#never change Bender...

[acrxmxnal-archived]

🐶- playful

🖌- Crafty

Bonus unlisted: 🍃- An absolute menace

"Dude....gross."

[opbau]

strawhats and bending elements for this au:

Luffy - water

Zoro - earth

Nami - water

Usopp - fire

Sanji - earth

Chopper - non-bender (reindeer)

Robin - non-bender

Franky - non-bender

Brook - air

Jinbei - non-bender (fishman)

little bit more explanation under the cut

Luffy

my man cannot turn water into ice or fog and doesn't have the strongest control in the world, but in terms of raw power? pretty fucking strong

to be clear, he can manipulate ice, fog, snow, etc. but he can't alter whatever form it's already in. Nami gets a headache if she thinks about it too long

learned a little bit of waterbending from Shanks, but never really had a teacher

Zoro

strong earthbender with much better control than Luffy

can only bend earth

metal, sand, gems- nothing. he is very much a one trick rock pony

he only learned the basics from his village's earthbending teacher and devoted a majority to his time to swordsmanship so. yeah

Zoro doesn't even know what the hell sandbending is until they get to Alabasta

Nami

one of the few strawhats to have a formal teacher and learn more than the basics

Bellemere was a great teacher. but. yknow.

Nami learned most of what she knows from waterbending books and scrolls that she stole over the years from other pirates and rich people. And she's learned a lot compared to the other strawhats.

To keep this brief-ish, she's practically a master at waterbending, save for healing. For the life of her, she couldn't really get the hang of it and none of the scrolls or books she had picked up over the years were at all helpful in explaining it. She's still working on it.

The unfortunate part of this is, while she has great control and precision over her bending, her power is... lacking. Which is where the 'practically a master' vs. 'an actual master' distinction becomes important lol

Due to amazing forethought, Nami is perceived by the outside world as a non-bender. Even some of her enemies think she's a non-bender. Nami really doesn't want people to know how good she is at waterbending because that would make her more of a threat and her pretty little heart wouldn't be able to take it if her bounty increased, Robin, so could you do her a big favour-

Usopp

christ where do i begin

the only firebender in Syrup Village. Yasopp is a known pirate and firebender.

Usopp never had a firebending teacher. He did, however, have ample amounts of earth and water benders to watch from afar. He taught himself bending, in a way that works for him. It is far from traditional firebending, but hey it works.

Somewhere along the line- maybe around Loguetown or after- he learns that firebenders really can shoot lightning and it wasn't just a myth. He blows himself up a lot trying to create it on his own before some lady on an island they stop at explains the right way to do it and demonstrates. Usopp still blows himself up, but now his form is correct.

While the other strawhats tend to weave their bending into their fighting styles somehow- or at least use it to aid them in battle from time to time, like with a boost into the air via rock- Usopp never uses his bending in a fight. He likes his bending and all, but he's the sniper and he has a bag of explosives on him so uh. No.

one day, post-Wano, Usopp has a really good day before bending practice and accidentally discovers his ability to combustion bend. He doesn't know it's combustion bending though, because all that comes out are little sparks of fire, like a sparkler. No one else knows either and he just uses it as a party trick.

Sanji

dear god this one is gonna be. AA.

all of the Vinsmokes are earthbenders. Sora is not. Sanji is.

After escaping onto the Orbit, Sanji decided the best way to never be found again would be to never bend again. Ever. (also because those 3 bastards and Judge were earthbenders and Sanji hated them)

He had an earthbending teacher, but anything that wasn't a superhuman feat was deemed a failure so Sanji never actually learned shit from that teacher. He also just wanted to cook all the time, so he never practiced.

Point is, when he's stuck on that rock with Zeff, he has the power and control to lift a rock, but nothing heavier than something he could physically carry himself.

Zeff is a non-bender. While the Baratie has it's fair share of benders, Sanji is Zeff's son and when Zeff offered to teach him how to fight one day, what was Sanji to do other than accept?

Sanji never told Zeff he was an earthbender, but he had a feeling Zeff knew anyway.

Sanji never told his crew he was an earthbender either. This was less of him actively hiding it and more out of habit. He loved them, but he didn't really see a need to explain it to them when it didn't matter. He wouldn't see his 'family' again and he could fight just fine without it anyway-

[Whole Cake]

Sanji: Hm. Hm™

He reveals he's an earthbender post-WCI. Zoro forces him to learn the basics and also adamantly insists that he knew the truth the whole time (he didn't. he's embarrassed). Zoro starts saying some super smug stuff now, like "is that any way to talk to your teacher?" and related lines. Think Zoro's thing about ranking and always insisting he's above Sanji and now that he's got the opportunity, he's gonna enjoy every moment.

(He's also gonna have some kind of earthbending specialty, but I haven't decided yet. Leaning towards metalbender though.)

Sanji faces the firebender rumours instead of Usopp. Both of them are incensed by this bc Sanji wants people to think he's a non-bender still (connection to Zeff) and Usopp is just mad people don't think he's a firebender (quite literally his own fault).

Chopper

always thought bending was cool even if he couldn't do it

Doctor Hiriluk was a non-bender too. Sometimes the two of them would talk and make up impossible scenarios that benders might do and laugh their heads off.

Doctor Kureha is an earth bender. She isn't a metalbender, but everyone besides Chopper thinks she is.

Robin

she comes from a long line of waterbenders, but she and her mother were both non-benders.

The scholars on Ohara were benders of all types and specialties. Fire, Earth, Water, Air all living in harmony and all that. Real shame. Anyway.

Because of Nami's "i'm totally a non-bender teehee" scheme, Robin has become the "strawhat's waterbending witch" that some people spread rumours about. The gist is that Nami begged her to help and Robin thought it'd be fun. Misleading people with her ability and those rumours never gets old.

Franky

non-bender in a family of 1) a fishman, 2) a mermaid, and 3) Iceburg (annoying waterbender his age)

Water 7 is known for a majority of their people being waterbenders. The Franky Family is mostly made up of non-water benders.

Franky didn't really care about figuring out bending as much when he was younger and after the Sea Train incident and he built himself back up, he couldn't bend a thing. He doesn't really know if he just fucked himself up hard enough he couldn't bend anymore or if he never could bend in the first place. He doesn't really care though, too busy being Super!

A lot of outsiders think Franky is an earthbender, specifically a metalbender, because of his whole cyborg thing. Also the no shoes thing. After joining the strawhats, the metalbender thing sort of holds up, especially post-timeskip with his General Franky.

There are also groups of people who are like "this guy is from Water 7, are you kidding? he's a waterbender for sure." They also point to the fact that he's always wearing a speedo and thus always ready to get wet.

The rumours are pretty funny to listen to and he and Robin love to just hang out on an island incognito (or as much as Franky is capable) and just listen to rumours about themselves and laugh about it. They share what they hear with the crew too.

Brook

he doesn't use his bending often, but there are occasions; can do loads of funny little tricks that he taught himself during That Time. He's also quite good at propelling his body high into the air for surveillance.

Not exactly a master airbender, but does have the basics down, like Zoro. There are attempts to mimic Sanji's Sky Walk- more for entertainment and curiousity than anything- with varying levels of success (Brook kicks himself too high, doesn't kick at the right time, etc)

Learned about 'gliding suits' (created after he died) and refuses to ever wear one. Adamant that if he must wear traditional airbending clothing, it's flowy stuff or nothing. (he's shy about form fitting clothing being too close to the skin. well, not that he has any-)

Jinbei

literally the exact same. Fishmen can do all the same things in canon, but they cannot be benders. Reason being: every single one of them is uhh, hmm. best way to say this is waterbenders, but to the left.

Fishmen can manipulate water with their hands but only if they're touching the element itself; they can't turn it to ice or anything like that, but the tradeoff is the immense amount of power and precise control they can more easily learn than humans... or smth like that

honestly, Jinbei's just here to chill in this au and probably unintentionally give Luffy bad waterbending advice (it's advice for Fishman Karate which isn't the same, but it's pretty close right? And Luffy keeps asking and insisting he teach him, and well, who is Jinbei to say no? Surely, Franky, who came to watch, will tell him if he's giving the wrong idea-)

Nami yells at both of them. Then yells at Franky because of his waterbender conspiracy theorists.

[dykeloid]

finally finished the latest season of futurama and I'm?? ??

