince <3 Sanji had that sparkle in his eyes, looking up at you with absolute amazement and love for you. To this day, he would never admit this… But, he would like to be carried by you once more 🙏

You never really got a chance to show off your true strength, not when Luffy was around at least.. He was already bouncing off, kicking ass before you could even lift a finger. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose- that was just your boyfriend being himself. Even when you tried to help out, Zoro and Sanji ended up taking over too!!

They all kept stealing all your thunder >:( even Usopp manages to pull through with his ginormous one-shot cannon more than you. You’d had enough! It was time for the crew to know that you weren’t completely useless in a fight.

Luffy was reckless, that’s just how he was, but he meant well! He got himself caught in a marine base, miraculously getting caught by every single guard stationed there. It was honestly amazing to you how he always, almost always got caught. You were hiding behind a crate of rifle ammo and other supplies, waiting for the right moment to strike and save your loveable idiot.

He looked towards you and smiled excitedly right before the guards cuffed him with sea stone. You motioned to him, frantically trying to tell him to not say anything, to BE QUIET.

“Y/N!!! Hey!! You came to save me?? Thanks!”

…

You sat there for a moment. Why was he always like this..? The guards started to aim their swords and weapons at Luffy, ready to strike in a moment. You rushed forward, and just before the soldiers struck your loved, your hand blocked their attacks. The impact of the blows to your hand were completely absorbed, you didn’t move a muscle, the swords unable to cut through your skin.

The marines audibly gasped, and so did Luffy. You slapped them all in the face, sending them flying into all of the crates in the storage room. Splinters, dust, gunpowder, extra swords, clothes, food, and other items flew around the room. You caught a stick of meat and went to go give it to Luffy.

His mouth was on the floor. Literally on the floor. His eyes bulging out of his head as he stood there in astonishment. You put the chunk of meat into his mouth and closed it for him, patting his head softly. He didn’t even start chewing until you started moving his jaw to chew for him.

“Luffy… You ok?”

“MHFM! HOUCH GOME YOUF HAND WAF BIKE SHEBSIBDFSJSHBDIENDJCH?!” (Y/n! How did you do that?! You slapped him and he went BOOOOOOM- THAT WAS SO COOL!)

The rubber boy was shouting with a huge chunk of meat in his mouth, so you didn’t really get anything he said.. You had to grab him and sling him over your shoulder as you both escaped narrowly. He was still yelling at you in gibberish, and you couldn’t really tell if he was amazed or extremely angry-?

a/n - Sanji needs to be carried bridal style pls

[dumplingsjinson]

Long post ahead, read if you want.

tw: mental health, mention of depression

So I've been very inactive these days, and it's because I am Dealing With My Issues irl, which is sucky and shitty and I'd really rather be living on Tumblr and writing prompts all day but sometimes... Life just doesn't allow that luxury. Especially when you're feeling stuck and your mental health is getting in the way of you functioning properly without feeling stuck in the same vicious cycles of your own brain's doing.

In all honesty, I haven't been feeling the best for the past few months, and I feel like my mental state has been on a decline, and I feel like it's gotten worse now that I'm in a relationship.

This is not to blame my partner or anything but to say that getting into a relationship involves your issues, that have always been there, surfacing properly. And when I mean surfacing properly, I mean you become so much more acutely aware of shit you've been able to suppress for a long time and never bothered addressing. You become aware of yourself as a person, you start to realise all of your flaws in such a vicious and cutting manner, and that shit hurts like a bitch.

You finally get to see a reflection of you, plus the issues you've been carrying on your shoulders for way too long.

I've been crying so much these days, I've been overthinking a lot, and feeling like complete and utter shit. I've been getting into more frequent fights with my mum, I feel like a failure in basically all aspects of my life, and like I'm not good enough, and like my insecurities are eating my alive, which isn't helping my mental state at all. My mood has just been on the low most days. I need constant distractions, otherwise I will have to sit with my own thoughts, and that scares the living shit out of me.

Because what do you mean I have to sit there and process my feelings? Eugh, brother, eugh! Fuck no!

But on a more serious note, all of this shit has finally got me up on my feet, so I'd do something about them and get the help I've needed for quite a long while now. My partner encouraged me to finally make this step, even though I have thought of seeking help for quite a while now but just never did so. It's mostly for reasons and the fact that I was scared 'cause I didn't know what it would be like to actually reach out and spill my guts out to some stranger.

I saw a counsellor at my university for the first time this week and it went better than expected. For one, I didn't cry during the appointment! He's a very nice dude, and it felt nice talking to someone who could put my thoughts in order and give me actual solutions. Venting to friends is nice, but it gets to a point where even that doesn't help, or you feel like you're bitching too much.

I did get told I could be heading into a depressive episode (fucking fun, I know) and my depression/stress score was pretty high, although my anxiety score isn't too high (which is surprise considering my overthinking), so we're trying to work through that.

Next appointment is in around two weeks' time, and until then, I live in my head once more and have to deal with my emotions without going into breakdowns every two business days.

I don't know when I'll be properly active on here. I've kind of just abandoned everything (this blog, my Discord server, my social medias) in the midst of it all, but I'll try to come back and post more often.

But yeah. That's where I'm at.