[blacknailsandheartbreak]

Imagine the group cannot understand how you and Zuko are so close with you being a literal saint and Zuko being... well Zuko

AN: I am back! Man, it's been a hot minute since my last post! ...Lets not think about that because I am back! :) woo hoo

~1400 word count

Part 2 once your done reading :)

SO, lets jump in and see what this Zuko fic about??? Well, imagine this...

The whole group is together and you are the newest member joining from an encounter at a local market. You'd travel alone from town to town, trying to help in any way you can to help fix the wounds the war had created. You fit in well, very polite and nice, never showing any anger, but very capable of defending your own with a bow. You became close with Katara, almost like sisters. Though, unknown to the group that you were a fire bender, you wished to keep that a secret. Your nation had done too much damage and could not bear to be tied to such a name. You hadn't practiced in a long time and were contempt on keeping it that way. You were good enough with your bow, you could protect yourself without the aid of bending. But one person saw through your mask, the only other fire bender in the group. You had a feeling he knew, as he was finding ways to spend more time with you, offering to walk with you to the market, to fetch water or wood, and he seemed to only ask you questions while it was just the two of you. If he did know you were a fire bender, then let it be so.

You volunteered one night to gather firewood, and Zuko promptly offered his assistance, in your nature you gladly accepted, you did like the company. While you two walked, you held a wicker basket against your hip and did most of the talking. Zuko hummed in response, keeping note of their far distance from the camp. As the conversation seemed to die out, Zuko stopped walking and you walked a couple more steps before realizing his halt. You turn around and lock eyes, both of you stand straight and still like statues. You knew what was coming next, your hair swayed slightly in the wind, the setting sun leaving amber shadows across you both.

"You're a bender, a fire bender." Zuko states, no question to his voice. You couldn't deny it, there was no point, he knew. You looked at him and smiled. You confirmed his suspicions, and explained to him that you have been building a new reputation for yourself outside of a fire bender label, trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had affected. Zuko seemed sad, he apologized for his nation, our nation. He had promised things would change after Sozin's comet, once he overtook his father. You smile and agree that Zuko would make a fine Fire Lord, you talk to him about how much you believe can change. Ever since that night You two became close, very close. Close in ways the group could only suspect, but no proof.

On the last night of the Gaangs regrouping, before they had to pack up camp and keep moving, everyone had gone to bed, except for Zuko. He had a hard time trying to get to sleep that night, so he went out for a walk to try and clear his head. He sat by the nearby river and thought about what you had said, to rebuild a new reputation as to not be associated with the fire nation, start anew. Zuko balled his fists in anger at his country, the horrible things, unspeakable notions they had unleashed. Zuko scrunched his nose in disgust and felt the pull of his scar, a sensation that he was use to, one that would usually bring more frustration but only brought him sorrow tonight, as your words passed though his mind, 'trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had effected'. Zuko felt the shame of his land pile on his shoulders, but he decided to head back to camp before he got too far into his head.

Back at camp, everyone was in bed, Toph slept alone in her stone tent, the boys had their own tent, while You and Katara shared a tent. Katara took a leap on that last night and decided to ask you about you and Zuko. She thought now would be the best time over any. Katara looked at you laying with your back to her, she gently poked your shoulder and you turned over.

"Sorry for waking you, but I had a question and I hope you take no offence, but you and Zuko... you guys have seemed to be getting very close... so um... are you guys... you know... together...?" Katara asked you in a quiet whisper with wide curious eyes.

While Katara spoke, Zuko had made his way back into camp and heard the faint whispers. It was unlike him to listen in on others' conversations but they had obviously not heard him return, and he seemed to be the topic of their subject so he decided it was fair game to listen. He caught on quickly as it was something about you and him.

You smiled and replied in a steady whisper, "Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more." You and Zuko knew there was a bond beyond your secrets you shared, but you two were not together, just close.

Zuko had his arms crossed across his chest, he felt no offence towards the statement you shared, it was true, it was a neutral answer he could respect.

Katara responds "Oh okay... um if you don't mind me asking another question," You nodded her on, Katara continued, "Zuko and you seem to be very different, as in you are so... vibrant and kind, I don't think I have ever seen you mad." She said giggling quietly, and you smiled. "But Zuko... well you know Zuko, he only ever... scowls. Spirits, I think a smile might split his face in half..."

Zuko furrows his brows at the comment, and grabs across his mouth, 'I can smile', he thinks to himself, lowering his hand.

Katara continues, "and... and it's like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk..." Katara looks at you, "How do you- being your bubbly self, connect with someone like him? How can you talk with him for as long as you do when he seems to barely listens half the time?"

'Barely listen??' Zuko thought as his eyebrows shot up at the comment, 'Is she serious? How could she possibly think that!'

You smile at her observation, "Zuko is very kind to me," you say sweetly.

Zuko's face relaxes to your answer, and he uncrosses his arms.

You continue, "But you're right, he never says much, and yes, he is indeed quiet, but when one has gone through so much, it is understandable. We all know that feeling to some extent and we all have our ways of dealing with it. I have accepted how Zuko conveys himself as he had accepted me for how I present myself. But over all, yes, he does listen, even if it seems he is not, he always does." You conclude with a sweet smile.

Zuko is almost taken back from your answer in a way he cannot explain, but it feels as if an unknown weight has lifted off his shoulders from your response. He decided to leave the conversation there as he had heard all he needed to, and turned to walk away. But the next thing you said had caught his attention.

"Who knows," You add, "his ears are probably burning right now with the mere conversation of us talking about him...". You both giggle and say your goodnights. Zuko smirked and rolled his eyes and walked back to his tent. Although, as he replays the conversation over in his mind, something sits like a small rock in his stomach. 'Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more.' Nothing more, he thought over and over in his head, maybe with time that could change. Once Zuko becomes Fire Lord and is able to start the change that the world needed to heal, you would embrace your bending and be proud of your nation. But that would come in time, so for right now, he could work with good friends.

[bookdragonideas]

Here's the thing. I'm a girl, and as a girl, I really like it when girls are portrayed in fiction. Especially fantasy.

But so much fiction/fantasy mixes up 'girls' with 'unstoppable forces of female badass' and there's not necessarily anything wrong with having a character who is an 'unstoppable forces of female badass'. But it gets old real quick. And it is not the same as portraying normal girls, or having good female characters.

And that's one of the many reasons I love Avatar the Last Airbender.

Because all the girl characters have flaws and weaknesses and sometimes act like idiots or jerks. They get emotional and make mistakes. They lose fights or arguments or are just wrong sometimes. Some of them are amazing warriors, and some aren't. Some are powerful or special and some are normal, with nothing special about them.

And I Love that.

I was around the same age as Katara when I first watched Atla. And I instantly connected with her as a character. I loved her optimistic attitude and her fighting spirit. And I could relate with her anger, and with her maternal instinct. I admired her fighting skills of course, but I loved how the show portrayed her compassion and kindness, the way she could both beat up a bunch of bullies AND enjoy a relaxing day at the spa. She was a baddass warrior that should never be crossed. But she was also a normal teenage girl who had a lot of the same internal struggles and problems that I did.

(I never connected to Toph on the same level, but I did relate to her on a few things. She's an adorable trash gremlin who would commit any crime for fun and I love that. But she struggles with being both independent and letting people help her, and I still struggle with that sometimes. I've learned that sometimes, you can help others by letting them help you.)

Yue is, in my opinion, a perfect example of a type of hero that seems to be disappearing. She is not a warrior. She is not a fighter. She's not even a bender.

Yue is a perfect princess, a perfect daughter. She is extremely feminine in a rather older sense.

And she was the only one who could save the world. She gave up everything for her people. She saved everything, everyone, the entire world. Without ever becoming a fighter.

Yue is a perfect example of a girl who was never more than a girl, and how that's okay. Not every girl has to be rough and tumble and fight for her rights in order to change everything. Sometimes it's okay to just be a quiet obedient girly girl. Sometimes that's all it takes to be a hero.

And I love that. Yue is strong in her own way. She is unique and interesting. She appears in only a few episodes and yet manages to be one of my favorite characters.

Song is another great example of this. Song is a healer in a small town. We don't see much of her but we see her compassion and empathy. She is gentle and generous. A healer not a fighter.

She watches Zuko steal her ostrich horse and does nothing.

Is that because she's kind and generous and knows he needs it more? Or is it because she's a healer girl who knows she can't actually stop those two from taking the horse? Maybe neither, maybe both. I have always thought that the scene where Zuko steals the horse and only the audience knows she saw it is one of the most thought-provoking in the series.

Suki is a badass warrior woman who is an awesome fighter and good leader. She is one of the best non bender fighter we see in the entire show. She was one of the smartest, most efficient, and powerful characters we ever saw.

She kissed a boy she had just met because she thought he was cute.

Now don't get me wrong I love SokkaxSuki. Its one of the best couples in the show.

But Suki totally did the old 'love at first sight' thing. And that is awesome. Because when she kisses him she delivers one of the best lines, not only from her, but, I think, in the entire show.

"I AM a warrior, but I'm a girl too."

Being a warrior doesn't mean that she isn't also a teenage girl. She might be a fighter, but she still gets crushes and likes to flirt with cute boys. And hey, she picked a good one. Not every boy is going to come break you out of prison.

Anyways, let's have more realistic girls in fiction. And please enjoy the next 24 hours.

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ changes

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: +3.5k

GENRE: angsty

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of alcohol abuse!!

rafe cameron’s transformation hadn’t been instant. it wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided to leave behind the drugs, the fights, and the reputation that shadowed him everywhere he went.

it was gradual—painful, even. he hit rock bottom when his father, had finally given up on him, staring him down with disappointment so heavy that it left rafe feeling like nothing. adding that to the constant whispers on the island, the mounting legal troubles, and his own body screaming for something—anything—to numb it all.

and then he met you.

it wasn’t love at first sight—nothing that neat. you weren’t the kind of person who’d fall for the version of rafe cameron he was back then, and he knew it. still, something about you made him try harder to keep your attention, even if it was just in small, fleeting moments. you didn’t seem afraid of him, but you weren’t charmed by the bad boy act either. that made you different.

you saw through him, though he didn’t realize it at first. the easy smirk he wore, the sharp edges to his personality—you didn’t buy into any of it. and for reasons he couldn’t explain, that only made him want you more.

at first, you were just a distraction from the chaos of his life. Aabright spot in the mess he couldn’t seem to untangle. but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he wanted to be the version of himself you deserved—the version of himself he’d buried beneath years of anger and regret.

you didn’t push him to change. you didn’t lecture him or try to fix him. instead, you simply existed in his world, your quiet strength and warmth enough to make him question everything.

for a long time, rafe tried to balance it all: keeping you close while still sinking into the same destructive habits. but it became harder and harder to look you in the eye after a night of doing blow or waking up in a jail cell. he could see the worry in your expression, the disappointment you tried to hide. and though you never said the words outright, he could feel the weight of your silent plea: be better. you’re better than this.

the night everything changed was one he would never forget. you had stayed up waiting for him after one of his infamous benders. he came home bruised, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. you didn’t yell or cry. you simply asked, “how much longer do you think you can keep this up before it kills you?”

it wasn’t a threat or an ultimatum—it was a genuine question, asked in the softest voice he’d ever heard. and for the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

he wasn’t proud of how far gone he’d been. the cocaine, the countless nights drowning in whiskey, the explosive temper that dragged him into fights he’d barely remember starting. he’d been pushing away everyone who had ever cared about him, and for what? empty bottles, bleeding knuckles, and a rap sheet that could rival a career criminal’s

that was the moment rafe realized he didn’t want to lose you. and more importantly, he didn’t want to lose himself.

the road to redemption wasn’t easy. he stumbled more times than he cared to admit, but he kept going. for you, at first—but eventually, for himself too.

from that day on, rafe worked to pull himself out of the mess he’d created. it wasn’t easy. the withdrawal was brutal, the temptation constant. the whispers didn’t stop, and the pogues certainly didn’t forgive and forget overnight. but he stayed the course, because for the first time, he could see a future where he wasn’t defined by his worst moments.

what he didn’t see, as he fought to put himself back together, was the way you were starting to come undone.

rafe had been too consumed by his own chaos to notice the way it was spilling over into your life. in those early days, you tried to be there for him, to anchor him, even as he self-destructed. but being close to rafe cameron back then meant standing too close to the fire. he didn’t mean to hurt you—he didn’t even realize he was doing it—but his recklessness burned everything in its path, including you.

there were nights when you’d wait for him, staring at the clock long past midnight, your stomach twisting with dread. was he passed out somewhere? in a fight? in jail? the worry gnawed at you, clawing deeper with every unanswered text and phone call.

and when he did come home, he wasn’t the person you knew he could be. he was drunk, high, and distant, his words slurred, his temper sharp. you tried to reach him, to remind him of the person he used to be, but it was like trying to hold water in your hands—it all slipped through your fingers.

the worst part wasn’t the yelling or the silences. it was the absence.

slowly, without realizing it, rafe had left you alone in a relationship that was supposed to be a partnership. you stopped counting the days between when he’d actually look at you, really see you. you were there, holding him up.

but no one was holding you.

at first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. you were strong; you could handle it. but cracks began to form, little fissures that grew wider with every broken promise and sleepless night. and in those moments, when the loneliness became unbearable, you turned to the only thing that seemed to quiet the ache: alcohol.

it started small—a glass of wine to help you sleep, a glass of vodka to steady your nerves. but as the nights dragged on and rafe stayed out later and later, one drink became two, then three, until you stopped counting altogether.

though the irony wasn’t lost on you. you were drowning yourself in the very thing that was destroying him. but at least when you were drunk, the pain didn’t feel so sharp, the nights didn’t feel so long, and the loneliness didn’t feel so suffocating.

rafe didn’t notice. how could he? he was too busy stumbling through his own haze of drugs and liquor to see the way you were crumbling. you both lived in the same house, but it felt like you were in different worlds—his world of chaos and yours of quiet despair.

by the time rafe began to claw his way out of his darkness, the damage had already been done. he was so focused on getting clean, on staying out of trouble, that he didn’t notice the way your hands trembled in the mornings or the way you poured your drinks a little too full at dinner.

you told yourself it was fine. he was trying to be better, and you didn’t want to burden him with your own problems. but deep down, you resented him for it—resented the way he seemed to be moving forward while you were still stuck, sinking deeper into a hole you didn’t know how to climb out of.

for him it seemed to work. you were supportive, always cheering him on, always proud. but the more he healed, the more he started to notice things he hadn’t before. things about you.

the way your hands trembled when you reached for your coffee mug. the red-rimmed eyes that never seemed to fade, even after a full night’s rest. the way you poured yourself another glass of wine at dinner before you’d even finished the first.

and the smell. faint, but unmistakable. alcohol lingered on your breath, on your clothes. he knew the scent all too well.

the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. at first, he tried to brush it off, convinced he was overthinking. but the signs were there, clear as day. and tonight, as you reached for yet another glass of wine, he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“how much have you been drinking?”

the question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

you froze, your fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. “what?”

he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his brows furrowed in concern. “i’m serious, y/n. how much?”

you laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “why does it matter?” you asked, taking a sip as if to prove a point.

“because i’m worried about you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “i’m not stupid. the glass is always full, there’s always another bottle. your hands shake in the morning, baby. i know the signs.”

you set the glass down with a sharp clink, your chest tightening. “don’t do this, rafe.”

“do what?” he asked, his tone still soft but laced with desperation. “care about you? ask what the hell’s going on? you think i don’t notice the way you’ve been slipping?”

and just like that, the dam burst. the emotions you’d been bottling up came flooding out in a rush of anger and sadness.

“you don’t get to judge me!” you snapped, your voice shaking. “not after everything. do you know how many nights i spent waiting for you to come home, praying you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere? do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love destroy themselves and not be able to do a damn thing about it?”

rafe’s face crumpled, his guilt visible in every line. “i’m not judging you,” he said quietly. “i know what it’s like. i know how it feels to want to drown it all out, to make it stop.”

“no, you don’t,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you don’t know how it feels to lose someone before they’re even gone. to... to feel like you’re screaming for help... but no one hears you because they’re too busy pulling themselves out of the mess they made!”

“angel,” rafe said, reaching for your hand, but you pulled back.

“i know i’m a hypocrite,” you continued, tears threatening to stream down your face. “i know i’m doing the same thing you did. and maybe i’m weak. maybe i’m pathetic!” sobs came out of you as you tried to form your words.