[days-until-burnout]

Day 14 -

Characters - Etho/Joel Words - 1,822 Time - 60 mins Content - Coffee Shop AU | hurt/comfort

The day went from sunny to stormy in a matter of seconds, not that his day had been any better either way. It was bleak already, the rain just added another layer of suckiness to it. 

Joel ran down the street, and practically burst through the door, freezing when he realized what he had done. He blushed, looking down and away from the startled eyes, turning around to close the door behind him, hearing the soft bell. He looked out the door window, cringed at how hard the rain was now, even though he could practically hear it over the quiet jazz playing in the background. He was soaked and he was mopey, and his day just continued to go downhill. 

Without looking at anyone, and everyone else looking away in pity, he made his way to the counter. As he breathed in and out to even his ragged breathing, he picked up the smell of fresh coffee and the very subtle milk scent and some hints of baked goods. His stomach grumbled at the thought of food, his body shivered for warmth. Past Joel, who was seven in the morning Joel, was probably laughing at him for not having stayed in bed as he had wanted. But he had tried to be good, went to his classes, went to the library to get some work done, went to more classes, all the while ignoring his phone. 

He went out of the flat because he wanted to feel functional, and because he just did not want to be in. 

He tried to not think about it. Not like he did not have enough things to be sad about already. 

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” 

Joel looked up, finding that barista with that bleached platinum hair. He vaguely remembered his friends talking about him, praises more than anything, but he could not for the life of him pin a name to the face. Or, well, to the eyes, because of the mask covering the bottom of their face. 

Their eyes met briefly, Joel swore to have caught a twinkle of mischief in them, then that could probably be chalked up to sleeplessness. His eyes flickered to the menu behind him, making a show to think what he wanted, though he already knew. 

“Can I get a large hot chocolate?”

He hummed, pressing something into the screen, “Alright, one large hot chocolate. Would that be all?”

“Add a chicken salad sandwich, thanks.” Joel looked around the display of baked goods as he fished out his wallet, deciding against it for now. He was in no mood to joke, but he still tried to amuse himself, if anything to feel better about himself. He smiled, catching his eyes, “It’s my birthday. Got any discounts you can give me?”

The nameless barista paused, hand still on the screen, then resumed. “I’m afraid not. But there is a college discount if you have your ID?”

Joel showed his ID, the barista nodded.

“By the way, are you planning to stay long?”

Joel blinked, confused. 

“Oh, I mean, to study. People tend to stay a couple hours to study and stuff. Got free wifi and it’s cozy too.”

Joel glanced at the time, then looked back outside to see the rain. He turned back with a chuckle and a shrug, “I guess so. With this rain.”

The tall guy nodded, “Well, then, I will leave your tab open so you can keep ordering if you want, and just pay before you leave.”

“Wait, what? You guys do that? Like, like in bars?”

White hair guy nodded, “Yeah, happens often enough so why not. Plus, most people are students, so not that hard to track down if it comes down to it. I’m a student too, so.”

Joel was baffled, but he still nodded. “I, well, alright, I guess? I’ll, uh, sit over there. Wait– No, I’ll wait—”

Kinda-nice voice guy chuckled. “Nah, I’ll bring it over. It’s not busy.”

With a nod, Joel was on his way. He picked a booth, hidden from the other customers, shrugged his soaked jacket onto one of the seats, stretching a little, then quickly filled the table with his work. His laptop and tablet, books and papers, pens and pens and more pens. He might as well get some work done until the rain stopped or lighten up. 

Not like he was going home, nor did he want to. 

He shook his head, put on his headphones and began working. 

At some point, the kinda barista walked by, dropping off his drink and food. Joel looked up, seeing an extra thing, and before he could say anything, the guy was gone. With a raised brow, he pulled the little dish closed, finding a little lava cake and a little note saying ‘Happy Birthday. It’s on the house :)’. Joel wanted to cringe, because he did not want to think about his birthday, which he probably should not have mentioned in the first place. Then he realized he did not even tell the guy his name. Oh well, that was a fair exchange, given he did not remember his name either.

It was stupid. But his drink was nice. And he might as well eat the cake, which was also fine. Whatever. 

It was whatever. 

He went back to his work between sips and spoonfuls of cake, then moved on to the sandwich which was also fine. He lacked appetite, but he knew he needed food. He ate to not have to worry about it, then sunk into his work for however long it took. 

>>>

Which was a long time, it seemed. Because Joel woke to dimmer lights and no music, only some sounds he could not register, and… something on his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes, mind slowly watching up and finally realizing that he was hearing sweeping and the thing on his shoulders was a coat. He yawned, then panic looked at his phone, eyes going wide at the time. 

“Oh, look who finally woke up.”

Joel looked up with wide eyes, going wider when he saw the kinda-cute barista without his mask. Smile on his lips, twinkle in his eyes, and just—

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll leave. I—”

“You’re good,” the guy chuckled, and Joel blushed, “it’s still raining anyways. I can give you a ride, unless you’ve got someone to pick you up.”

“I– No, it’s okay. I’ll find my way home.”

“Nah, I’m actually locking you in until I’m done closing up.”