“but i needed you, rafe. i needed you, and you weren’t there! you were never there,” your voice cracked.

he flinched like you’d struck him, but he didn’t argue. he didn’t try to defend himself, because deep down, he knew you were right. “i wasn’t there,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “i wasn’t. and i’ll never forgive myself for that. but i’m here now, and i’m begging you—please let me help you.”

you shook your head, anger and heartbreak swirling in your chest. “i don’t need your help, rafe. i don’t need you to fix me.”

he reached for you again, desperation written all over his face. “i’m not trying to fix you. i just—i love you. i can’t watch you go through this alone. please, angel, let me help.”

but you couldn’t. the pain, the anger—it was all too much. you stood abruptly, grabbing your coat.

“where are you going?” he asked, panic flashing in his eyes.

“out,” you said, your voice cold and final.

“please don’—”

“i can’t do this right now,” you cut him off, walking to the door. “i just—i need to breathe.”

rafe stood frozen, his heart pounding as he watched you slip on your shoes and grab your keys.

“baby, don’t go,” he said, his voice breaking.

“please, don’t leave like this.”

you didn’t look back. the door closed with a slam behind you, leaving rafe alone in the silence, his heart splintering into pieces.

but he didn’t try to wait. the moment the door closed behind you, he grabbed his jacket and followed, his heart pounding with equal parts fear and determination.

you were already halfway down the driveway when he caught up, your keys clenched tightly in your hand as you marched toward your car.

“y/n,” he called, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop.

“just leave me alone, rafe,” you said, your tone sharp, though it cracked at the edges.

“i can’t do that, angel,” he said, quickening his pace until he was just a few steps behind you. “i’m not letting you walk away like this.”

you spun on your heel, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain. “you don’t get to follow me,” you snapped. “you don’t get to tell me what to do, not after everything!”

he stopped in his tracks, holding his hands up like he was surrendering. “okay. fine. but at least let me drive you.”

you scoffed, turning back toward your car. “i don’t need you to drive me, i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “you’ve been drinking. i can smell and see it. please, just—don’t do this. if you need to get away, i’ll take you. just let me drive.”

you hesitated, your hand on the car door. deep down, you knew he was right. the alcohol was still humming faintly in your veins, and the last thing you needed was to get pulled over or worse.

“i don’t need a babysitter,” you muttered, but you let the keys dangle loosely in your hand.

“i know you don’t,” he said, stepping closer, his voice gentle. “but i need to do this, okay? just—let me do this for you.”

“i need to know you’re safe.”

you looked at him, his face etched with a raw kind of desperation that made your chest ache. for a moment, you considered pushing him away again, but the exhaustion was too heavy, and the fight was slipping from your grasp.

“okay,” you said reluctantly, tossing him the keys. “but don’t talk to me.”

rafe nodded, catching the keys midair. “yeah, okay,” he said quietly.

you climbed into the passenger seat, crossing your arms and staring out the window as he slid into the driver’s seat. the silence between you was thick, heavy with unsaid words, but he didn’t press. he simply started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

as the streetlights blurred past, you pulled a flask from your coat pocket, unscrewing the lid with shaky hands.

“y/n, don’t,” rafe said softly, glancing over at you.

you ignored him, lifting the flask to your lips.

“please,” he said, his voice breaking. “i’m begging you. just—don’t.”

“it won’t help, it never will.”

your hand hovered midair, the weight of his words pressing down on you. for a moment, you hesitated, but the familiar ache in your chest won out. you tipped the flask back, the burn of the alcohol momentarily numbing the pain.

rafe gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. he didn’t say anything else, but the hurt in his expression was unmistakable.

as the car sped down the road, the silence between you grew heavier, suffocating. rafe was struggling to keep himself together, but he knew one thing: no matter how far you tried to run, he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone.

the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror brought rafe’s heart to his throat.

“shit,” he muttered, gripping the wheel tighter as he pulled the car to the side of the road.

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, clutching the flask. “you were speeding, weren’t you?”

rafe’s jaw tightened. “yeah, i guess i was. just—stay quiet, alright?”

the flashlight beam hit the driver’s side window before either of you could say anything else. when rafe rolled it down, the familiar voice of shoupe made the tension in the car skyrocket.

“well, well, look who we have here,” shoupe said, leaning down to get a better look at rafe. his tone was casual, almost amused, but there was a sharp edge to it. “rafe cameron, speeding down my roads. what’s the rush tonight?”

rafe forced a tight smile, though the discomfort was written all over his face. “sorry, officer. i wasn’t paying attention to my speed. just trying to get my girl to a friends’ house,” he said, nodding toward you.

shoupe’s flashlight swept across the interior of the car, landing squarely on the flask in your lap.

“uh-huh,” shoupe nodded, his tone shifting as he focused on you. “and uh… what’s that? you two drinking and driving tonight?”

your stomach dropped, and you froze, unable to find the words to respond.

rafe jumped in immediately, his voice firm but a little shaky. “it’s mine,” he said quickly. “the flask—it’s mine, shoupe.”

shoupe raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “yours, huh? and yet, it’s sitting in her lap?”

“she just—she was holding it for me,” rafe lied, his voice steady despite the panic brewing in his chest. “i wasn’t thinking, i shouldn’t have had it in the car. that’s on me.”

shoupe straightened, sighing heavily. “c’mon, son. you’ve been doing so good lately. now i’m supposed to believe you’re back to this? open containers in the car? speeding? what’s going on?”

“it’s not what it looks like,” rafe said quickly, desperation seeping into his tone. “just give me a ticket for the speeding, and i’ll take care of it. i’ll dump the flask right now.”

shoupe glanced between you and rafe, his sharp eyes narrowing. the tension stretched, the air in the car thick and suffocating. finally, he sighed and shook his head.

“look,” he said, his voice softer now, “you’re lucky i know you’ve been trying to straighten out, son. but i don’t want to see you slipping, especially with her involved.” he gestured toward you with his flashlight.

rafe nodded quickly. “understood. i’ll get it together. promise.”

shoupe studied him for a moment longer before stepping back. “slow down. and get rid of the flask. i better not catch you with it again.”

“yes, sir,” rafe said, his voice tight.

shoupe gave you both one last look before walking back to his car. as the flashing lights receded into the far distance, rafe leaned back in his seat, letting out a shaky exhale.

you stared at him, your emotions swirling in a chaotic mess. “why the hell did you take the blame?”

rafe turned to you, his eyes weary but determined. “because i’m not letting you deal with this bullshit, y/n. not you. never you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. instead, you looked out the window, your grip on the flask loosening as rafe started the car again.

the silence between you was heavier than ever, but you could feel his eyes flicking to you now and then, filled with concern and a love you didn’t know how to handle anymore.

the car stayed silent except for the low hum of the engine as rafe drove. his eyes flicked toward you every few moments, filled with worry and guilt.

you sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window, the flask now abandoned in your lap. the weight of everything hung heavily in the air, suffocating and thick.

“y/n,” rafe finally said softly, his voice tentative, testing the waters. “can we just—can we talk about this?”

his words broke something in you. the wall you’d been desperately holding up crumbled, and a choked sob escaped your lips.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to stream down your face. “i’m so sorry, rafe.”

rafe immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, his heart clenching at the sound of your broken voice. “baby, no,” he said, turning to you, his own voice shaking. “don’t do that. don’t apologize. you don’t have to—”

“i was so awful to you,” you cried, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders shook. “you didn’t deserve that. you’re trying so hard to be better, and i—i just lashed out at you.”

rafe reached for your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.

“no, angel,” he said, his voice thick. “don’t do that. don’t blame yourself. i’m the one who messed up. i wasn’t there for you when you needed me. i let you down, and now you’re—” his voice cracked, and he turned his head away for a moment, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

you shook your head, tears spilling freely. “i just—i don’t know how to fix this, rafe. i feel like i’m drowning, and i don’t know how to stop.”

his hands tightened around yours, his own tears threatening to fall. “you don’t have to do it alone, angel,” he said softly. “you don’t have to carry this by yourself. let me help you, please. let me be there for you.”

you looked at him, his eyes filled with nothing but love and desperation, and the weight of it all was almost too much to bear.

“turn around,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“what?” rafe asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“turn around,” you repeated, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. “let’s just go home, rafe. please. i don’t—i just want to go home.”

rafe exhaled shakily, nodding as he wiped a hand across his face. “okay, baby,” he said, his voice cracking. “we’ll go home. whatever you need.”

he put the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road. as he drove, his hand reached out to rest on your knee, a silent promise that he wasn’t letting go—not this time.

[amorchai]

𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃.

pairing(s): eddie munson x reader

words: 651

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, shy!reader.

a/n: this is a repost from my old blog.

“here’s a crazy thought,” spoke eddie into the quiet candle-lit bedroom. you had took a week to talk yourself into the courage of asking eddie to come over for a movie night – the dull sky now filling the room in darkness apart from the chunky tv emitting the low light of ‘the breakfast club’. the room had mainly seen you and your ecstatic state, usually finding pride in the small room to squeal when eddie called you attractive or when he kissed your cheek one random day.

now, a few dates into your complicated unofficial too-scared-to-ask relationship with eddie “the freak” munson – who you just found insanely attractive and inventively sweet – you were hiding your embarrassed and overly infatuated state from under his arm.

it had been quiet most of the night, eddie holding you while the movie played on – you just thought eddie was really into the plot, despite him resembling john bender. however, his thoughts cutting into the air has you sure he has been distracted quite like you.

“yeah?” you ask, whispered into the room so shy that if he wasn’t right beside you he wouldn’t have caught the small word. “what if i was your boyfriend?” asks eddie. you almost choke, breath lodged in your throat and head suddenly light as you’re completely sure the blood has drained from your brain and into your pumping heart. now, it rapidly beats beneath your shaking chest.

sure, you had been on a few dates, eddie admitting he was fond of you and wanted to see where it goes, but it still felt out the blue. you weren’t prepared for such a question, and you weren’t sure how to answer either.

“huh?” you stutter, blindsided when eddie leans over to your other side to grasp the remote and pause the movie, the array of differing teens running through the empty school halls and you wished you were them for a moment, your heart palpitating beneath you while eddie’s hand shakes your shoulder lightly.

“me. being your boyfriend. crazy right?” his voice is slightly teasing, as if treading the line to see how you respond. you can tell its him preparing for rejection – a soft question where if you agree the thought is crazy he can play it off and move on. but you didn’t want to, even through your shy nature.

eddie was patient in your response, watching as your mouth opens and shuts, eyes darting across the artificial screen as you debate in your own mind how to reply to his question. you decide to look up at him, his face centimetres from yours and his arm refuses to move from safely holding you to him. a net you never want to leave.

“uhm. n-not… so crazy, no.” eddie’s eyes widen at your sentence, perked eyebrows happily taking it in while he smiles with a wide but comforting grin. eyes gleaming while he replies, “no?”

all you can do is shake your head, words losing all meaning when he’s looking at you so fondly that he nods appreciatively before delivering his next breath-wavering question, one you never thought you’d personally hear, “can i be your boyfriend?”

you gulp, taken aback by the all-of-a-sudden change in the atmosphere, the thin line eddie’s created between you both – friends to more than friends. one you were terrified to cross but also yearning for so you nod, “uh-yeah, yes of course.”

eddie kisses your cheek, a little wet and sloppy due to the grin that doesn’t leave his face. “cutie,” is all he responds before turning back to the small television, pressing a button on the remote and suddenly the kids are all running again – through the halls and away from their teacher.

now you’re glad you’re here instead of there – tucked underneath your boyfriend’s arm and unable to pull your eyes away from him to even watch the rest of the movie.

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[psin314]

some dead and missing characters from murat's backstory. translated bio is under the cut.

his toyhouse page

At the age of 6, Murat was given to the Crows. He was taken under the care of a young but skilled master assassin, Esteban. Murat has no memory of his childhood until he was 12, and his mentor never said anything useful about it. He only said that Murat was an unbearable crybaby. Esteban taught Murat everything he knew. He taught strictly, punished him for any mistakes, but Murat still enjoyed being around him, because Esteban was funny and caring. When Murat was 20, Esteban was brutally murdered while on a contract.

The next 10 years of his life were not particularly interesting. He carried out contracts flawlessly, and spent the money he received on carousing. He spent everything on expensive aged booze and gifts for girls with whom he could not build long-term relationships, although he truly fell in love with each one. So once he fell in love with a girl from his own house, Layla, who was not interested in him. He did not lose hope and continued to try to win her over. One day, she finally reciprocated. It was strange, but Murat, in love, did not notice the trick.

Murat's 30th birthday was approaching, but he was not destined to celebrate it in a warm place. Murat, for no apparent reason, was grabbed by what he thought were his friends, and they threw him at the feet of the de Riva house talon. As it turned out, Murat is a traitor who has been sabotaging his own house for years, and there is irrefutable evidence of this, which Layla provided them with a heavy heart. Murat did not understand what was happening, he was definitely slandered and was not guilty of anything. No one listened to him, even Layla stood in tears. Murat should have been killed right here, but Layla stood up for him. She explained that Murat had done all this only because of his own stupidity. He was a good liar, but an incompetent crow. All this time, she had been correcting his mistakes for years, but she had failed to keep track of them all, and this is what it had led to. She was ashamed that she had covered for him for so long, but death for him was too much. As a result, Murat was kicked out into the street and ordered not to approach the faction again.

Murat tried to get through to them, but no one listened. He didn’t know what to do now. The Antivan Crows were everything to him. So he simply decided to get drunk on cheap beer in a tavern. For the next 10 years, he did nothing but that. For the first few months, other crows were watching Murat, but nothing suspicious was noticed, only his binge-drinking. A couple of years later, one of Murat's old friends came to him with good news - Murat was not guilty, everything was actually set up by Layla, who had currently run away and was hiding. That is, he can return. Murat attacked his old friend and sent him far far away. Nobody visited Murat again.

Until he was almost 40, Murat lived in a vicious circle of "no money - work - get money - drink." There were attempts to break it, but he always returned to the beginning. He made friends in the port with a fisherwoman, Paula, who helped him find a job. She sincerely wanted to help Murat with his problem, since he reminded her of her lost son. She was rude to him, but tried to help anyway. Paula had health problems, and one day her heart just stopped beating. Murat could have gone on a bender again, but he decided to try to change his life.

By the age of 40, Murat finally stopped drinking and returned to the Crows. Here, it was as if everyone had forgotten him. And his old friends no longer trusted him as much as before, although that situation was resolved long ago. Murat is passionate about the idea of ​​at least partially solve the problem of betrayal among the Crows. How - he has no idea, but he will definitely come up with something.

The rest of the story is familiar.

[rinhaler]

Don’t You Love It When I Come Around?

Your relationship with him is so toxic. But no matter how hard you try to end things, he always worms his way back between your legs.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ takuma ino x f!reader

Genre: porn! with a plot! Notes: in january i told u guys to send ino prompts and i would write my favourite and here it is, I'll add the ask below ! Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, dubcon (he's high), toxic relationship, exes to lovers?, rich boy!ino, dacryphilia, pussy eating ♡, light nipple play, vaginal sex, love making ♡, drool ♡, praise, slight orgasm denial, scratching, creampie ♡, manipulation, calls your pussy she/her, pet names (princess, baby/babe, gorgeous etc.) Words: 4.6k

He loves you.

He wouldn’t keep coming back to you with such urgency and wanton if he didn’t love you so ardently. But you ended things, and for the first time there was some finality to the breakup. You’re weak with your will and conviction, usually. You can’t take it anymore, you can’t.

Being second best to every other thing is his life is too hard.

His friends, his family.

Drugs.

You want to be his top priority, but you never will be. It weighs heavy in your heart whenever you’re with him, you don’t feel the type of love you want to feel from him. The kind where you know he’d kiss the ground you walk on and worship your very existence.

Fairy tale love, romance movie love.

He isn’t capable. And it’s taken you too long to realise it.

And usually, you crumble when he begs. His pleas and promises to change always sway you into believing him, despite knowing the truth that he’ll never change for you. He thinks money carries the same weight as love. He thinks his daddy’s credit card is the answer to all of his problems.

He wants to believe you can be bought.

He truly believes that he can buy your subservience with the same unearned money he uses to pay his dealer in fat wads of cash.