The evil barista winked then walked away, Joel took a couple seconds before his mind kicked into motion. He shoved his things into his bag, the coat falling from his shoulders when he got up. The grabbed it, shuddering when he grabbed his still wet jacket, sliding out of the booth to an empty coffee shop. It was so very dark outside, which was definitively not a good sign. 

“Sorry, can I pay now? I’ll get out of your hair now. Sorry.”

“Oh. You’re too late. System shut down already. Guess you’ll have to wait until I’m done so I can do the transaction.” The guy laughed, almost amused, leaning on the broom as he looked at Joel… well, amused. Joel made some sort of face, because he laughed again, smitten. Which was probably in Joel’s head, seeing as he just woke up. 

He shook his head, placed the coat in the nearest chair, “Okay, alright, you’re being weird now. I’ll come back to pay tomorrow. I’m gonna go now.”

Of course Joel did not. When he tried to pull the door, it did not move. And when he tried to pull it, it did not budge either. He blinked a couple times, then turned to looked at the barista, his captor. He blanked when he saw his raised brow, almost confused. 

“I did say I locked the door, didn’t I?”

“This is called kidnapping.”

“No, it’s called an intervention.”

“To what?!”

“To walking in the rain. It’s not good for you. You don’t even have an umbrella. So unprepared, you’re lucky you’re cute though.”

“What are you going to do to me? Kill me? Sex? You want sex. Money? I’m broke, so sex.”

His evil captor had the gall to laugh, shake his head then continued sweeping. “You looked sad.”

Joel’s voice became small. He thought he did a good job hiding. Had he not? This– No, no, this could not be happening. He was hiding it good. No one noticed. No one. Which was why he muted his phone, because no one would notice. Which is why he did not go to class but simply hid around campus, because no one would notice. No one was supposed to notice. No one.

“When you walked in, I don’t know, you looked sad.” The mind-reader said, walking away to put the broom away, but his voice was as loud as if he were standing in front of him. Everything was so quiet, except the pouring rain outside. “And you looked very sad when you said it was your birthday too. Dunno if you meant it or not, but yeah. It’s probably not my place. And I’ll unlock the door if you really want to go. But my offer stands. I will drive you home, or I can drive you wherever you want. We can drive around until my car runs out of gas if that’s what you want. But I really don’t want you to go out and get sick.”

Joel looked up when the barista walked closer, and his eyes finally glossed over the name badge, Etho. 

“So,” Etho said, holding the keys in one hand, his coat in the other, “what do you want to do?”

Joel dropped his head, almost ashamed of this state. He should leave. Get home and… and what? Face Grian and Jimmy? Check his phone and explain why he did not answer anyone? Do his homework? Hide in his bed and cry his eyes out? Was that what he wanted?

Was this what he wanted?

“Do you leave alone?”

“I don’t, no. But I can sneak you in if you want. My flatmates are probably busy or sleeping already.”

Joel nodded, “I’ll stay.” 

The coat wrapped around his shoulders again, an index lifting his chin tenderly. He wanted to cry, badly. 

He did not, though there probably would be time to do so later. 

“I’m Joel, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know, I remember.”

Spending his birthday with a stranger sounded like a bad idea. A really bad idea. But at least he was not alone. It would be alright, maybe. 

Etho pressed a hesitant kiss on his temple, brushing his cheek with the back of his finger, “Sit down, now. I won’t be long, I promise.”

It would be okay, he decided as he sat down. As long as he was not alone, it would be okay. 

_____

uhhhh half-assed joel birthday thing? because.... well... yeah. there is definitively not a theme lately. hah 😪 anyways. i go sleep now

[wearequeer-andwearehere]

hii there! :)

can i b a trans guy without medically transitioning? i cant for a good many years, but also,,, i dont want to (i have several adjacent health issues that would make it difficult, also i’m neutral abt my body - i dont really have dysphoria over it and it doesn’t bother me). but i’m terrified that i’ll never be taken seriously. i don’t mind being misgendered by strangers or acquaintances (i’d actually describe myself as genderqueer if i technically had to, it’s not the label i identify with but it makes the most sense like objectively. i’m happy w/ he/him but ok with they, she, etc), but i would like it if my friends would see me as a guy. but i’m also scared to even like, ask that of them. bc i really really don’t look like a guy, or even slightly androgynous, and i kind of have this sucky internal mindset that i won’t be seen as a real guy unless i make an effort to look like one, even though that’s not what i want. i’m working on it, but it’s also… my romantic life plays a big role in it. i’m currently identifying to a lesbian to my friends bc i like girls. and it’s just girls that i like. so if I live true to myself and do say that i’m a guy, I’m also like… who would want to date me, because i’m a guy who uses he/him pronouns and ‘male’ terminology like boyfriend, but physically, i have a lot of ‘girl’ features, like big boobs, and i don’t want bottom surgery either (neutral abt my body), so i just really don’t know. it’s really hurting me bc when i realised I was queer i thought I’d find a home in the queer community and i did, for the first time ever, but as I’ve thought about my identity a bit more all my queerness causes me is stress bc I’m constantly worried that no one not even other queer people will ever take me seriously or allow me to use the labels I use or will ever want to date me (bc… like, I’m not straight, but also how can I call myself a lesbian if I consider myself a guy? It’s all complicated, to me, but I feel like I’ll be ostracised from lesbians for not being enough of a girl — even though my gender is complicated and trans guy is just the best way to explain it and the best label that fits for me — and ostracised from trans people for not being trans enough and ahhhh I’m just. Really stressed about it all, and am constantly wishing I could just be true to myself, even within the queer community, but don’t know how to…

Hey, listen to me. You have a place in the queer community, okay? If you say you’re queer, you’re queer and we love and accept you.