The day you met his dealer is the day you think things really began to fall apart between you. He wouldn’t refrain from making lewd comments about you, a fact that has stopped you from going with him to pick up since that first encounter. Your boyfriend didn’t chastise him, no. Instead, he played along. Joking that he’d be willing to share during your most intimate moments or even give you up completely to use as a payment instead of actually paying.

You broke up with him that night, leaving him alone with his friend. He didn’t even bother chasing after you to apologise. He didn’t care enough to check if you were okay, either. It hurt you to think that he was laughing it off with Sukuna, imagining him so nonchalant and uncaring broke your heart.

And you’re lucky you didn’t have to see that you were exactly right.

You can’t even remember why you forgave him that time, it should have been the final straw. He came over, sneaking into your window after your parents turned in for the night. It’s like he’d been waiting for all of the lights to go out. He lifted it, effortlessly, before he stepped inside. He hushed your protests and panic as you worried your parents would hear and before you knew it, he was your boyfriend again.

You jolt from your thoughts as you hear a struggle to your left. Your eyes linger on the window as you notice Takuma try his hardest to lift it open. He looks up and sees you staring, and you recognise something akin to fear sprawled across his pretty face.

He can’t remember the last time you locked the window.

“Baby, please.” he whispers. You shush him, determined to be strong as you approach the window and look at him sternly.

It’s the first time in over a week since you’ve laid eyes on each other, it should have been harder than it was. But you’ve had plenty of practice from when he goes on drink and drug infused benders and doesn’t even bother to send a measly text to let you know he’s alive.

Your fists clench tightly as you hold your parted curtains, though your will begins to dissipate as you see his soft brown stare up at you so pathetically. It feels like love. Maybe one more chance wouldn’t—

“Let me in, baby, ‘m so cold.” he tells you, squatting awkwardly on the roof as he tries to convince you to see things his way. Your blood begins to boil again as you remember how fucking entitled is. Entitled in life and entitled to you. Not this time. “I think it’s gonna—” the metal curtain pole hisses as you abruptly shut them and shut him out of your life for good.

“Go home, Takuma…” you sigh, your own purposiveness decaying as your body seems to crave him, you want to help him, despite knowing you’re being manipulated.

“Oh come on. Don’t do this, princess. It’s starting to rain!” he tells you.

You can’t listen to him. You grab your headphones from your desk and put them over your ears. You quickly scroll through your music library until you find your feel-good playlist and turn the volume to max. Sure you might go deaf in a few years, but it’s better than listening to him do all he can to get you to let him in.

The paranoia of not knowing what he’s doing or saying out there pricks at your skin like needles. Your senses are sharp despite cancelling one of them out. You begin to hear creaks of the window and calls of your name you’re certain you can’t be hearing. Your dad will come to berate you and him if he gets too rowdy. He wouldn’t risk it.

INO: Gonna start singing if you don’t let me in 💕

You learn forward in your seat as you read his message. He’s bluffing, he has to be. And yet, it scares you enough to pull your headphones down while your music continues to play through them. His knuckles are rapping against the window repeatedly without stopping as he waits for you to reply. He gives you a few minutes before the knocking stops, and while you hope he’s given up, you look down at your messages to see three dreaded dots appear.

INO: You’re so cute when you’re mad

INO: What song should I sing?

You freeze as you hear him hum, even over the sound of the rain pelting down against the roof shingles and the glass of your window. It’s a song you recognise instantly, the first song you danced to together when you met at a club two years ago.

“Come on baby, let me iiiiin~!” he speak-sings in tune with the beat and you know it’s only going to get worse. You try to hold strong, you do. The thought of giving him the satisfaction and ultimately the gateway to him winning you back makes your stomach churn, you don’t want to keep being this girl.

But you’ve always been weak when it comes to him.

The shriek of your curtains opening again puts a swift end to Takuma’s singing. His face lights up, and it makes you even angrier. He watches you intently as you unlock the window for him, but you step away to allow him the honour of opening it for himself.

“Shit baby, I’m soaked. Why didn’t you let me in sooner?” he asks, he wrings out his beanie on your bedroom carpet before tossing it aside completely. You roll your eyes as he shuts the window and begins to undress. “C’moooon, you’re not really giving me the silent treatment, are ya?”

You sigh and sit on your bed, carefully taking off your headphones and tucking them back into their protective casing. He barely even looks at you as you tuck your knees up to your chest and observe his every move.

“What do you want Takuma…” you pout. “I told you I don’t wanna see you anymore. Why are you here?” you ask.

He kisses his teeth, the sound makes your skin pinch together and you suddenly feel the harsh chill of the outside breaking in. He smiles at you, his sweet innocent face and warm brown eyes are almost enough to thaw you out.

“You didn’t really mean that, did ya?” he wonders. “Baby, I love you.” he kicks off his shoes and begins to undress. The audaciousness of him is never lost on you, but tonight he’s really something. He sits on the edge of your bed, his back facing you while he moves at a glacial pace.

He’s high. It’s obvious.

The sculptured muscles of his back flex and ripple as he takes off his socks, flinging them without a care in any direction before he stands up to look at you. You swallow, hard, as the buckle of his belt begins to clink before he pulls it out of the belt loops with one hand. Your eyes stay fixed on his as his arm extends and he lets it fall from his grip.

“Bet you’ve missed this dick, baby,” he smirks. “Can see it in your eyes. You’ve missed me.”

You roll your eyes despite his words hitting a nerve. His vision drops as he unbuttons his jeans, missing the way you squirm as you reposition yourself on the bed, tucking your knees further into your chest as you continue to stare while he takes off his clothes.

“Why do you play these games, princess? You know you always come back to me.”

“It’s not a game. I’m done with you, for real this time.” you protest. The way he bites his lip makes you angrier as he climbs on the bed with you, the mattress dipping as he slowly crawls towards you like he has so many times before.

He thinks, he knows everything you say it futile, regardless of how determined you are to not succumb to him for the umpteenth time.

“Take this off, gorgeous,” he demands as his fingers curl into the elastic waistband of your pleated skirt. You shake your head lightly, heart battering in your chest like a drum solo. He snarls, at that, like he hears your heart fighting against your weak defiance. “Suit yourself.” he mutters.

His hands wrap around your thighs and he drags you down the length of the mattress. It takes everything within you not to scream, the thought of being caught by your parents like this makes your whole body sear with heat.

“I’m—” you squeak, a little too loudly. You clear your throat and look at him, your eyes shaking with apprehension and anxiety. He wets his lips as he looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not fucking you. N-Not tonight. Not ever. Never again, Takuma… I m-mean it. We’re through!”

He sighs, a little pout forming on his lips as he crawls over your body. He cages you beneath him, looking down at you with a moue of dissatisfaction.

“What about a kiss baby? Can I have a kiss, just one?” he asks. His voice is soft and shallow. His honeyed eyes make you crumble as he stares at you with an intensity you’ve never felt from him before. Is it desperation? Is it panic that he’s really losing his grip on you? You can’t even look at him directly, each turn of your head causes him to angle his own so he can continue to stare you down.

And it works.

“Just a kiss.” you mumble, your whole body relaxes when he smiles. It’s such a sweet smile, the one that always adorned his gentle face when you first met. You’ve missed it, dearly.

Your eyes flutter closed as his lips land on yours. It’s chaste, quick, and leaves you wanting more.

“One more kiss, baby. Please?”

You nod, closing your eyes again. You startle when you feel the mattress shift dramatically. Words stay lodged in your throat as you see him on the ground, on his knees, looking up at you between your legs.

“No panties? Must’a known I was coming.” he grins. He flips up the material only slightly. His head disappears beneath the black pleats.

It’s pathetic, truly, the whimper that flees from you when he presses a delicate kiss to your clit. You cover your mouth with your hand, and you even surprise yourself when you feel tears roll down your cheeks.

“Can I kiss her again, princess? Wanna make out with her… do you want me to?” he wonders, repeating the same kiss again… again… and again.

“Y-Yes, Takuma please.” you moan. Your fingers card through his brunette locks, urging him closer to your heat. He complies, desperately. He slowly swirls his tongue over your swollen clit, humming contently as he encourages you to rest your legs over his shoulders.

The pleasure overwhelms you, and you allow yourself to lie comfortably against the mattress. Deep down you knew, you both knew, you were always going to end up like this.

You look between the valley of your breasts when you regain your stability. The shape of his head makes your own begin to spin as you see the material of your skirt move in tandem with his actions. The way he slurps and suckles on your flesh makes it all too clear, you’ll never be able to quit him. Not really, not when he’s so perfect when he’s like this.

Maybe he does love you, maybe all of the things he tells you when you shut him out for so long are indeed true. How else would he be able to ravage you with such vigour and passion? The only time you know him to have drive and patience is in moments like this.

He’s spoilt, but not with you.

He’s a giver, only for you.

Your back arches from the bed when the tip of his tongue targets a particularly sensitive spot between your folds. You moan, you whine, and it only encourages him more. He doesn’t stop when your thighs begin to clamp around his head. It’s more fuel to the fire, you have to smother any and all sounds that want to escape from your body with your hand.

And that, he sees as a challenge.

He holds under the bend of your knee and pushes it, so gently, towards your chest. And still, you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. Your skirt is forcibly moved by the action and his face is revealed once more. His eyes glitter and shimmer with expectance and desire as he sees your own face contort from the pleasure he’s forcing upon you.

His lips suction around your clit and he sucks like it’s his sole purpose on earth. Your eyes roll back, and you practically scream into your palm. His hand wanders purposefully to cup your breast. He squeezes experimentally, rubbing his thumb over the material of your top to tease your peaked nipple. The feeling of that is almost enough to make you unravel, your hips jerk at the contact, and he decides to take it further.

He breaches the edge of your crop top, desperate to feel your soft naked mound. Your eyes fill with water and spill consistently as he adds rolling your pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger to the intense amalgamation of pleasure.

“Ino… fuck,” you whisper pathetically, freeing your mouth momentarily to utter his name. To warn him. “I’m gonna cum.”

“… I know.” he mumbles before maintaining his efforts. His tongue swipes quickly over your clit, you whimper and your toes can’t help but curl as he doesn’t dare let up.

You grip the sheets below, desperate to hang onto something as you feel your body seconds from exploding. He shushes you between licks, drooling over your cunt as his jaw hangs low for you. You do all you can to keep quiet, but it’s a gargantuan task. Especially when you haven’t felt so good for so long, it’s near impossible.

Your legs begin to quiver as you cum. Your pussy gushes and coats his face further. And for once in his life, he isn’t ungrateful. He savours the taste and laps at your folds like a starving man. And after such a long time apart, that’s exactly what he is. He’s ravenous, he’s missed this. He’s missed you. And he’ll never not appreciate how delicious you are. And it’s all for him.

“Made such a pretty mess for me, baby,” he murmurs into your skin, repeatedly planting delicate kisses against your inner thighs. He doesn’t stop as he gets on top of you, showering your stomach in the same soft kisses. Each one infused with his desire for you. His urgency to force you to remember who you belong to and who you need.

Your legs spread beautifully for him, his throbbing cock rubs against your core, dampening the material of his underwear.

His eyes fixate on yours as he looks for permission to kiss you. And you give it, instantly, humming when his lips slot against yours. His tongue delves into your mouth, his hips begin to rut into you as you make out.

You run your fingers through his hair, interlocking your fingers to keep him close as you continue humping against each other. He breathes heavily as he breaks the kiss, staring down at you with a hurt look in his eye.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him quietly. It makes your blood run cold, the fear of wondering if he’s about to go back to the regular Takuma again. The one you’re all too familiar with, The one that always lets you down.

“… Don’t like it when you call me Ino, baby,” he tells you. It’s earnest, a twinge of disappointment laced in his words.

“All of your friends call you Ino, Ino.” you repeat. It makes your heart race to defy him, you seldom do. You’re the perfect girlfriend until you can’t take anymore, but this is different. You’ve never felt bold enough to do this, to attempt to rile him up.

Never.

“Stop that.” he growls, kissing you again. “You’re not my friend. You’re my girlfriend, alright? Say it. Please.”

“I t-told you… I don’t want you back. Only let you in so you wouldn’t wake my parents.”

He stops. He stands on his knee and looks down at you with a little frown, his lower lip almost jutting as he hears you. You can’t tell if he’s actually sad, or if it’s merely panic. “Do you mean that? You don’t want me back?”

You shake your head, despite it being the opposite of what you want. It’s almost as if you’ve been possessed.

“… So you wouldn’t care if I left right now? You don’t want to fuck?” he continues. You can barely look at him, you’ve never seen him like this before. He might actually be upset, he’s experiencing regret for the first time in his entire life.

“Well… if you wanna go, I won’t stop you Takuma.” you shrug, it comes a little too easily. It feels like a dream, or a nightmare to Takuma. He can’t help but stare as he realises he’s lost his control of you.

A hand rests on your knee, while the other carefully rubs the lower half of his face. He wants to ask again. And again. Is that really what you want? But he’s terrified to even think it, let alone say it. Because what if you are sure? He won’t know what to do, he’s never known you to be like this before. Maybe he took too long to come over this time, he got cocky. Assumptions and greed consumed him. He came back to you when he was ready, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact you might grow a backbone in that time.

He lowers himself again, your noses barely touching before he kisses the tip of it.

“You love me, I know you do baby,” he says, faux confidence lingering in his tone. Though you don’t notice, to you, he’s just confident. The sound of tender kisses littering your cheeks is the loudest sound in the room, even louder than his desperate whispers. “You gotta love me… because I love you. So much, baby, please forgive me.”

He doesn’t let up, like he’s transferring a love potion embedded from his lips to seep into your skin. You mewl at the sensation, never knowing him to be this affectionate before. You know why, the agonising realisation that he lost you has him resorting to this last ditch effort.

And you hate him, because it’s working.

“I’ll always love you more than anyone, y’know. I promise. I’ll be better this time…” he tells you, the same sorry line he’s told you so many times before. “Can I put it in, babe? Please… Please let me feel you close one more time, if ya really mean it.” he begs. He moves his lips to yours, hoping to silence you with a kiss to remember. There’s a hunger to it, a desperate craving that he can’t satiate.

He needs your help.

He needs you.

“L-Last time, okay? I mean it, Takuma, I won’t take you back.”

He stopped listening to you after he heard you agree, honestly. Reaching down to pull his boxers just enough for his cock to spring free. He moans, it’s akin to a whine as it slaps against his abdomen. He’s been hard since he got that first kiss from you, and tasting your slick made him ache for you.

He jerks himself a few times before he slips himself inside of your cunt. His cockhead resting carefully in your entrance. His body moves closer to yours as he sinks in further, you both moan in tandem as you stretch and swallow his cock oh so gloriously.

“S-See, baby? See how perfect I fit? ‘Cause you love me so much, and I love you.” he explains gently holding your jaw in his grip so he can force you to look at him. His hips begin to roll, but he can’t let you enjoy it. Your attempt to throw your head back in pleasure with your eyes scrunched closed is thwarted as his hips instantly slow. “You gotta say it. Say it back, princess.”

“I love you, Takuma…” you say, defeated. “You know I’ll always love y-you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles widely, moving his hips once more. “Always gonna be mine?”

“… always.” you nod.

He kisses you again, his body weight almost suffocating you as he rests on top of you. He fucks every ounce of passion and longing into you. He covers your mouth, sensing it’s too much. But he can’t stop. You don’t want him to, you’ve never felt so whole with him.

You’re too fucked out to notice how badly your bed is creaking. Even with your moans trapped behind Takuma’s palm, he’s sure your parents will know he’s here by now.

“Fuuuuck, you’re choking my fuckin’ dick, baby. Gonna make me cum too fast.” he tells you, kissing your forehead as he slams his hips into yours. “So tight for me… my p-perfect girl, aren’t ya?”

You nod desperately, clenching around him at his every word.

“Want you to cum for me… but,” he rests his forehead against yours, alternating his movements to slow and deep rather than hard and fast. It has you drooling against his palm, but he doesn’t mind. He likes you, loves you, when you’re his braindead princess. “I only make my girlfriend cum.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realise what he’s trying to do. You wish you could say you regret letting him fuck you again. But it’s too good, you’re lost to it. You’re almost dumb enough to agree.

Almost.

He moves his hand and cups your face, imploring you to look him in his eyes and tell him you’re his again.

“I c-can’t,” you sniffle. “Hurts too much being—”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t say that, princess.” he interrupts, not wanting to hear your thought in full. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. You love me, yeah? Always gonna be my girl. Mine.”