Yes, you can ABSOLUTELY be a trans guy without medically transitioning! I understand with health issues it can be difficult for some people. However, you do NOT need to justify your choice to me, or to anybody, okay? If you don’t want to medically transition, then don’t medically transition! That’s the end of it. Being trans is about just being Not Cis. Transitioning medically is part of it for some people, but maybe it’s not for you, and that’s okay! You can still be trans.

A lot of queer AFAB people who start to realise they might be more masc aligned start feeling guilty, wondering if they’re predatory. I also experienced this. I used to identify as a bisexual girl, then nonbinary, then I started realising I felt more like a guy. I was terrified. I didn’t want to be a creepy straight guy, I didn’t want to make the women around me or women I was attracted to feel unsafe.

Eventually I realised, it’s not BEING MALE that makes you creepy, it’s being a CREEPY guy. It’s a mindset that’s a bit hard to put into words. Being male and being attracted to women is not inherently creepy. It’s only creepy if you’re weird about it, and it’s very easy not to be.

Some lesbians might ostracise you, that’s true. However, the vast majority of the lesbian community has a long history of transmasc and trans guy lesbians. The queer community is about love and support no matter your identity. You are loved.

Seeing someone as a certain gender because of their body parts is something people can get over. I might look feminine, but I know my friends and partner see me as a guy because that’s who I am to them, a friend, a brother, a boyfriend.

If your friends can’t see you as a guy because of something as unimportant as your body, then that’s on them.

“Who would want to date me” there’s people who would, trust me. Look, when you have low self esteem, especially if you’re trans and your self hatred is related to that, it’s hard to believe you’re loveable, but believe me, you are.

I still struggle with dysphoria and wonder why anyone would love me when I’m a guy but I feel like I don’t look like one, but my partner always assures me I’m loveable, and you deserve that too.

Trans people can find loving, caring partners who love you not inspite of your transness but because it’s part of who you are and they love YOU.

Kid, be yourself. You’re welcome in the queer community. Be true to yourself, be who you are, and you’ll find the right friends and the right partner.

I hope you have a good day/night, and I’m sending so so much love. May a ray of sunlight shine upon you sometime soon, my friend. Sending warmth <33

[eluminium]

Oh boy, day 4 of Skizz week 2! I decided to dip into one of my AU's for this one! It's basically Pearl Moon: Ace Attorney. Yep, Hermitcraft Ace Attorney AU. This fic is more like a missing scene thing rather than a preview, though. So fair warning, this fic includes depictions of injury, detention center things, and references to death and executions. If you're sensitive to any of these topics, proceed with caution!

Feel free to ask me about this AU if you're curious and want to know more!

As always, thanks to @skizzlemanweek for today's prompt!

Prompt 4: Warm / Cool

The stale air is a lot cooler than he remembers it being. He drags a big breath into his lungs and holds it there for a few seconds, just to feel how his insides numb ever so slightly. It's preferable to the stabbing ache in his chest that threatens to consume him. But he can't hold the air in forever.

He huffs his breath out and rolls onto his side, the unforgiving metal of the detention bed forcing more cold into his body. "How did I get into this mess?" he mumbles to himself, despite knowing full well how he got here. How a decorated and respected detective of the L.A police force ended up in a detention cell just like any other suspect. He's gotta say, it's way suckier on the inside than on the outside. It smells like someone poured disinfectant on dirt, and then dirt on the disinfectant, and then more disinfectant on the new dirt. It's never fully quiet, but it's not loud, mostly. Just enough noise to make you want to tear your hair out, then followed up by a spike in volume. Like someone breaking down into tears, or screaming in frustration, or swearing at you because you were involved in their arrest, or laughing at you because of how far you've fallen.

Maybe those last two aren't universal experiences, but they still contribute to the sucky atmosphere!

Skizz sighs and rolls over again, trying to get comfortable on something that isn't designed to be comfortable. Although somehow not even that is the worst thing. That honor goes to the heat, or more accurately, lack thereof. The soulless brick walls carry through them a chill that is just potent enough to be uncomfortable. It leaves its mark across his hands, arms, and face, digging into the bare flesh and leaving him wanting someone to turn up the heating just a LITTLE BIT more. The pathetic excuse of a blanket sure as hell doesn't do much to keep it out.

But it's all worth it. For him. For Impulse.

Skizz's heart lurches at the mention of his best friend, his other half. He's probably in the hospital getting his injuries tended to. Good. Considering the last time Skizz saw him…

He runs into the bar, frantic, scaring the life out of Tango. Without a word but with a shaky hand, he points Skizz towards the hidden room, the one they make all the deals in. Skizz wastes no time. Behind the cabinet, down the stairs, through the door-

He has to strangle a yell at the scene before him. The room is busted up, bad. Decorations and furniture lay scattered and destroyed all over the floor. Two glasses are shattered by the big wooden table, whatever was in them spilled on the carpet. The scent in the air is disgustingly familiar and unmistakable. Blood.

His eyes frantically scan the room, and land on what he had begged not to see.

Impulse. Oh, Impulse. No. No no no no no no no no no-

Skizz nearly collapses by his buddy's body. There are multiple bruises already forming, his nose gushing blood and his lip cracked and busted. He turns him over, looks for any major wounds, for breathing, for a pulse-

It's there. It's shakey, but Impulse is breathing. It's hammering like a jackhammer, but his heart is beating. Skizz could cry in relief. One of Impulse's eyes is open but glazed over. Skizz can still see it though. The fear, the anxiety. He's scared.

"It's okay. buddy- It's going to be alright! I've called for backup, help is on it's way. You're safe, Dipple Dop, you won't be hurt anymore. I won't let you be hurt anymore"

A weak whine escapes Impulse in response, and it nearly breaks Skizz's heart. Who would do this? Who would dare do this to his Impulse?! He looks around frantically and spots another body lying further away. He glances back at Impulse and runs his hand through his hair soothingly (ignoring how blood coats it) before he stands up and heads over.

It's another face he didn't want to see but for different reasons.

It's Bdubs. Or "Junior". Or "Little Clock". Or whatever stupid criminal nickname he's got this week. The second in command to "Mother Clock", the head of a massive criminal empire. A man Skizz is unfortunately familiar with even outside his work as a detective. It looks like his criminal ways have caught up with him though, because he looks even worse than Impulse. He's missing more teeth than usual, his arm is bent in an unnatural way, and most of all, he has a giant bleeding wound on his head.

Wait.

A chill cascades down Skizz's spine. He looks between Impulse and Bdubs a few times. No, there's no way Bdubs is-

He surges forward to check.

No pulse.

Skizz shakes his head violently. No, he doesn't want to think about that. He did what he had to do. His hands land in his hair and he grips his locks hard. He did what he had to do. He did what he had to do!

He abruptly stands up. He can't stand still, can't let this anxiety carve out his chest like a knife through a pomegranate. He starts pacing around in his cell, his hands falling away from his hair as he crosses his arms.

He couldn't let Bdubs ruin Impulse's life again.

Can you really blame Bdubs if it is Impulse who committed the act?

"Shut up" He growls at his own brain. Impulse couldn't have done it. It's been years since- since THAT. Impulse was healing, he had gotten way better! Skizz saw it with his own eyes, he was there every step of the way. There's no way he'd- he'd get revenge on Bdubs now of all times!

You noticed that Impulse's knuckles were bruised. No one else in the building was harmed.

"Shut UP." His pacing increases in speed. Well, Impulse could be defending himself! Bdubs is criminal scum, and he was "betrayed" by Impulse too. Bdubs could be the one who wanted revenge!

You know that's unlikely. Bdubs has had a new fling for a year. Besides, his body was way more beaten up than Impulse's. That takes some intent, don't you think-?

"SHUT UP!" He roars, bringing his fist down on the detention bed. The CLANG! of the impact echoes throughout the cell block, and for once, it goes completely quiet. Skizz wants to scream.

Instead, he sits back down, cradling his now aching hand against his chest.

Impulse didn't do it. Skizz would rather die than suspect his other half of doing something so awful.

Then why would you take the fall for him?

"Because he'd get convicted anyways. No one would believe him," Skizz weakly reasons. His eyes sting.

Does it even matter if Impulse is guilty or not?

God, he fucking hates his inner conscious. But he thinks about it. Really thinks about it. He reaches into the core of his soul, trying to find any part of him that would give Impulse up.

…No. No, it wouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. Skizz swore to protect him, to keep him safe, to make sure no one would hurt him again. He PROMISED on that fateful night all those years ago, when he cradled his fragile and broken best friend in his arms, to never let anyone throw him away again as long as Skizz still walks this Earth.

Which includes Impulse throwing himself away.

A deep sigh leaves him as he nearly slumps over. The cool air feels way better on his skin now after all that pacing. But his chest has become nothing but an endless aching abyss. He doesn't want to die. He's no idiot, he knows that a crime like this will get someone the death penalty. He's seen it first hand, many many many MANY times. But when he imagines Impulse in his place, it rips him apart. Impulse lying hurt and scared in this cell. Impulse being forced up on the witness stand. Impulse being publically condemned by the Judge, the gallery, and the prosecution. Impulse walking up to the gallows.

Skizz buries his face in his hands, wincing when the hurt one makes contact. His breath hitches, and he fights back tears.

No. Never. Never that. He did what he had to do.

My god, look at you. When did you get so pessimistic? You have a defense attorney, there is hope.

He wants to laugh. Wow, now his brain wants to be nice? What a prick. But it's not wrong. Ms. Pearl Moon has taken his case. Maybe she and Gem will figure out the truth. Maybe they'll be able to save him. And both of them are friends of his and Impulse, so they'd never accuse Impulse of the crime. Maybe Impulse will be kept out of this, after all.

But in the worst-case scenario…If they do accuse Impulse…

He doesn't want to think about what he'll do then.

But he knows himself too well. He'll never let Impulse into the cool embrace of death as long as he lives.

He drags in another deep breath and keeps it in. The chilly air numbs his insides again. Anything to keep away the crushing tension in his heart.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Soul Survivor: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Sam begins the process of curing Dean while you sit back and watch Dean get worse before he gets better. One thing is for sure: you're going to have a lot of fun drowning his soul in pain.

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You're surprised Cas isn't around to give his input. Sam called Cas and told him to make his way to the Bunker to help, but without angel wings, Cas needed to find another way to get to the Bunker. He hooked up with an angel named Hannah because if Dean is a demon, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

Hannah doesn't spend a lot of time on Earth so she is new to driving. She tried using a map to guide her back to the Bunker but ended up making a wrong turn somewhere. She and Cas are stuck on some backroads in an area they are both not familiar with. She lays the map on the hood of the car and studies it while Cas is on the other side trying not to think about how sucky he feels.

He doesn't have his grace so whatever grace he stole before is dying out. Either he needs more of it or he is going to die.

"Sorry, I missed another turn. I have no idea where the main road is." Hannah sighs. "These things are so confining and primitive." She looks up and notices Cas' hunched posture. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" He doesn't answer her so she walks around the car to face him. "Castiel, it's time we stopped avoiding the obvious. You and I both know how to fix this—both you and the situation."

"I will not slit some angel's throat and steal its grace." She opens her mouth but Cas puts a hand up to silence her. "Before you say it, we definitely are not going to beg Metatron."

"What about helping your friend? What about sending the rogue angels back to Heaven? Your preference to die for your principles is very noble but it is meaningless."

"Then you carry on."

"I am not enough!" she shouts.

"Sometimes enough is whatever you have." Cas stumbles and Hannah grabs his arm to steady him. They look into each other's eyes thoughtfully, but the moment is ruined by Cas' phone ringing. "Sam?"

"Hey, are you still coming?"

"I'm a few hours away. Is the treatment working?"

"No, not very well. I don't understand. This isn't like how it was with Crowley. Dean is in pain. I mean, he's in bad pain. It's like he's barely holding on. Cas... I might be killing him."

You walk into the library to overhear Sam's side of the conversation. Dean dying for the second time wouldn't be a worry on your shoulders, but then all you'd hear is Sam's whining about how he lost his brother. He'd do everything he can to bring you back, and you're not about that. Dean can't die. This has to work.

"It might be," Cas sighs.

"Should I stop?"

"And do what? He's not possessed. Exorcism is out of the question. The ritual of purified blood is the only treatment I know."

"Did you not hear what I just said? I could be killing my brother!"

"Sam, he's not your brother. Not now. You have to be prepared for--"

"Killing my brother, I got it," Sam sighs.

You walk right up to him and snatch the phone from his hands. Not only does he have his brother to worry about, but he has you.

"Hey, Cas, Y/N here. Listen, I really don't care if Dean lives or dies. In fact, him out of the picture would make my life much easier. However, I don't want to spend the rest of my life with Sam whining and complaining about how he lost his brother. If there is another way to save Dean, then better let us know now."

Cas is shocked to hear you speak this way. Yes, he knew Dean become a demon as soon as Metatron killed him but he didn't know about your condition. The last time he was with Sam was when you were unconscious in one of the bedrooms. To hear you say something like this when he knows you're in love with Dean is jarring.

"What's wrong with you?" is all he can say.

"Nothing is wrong with me. This is the new me. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can move on with your life."

"Give me the fucking phone," Sam hisses and steals his phone back. You shrug and walk off to entertain yourself somewhere else. "I'm sorry about her."

"What's going on with Y/N?"

"Something happened to her, Cas. It's like all the good has been sucked out of her. Whatever made her, her isn't there anymore."

"Okay, we'll look into it when I get there. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay. I'll leave the entry unlocked for you. Just hurry, please."

Sam hangs up the phone and decides to check on his brother. You follow quickly with a popsicle in your hand to see what kind of drama they're going to create. Dean is slouched over in his chair with his eyes closed. If you didn't know any better, Dean is dead. Sam runs over to his brother and slaps his cheek to bring him back.

"Hey, Dean! Come on! Come back! Y/N, do something!"

"Why?" you ask and lick your popsicle.

"No," Dean whispers.

"Come back to me. Hey! Dean, are you okay?"

"Yeah, if you consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils 'okay'."

Dean coughs as Sam takes a step back from him.

"Look, I can't stop doing this."

"Sure you can. You just stop! There's no point in trying to bring your brother back now."

"Oh, I will bring him back and then both of us are going to bring Y/N back."

"Good luck with that," you scoff.

"Fun fact, Sammy, your guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been MIA for quite some time now. I'm loving the new model: Lean, mean, Dean. Did you notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible? Away from your whining and your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just tired of babysitting you or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since forever." Dean laughs at the pain on Sam's face. "Maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn't for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life!"

"Ouch," you say and sit down. "Are you gonna take that, Sam?"

"This isn't my brother talking," Sam says and ignores you for now.

"You never had a brother! Just an excuse for not manning up. Guess what: I quit."

"No, you don't. You don't get to quit. We don't get to quit in this family! This family is all we have ever had!"

"Then we got nothin'."

"Would you say that to Dad?"

"Dad? Oh, there's a prize," Dean scoffs. "There's a man who brainwashed us into wasting our lives fighting his losing battle!" Sam turns away from Dean and prepares the next syringe. "Oh. Ooh. Is this you manning up?"

"This is me yanking your lame ass out of the fire." Sam turns and jams another needle full of blood into Dean's arm. "You're welcome."

Sam leaves his brother gasping in pain at the job the purified blood is doing to his body. You get up and go to follow Sam but turn at the entrance to the dungeon. 

"I hope you get cured."

"Why?" Dean coughs.

"When your pretty little soul is restored to what it was before, I'm going to have such a fun time drowning it in pain. You're gonna become my new favorite toy." You wink and suck on the popsicle. "See ya."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[ae-azile]

About 15k into Chapter 29 of Progression, so I figured I would share another scene as an apology for my tardiness. Definitely going to be a long chapter, unless I split it. Trying not to do that though.

The Updated and Still Complicated Family Group Chat

Khun: Arm and I are embarking for our trip tomorrow night! You know what that means!!!!!! 🪨🍃😈🥬🟫

Nalin: Weed brownie night?!?

Arm: Please tell me you didn't add my younger sisters to this group chat.

Khun: Well, I didn't add Preeda! She went to rehab! 😱 Mustn’t tempt her. But of course I added Nalin! If Macau and Chay can be in the group chat, then she can be too!

Nalin: Don't be sexist, Hia. 🙂

Vegas: Someone needs to watch my baby.

Pete: Why is she only your baby when you talk about her?

Vegas: Because she's mine.

Malai: Someone needs to watch my babies too. I want to join.

Hansa: I don't mind watching the girls.

Vegas: Is my baby included with these girls?

Hansa: Sure. 🙂

Vegas: I want six references, your resume, and a background check.

Hansa: By tonight?

Macau: Hia, she owns a flower arrangement and gardening shop. Chill.

Vegas: I am chill. And reasonable.

Pol: I can sit out and help with the girls too. 🙂

Vegas: You can also give me six references, a resume, and a background check. 🙂

Pete: It's literally Pol.

Vegas: I don't know him like you do.

Pete: Consider me his and Hansa’s first reference.

Khun: Consider me their second! 2️⃣🥈🕑

Porsche: I'm their fourth!

Chay: Hia, you skipped a number.

Porsche: He wouldn't have even noticed if you hadn't pointed it out, brat. 🙄

Chay: Sorry. I guess I will fill in the third spot, then.

Kim: I’ll fill the fifth.

Chay: Hia, switch spots with Kim so we can be next to each other.

Porsche: No. I went out of order and called fourth for a reason. It's mine. 😏

Macau: I’ll take the sixth spot so Chay can't grab it!

Porsche: Good thinking, Macau!

Kim: ?

Chay: 😤 🖕🏽

Vegas: Macau, just because you are close with Nalin doesn't mean you know her sister well enough to be her reference.

Arm: Define “close”.

0272781005: I’ll call second!

Kinn: Whose number is this?

Khun: I demand that you reveal yourself!!! Arm! Do a search and find out who this intruder is. 😡

Arm: It's a number provided from a text app.

Arm: The text came from the property.

Khun: PA?!?!?!?

0272781005: Nam. 🙂

Porsche: MA?!?!?!?

Chay: MA?!?!?!?

Khun: Everyone stop! It might be Pa playing a trick to test us! Play it cool!

Khun: Oh, silly Pa! You know Namphueng can't talk! She sits there and says and does nothing! Such a bore! 🥱

0272781005: If Korn enters chat, I will stab. 😌

Pol: 😳 That sounded like her.

0272781005: Hi, son!

Porsche: Ma?

Chay: Ma?

0272781005: I am adopting Pol soon. When I have answers. He's my future son. He already knows. I told him. Accept, thanks.

Porsche: Wow.

0272781005: He has no family! Sad for him! Sucky life. 😢

Pol: Wow.

Chay: Kim and I just got back from walking Koda and checked on Ma. Who gave her an ipad?

Arm: Not me.

Kinn: Not me.

Porsche: Not me.

Vegas: Not me.

Kim: Not me.

Chay: Kim, you told me you didn't in person. You didn't have to text it.

Kim: I just wanted to make sure Porsche knew.

Porsche: Aw, Kim. I feel so close to you recently. ❤️

Kinn: 🤨

Chay: 🤨

Pol: Not me!

Hansa: Not me.

Pete: Not me.

Malai: Not me, but Korn has infringed on her rights and she deserves communication with the outside world, despite the power he still holds over everyone.

0272781005: Friend. 🙂

Hansa: Malai, his sons are in this group.

Kim: We agree with her, it's fine.

Khun: I also agree that Namphueng should have all of the technology she wants! 😤

Khun: But I didn't give it to her either.

Arm: I am also in agreement that she should have a way to reach us, but also didn't give her the iPad.

Kinn: You sure? You have the most access to extra technology in the compound.

Khun: IF YOU ARE ACCUSING MY BOYFRIEND OF ANYTHING, I WILL RUIN YOU!!!!

Nalin: Fine. Preeda and I got it for her. She's our lesbian ma. 🥺

0272781005: Daughter!

Porsche: Ma, please. Nalin, while that was a nice gift, Chay and I should have been informed prior to her getting something like that. We have to be very careful around Korn.

Nalin: She promised to be careful with it! We downloaded some digital art apps! If Korn does happen to see her use it, Preeda plans on telling him that she downloaded the apps she uses for art so Nam can try new mediums!

Macau: They were being thoughtful. And they're right. Nam deserves to have a way to reach out to any of us, anytime she needs.

Nalin: 🥹 🩵

Macau: 🩵

Arm: 🤨

Chay: I think they're right, Hia. She deserves a way to reach out to us. She's gotten a lot better and she would be able to talk to Fern, Vegas, Pete, and Macau whenever she isn't at their house. It's time.

0272781005: I already made an email so I can make a YouTube account to subscribe to other lesbians. 🙂

Malai: As you should.

Porsche: Fine, Ma. You can keep the iPad. Just keep it hidden. And be RESPONSIBLE with it.

0272781005: I MADE AN EMAIL.

0272781005: BY MYSELF.

0272781005: 🖕🏻

Porsche: You found the middle finger emoji. Great.

0272781005:🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻

0272781005: Glad it's settled. I will bring ipad to weed night. So I can watch YouTube while I'm high.

Porsche: Ma, I don't know if that's a good idea.

0272781005: That's because it's not just good. It's great. Bye. I will get ready now. Meet you in ArmKhun suite.

0272781005: 💃🏻

Khun: How did she add herself to the chat?

Nalin: Preeda probably snuck into your phone and added her. She is the one who programmed everyone’s numbers into the text app.

Hansa: Sounds like Preeda.

Preeda: Sure does. 🙂

Khun: PREEDA! I REMOVED YOU SO WE COULD TALK ABOUT WEED WITHOUT TEMPTING YOU!

Preeda: I never stopped weed.

Malai: Which we don't condone.

Arm: ⬆️ What she said.

Preeda: You hypocrites are literally all gathering at Vegas’s to get high tonight. 🖕🏻

Preeda: I'm joining.

Khun: But you're so young…

Preeda: If I am not invited, then I will go hang out with Korn. Willingly. All night. Just for fun.

Khun: Ew!

Preeda: Your choice. 🤷‍♀️ Bye. 💃

Vegas: Just invite her.

Macau: Yeah, I would prefer her giggling because of a weed brownie than having a self-inflicted all-nighter with Uncle Korn. 😳

[psi-spectacular]

THE INTERNS, RANKED BY HOW GOOD THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR PARENTS ARE (Based on my hcs)

CW for mentioned emotional abuse and neglect

Morris - Despite being an orphan, has the best relationship out of everyone with his adoptive parents. He has two moms and they're butch lesbian rockabilly peruvians. Nuff said.

Gisu - Fatherless behavior. She's being raised by her mom and grandparents who pretty much let her do whatever she wants out of some unspecified guilt they never seem to want to talk to her about. But they're chill enough and she really can't complain, though sometimes she feels like they're avoiding her on purpose..

Adam - Suprisingly? Not the worst out of the interns. Still not good. I've said this before, He's got a lot of siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, ect, ect. Big extended family, Mostly on the very successful and gifted side. And he's... neither of those. His biggest achievements are being Truman's intern and that time he reached the quarterfinals of the county debate tournament. He's surrounded by ivy bound prodigies and musical geniuses and he's just... some history buff. He fades into the background noise, and feels like he's failing his parents. His father in specific.

Sam - It started out fine, but then Dogen accidentally blew up a bullies head. Then she was left alone for hours at a time when they were going to hospitals and lawyers and wherever else. She spent most of her days in the companionship of animals, almost always got up whenever Dogen was hungry or sick or had a nightmare, just to feed him and make sure he was okay. They basically treated her like a third adult when she was like 10, venting to her and letting her do most of the chores in the house when they were away, and they never really left her with a babysitter because she's "so mature for her age". It's left her with a very dysfunctional view of relationships and uses the animals as a way to feel like she has some control over her life and that she isn't a servant, she can lead too.

Norma - Her and lizzie's mom is preeetty sucky and pretty much parades her around as a way to say "Look! I'm not a transphobe! I let my trans daughter wear dresses!" Despite being pretty transphobic in secret and how she passes laws. Her mom sees most things as an exchange, and her and Lizzie always used to fight for her love through academics, But Lizzie's pretty much given up on trying to appease her, so despite her powers being seen as "less rare", she's the preferred child now. Though, in the back of her head, she desperately wishes she had her sister's freedom. Should I add the two of them had a catholic upbringing? Big amount of guilt on her end but at the same time a sense of superiority and entitlement. Raz makes her feel threatened in her status as "#1 student" and she's very aggressive about it.

Lizzie - She's just given up on her relationship with her parents. No matter what they do, she isn't going to go back to constant competition and stress. She'd rather be a high school slacker who hangs out with "the wrong crowd" (poorer punk kids who prefer to dumpsterdive than buy their clothes) and actually have a social life than fighting for the spot of "perfect precious angel child" for the rest of her life. No matter how many punishments they give her or how much they scold her for wearing "rags". But it stil hurts that they've stopped setting a plate on the table for her because "you're never home anyways."