And as if on command, you nod in acceptance. Because he’s right, you will always be his girl. Whether in an official capacity or not. Even the days you’re separated, he’s always on your mind. You worry that weeks, months or even years could pass without him and he’d still be on your mind.

A particular intense stroke inside of your gummy walls makes your body jolt and a heavy moan tears through your throat. He looks down, admiring where to two of you meet before searching your eyes.

“There, baby?” he asks, experimentally thrusting into the same spot. He grins when he hears you keen once again for him, prodding it again and again until your eyes spill over with tears from the blinding pleasure. “Theeeere she is, right there. Bet you wanna cum real bad, ‘cause I do.”

“I do!” you agree, cupping his face gently before kissing him. “I love you, Takuma, please don’t stop,” you whimper.

“I won’t baby, promise.” he assures you. It’s imperceptible, and he’s glad, you can’t see the relief washing over his entire body as he feels safe once again. You’re his, again. There’s nowhere else you should be but with him. “C-Can’t let my girl down, can I?” he grins.

And after everything. All of the hurt, all of the effort, all of the determination, you’re his again. All of that defiance was for nought. And yet, you’re smiling. Your hands helplessly grip his body, nails digging into his shoulder blades as you scratch, attempting to ground yourself.

His lips find yours, eager to silence himself as he brings you both closer and closer to your demise. His breaths are heavy, his nostrils flaring as he continues to pummel into you. Your kiss is sloppy, but perfect. The messy passion heightens your pleasure, somehow. His tongue finding your own reminds you that there’s no one in the world you’d rather be doing this with.

Every plunge of his length against your sweet spot feels like love. Pure, unadulterated, love. Everything you’ve ever wanted, ever needed, from Takuma this time.

And as you cum together, moaning into each other’s mouths, that feels deeper. He looks into your eyes as he fills you to the brim, your walls clench around him, desperate to keep him inside and milk him for all he’s worth. You never want this feeling to end, he’s the man of your dreams.

He kisses your neck as he continues to fuck himself inside of you, making sure to deposit every last drop of his love into you. He feels it too, it feels different to how it usually is.

Better, somehow.

The pecks of his lips slow as he ventures towards yours again. Each kiss is interpolated with ardour. He doesn’t want to risk stopping for fear of all of this coming undone. He doesn’t want you to see sense, again. Despite what you might think, he is in love. A love so intense he couldn’t begin to explain.

He eventually pulls away, bracing himself for what you might say.

But nothing comes.

He’s grinning from ear to ear because you don’t say a word. Not one. But your expression says it all. You look exhausted, but fulfilled. You look beautiful as bliss ravishes your drained form. However even without all that, he only needs to look into your eyes to see it.

You really are his girl again.

He can practically see the hearts shimmering in your irises. You’re looking up at him like you’ve fallen for that signature Takuma charm once again, but are you really so foolish? Even he is a little surprised.

He wants to do better, of course he does. And maybe this time he’ll really try. He doesn’t mean to let you down so often, it’s not like he wants to do it.

That’s just the type of guy he is.

The type to make promises he can’t keep.

© 2024 rinhaler

anon: okay but imagine ino sneaking in your bedroom every once in a while and fucking you into forgetting he's an absent boyfriend, he's always smoking with his friend (plug! sukuna *cough cough*) he's a trust fund baby, and the worst boyfriend ever but dick game is so good he has you thinking you can fix him, so every time you let him hit you are looking at him with heart eyes and it almosttt makes him want to do better

[etherealily]

𝒮𝐻𝒜𝑅𝒟𝒮 // 🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​ ​🇯​​🇦​​🇨​​🇴​​🇧​​🇸​.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Slur used.

This one is loooong.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Bender? Nah, bend...her (to your will).

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

Nate didn't really seem the type to get anxious.

Okay, scratch that. He got anxious when you weren't there to high-five him before a game.

But even that didn't come close to whatever the fuck he was feeling when he called you that evening, yelling as if you'd killed his fucking cat, or something.

"Come faster, come faster!", he urged, ignoring you as you informed him you were only human, and you were on your way as fast as possible. The lewd joke was right there, and he didn't take it. Something was seriously wrong.

"Why the hell are you so jumpy?"

"I'll explain when you get here. Slight change of plans. You're wearing something... conservative, yeah?"

"What?"

"Like, jeans and a T-shirt is fine, I guess.", he muttered, on the other end of the line, as if he was mentally picturing exactly what he wanted you to be wearing.

"Did you think my original plan was to show up in lingerie?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, stop being so fucking defensive!"

That was a slur that you just heard in his voice. "Are you drunk?"

"You're scarily good at this."

"Why are you drunk already?" Wasn't even dark yet.

"Can you just fucking drive, please?"

You rolled your eyes, taking a small moment to sadistically picture his head caught in the wheel, before placing your phone down and speeding up the car that unfortunately had to relive the trauma of driving because Nate Jacobs told it to.

The Jacobs household was infuriatingly stereotypical. Of course he'd have a pretty spectacular front doorstep. It was almost designed to lure you in.

You weren't even allowed to ring the doorbell, he answered the door much before. That was a shame. You wanted to be the one forcing him to come somewhere reluctantly, for once.

"Don't speak unless spoken to." Well, hello to you, too.

"What?"

"It's not just us."

No, no, no, no.

"Nate, you fucking asshole.", you hissed.

"I didn't know! My brother found out you were coming over and told my parents, so they cancelled plans to meet you."

"Why?"

"'Cause our Dad's a jerk, and my Mom's probably going to judge you, and my brother's a coward who hates me."

That was way too much Jacobs drama for one single minute, and you were not even two steps into the house.

"Wait, just-"

"It's fine, just sit next to me, shut up, and don't like... make eye contact."

"Am I meeting your family or getting into the cage with a fucking tiger?"

"Also, don't cuss.", he warned, pointing a finger at you and guiding you by your shoulders further into the abyss he called a home. "Smile. A lot."

Was it really even a normal family dinner if you had to be prepped this much? No, probably not.

"Hey, look who finally showed up!", he chuckled, the fakest breeze in his voice as he steered your shoulders towards a chair.

The rest of the Jacobs family looked up at you.

And suddenly, you'd have been fine clinging to Nate, because he was evidently the mildest of them. Rich freaks.

"Oh, the project partner." His mother, laying plates down on the table before patting your head, was a sight to behold. "Bit late.", she remarked, sickening sweetness lacing her tone as she stared pointedly at Nate behind you as if you couldn't fucking see it.

"Yeah, well, she's just learning to drive, y'know? Goes really slow."

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, mama's boy, just say you had no intention of having your family here tonight.

"Nate, you never told me she could legally drive."

That must be the brother - the coward. He looked like he'd fucking rip you apart with just a glare.

"I didn't tell you anything.', he mumbled, more for you than him, before making his voice louder. "Y/N, this is my brother, Aaron, Aaron, Y/N."

His eyes made your skin crawl. Like you were a weapon he'd just been able to use against Nate.

"And, uh, my dad. Dad, this is, uh-"

You had no idea when your name had become so hard for him to pronounce, the way he was unable to get it out.

"Y/N, yes, I heard. I'm Cal. Cal Jacobs."

You'd take Nate forcing a gun down your throat to the feel of Cal's hand shaking yours any day.

In comparison, Nate's gun was basically the gentlest thing you'd ever be able to feel. A caress, essentially.

"Sit, sit.", he instructed, gesturing at you to do as he said in his own house or else. "So."

He was so fucking drunk. You could see it in his eyes.

Both Cal and Nate Jacobs were shitfaced.

Nate, you understood, because after hearing his description, even you seemed to need liquid courage to get through a dinner with his drunk dad.

"So.", responded Nate, blankly, as he sat down next to you, as promised.

The chairs you were on were fancy but seemed tired, in a way. Like they were putting up a strong front.

"What, pray tell, is this famous project that you've apparently been sneaking out for, according to Aaron?"

Oh, that was the problem! The sneaking out! Oh, that was okay, that was in your jurisdiction, you could just fix it. Make it sound like there was no other time to meet up. Cool cool cool.

"It's just this thing for psychology. About athletes and superstitions."

"My Nate doesn't have any superstitions. He wins because he's the best.", interjected his mother, as if you'd been holding a gun to his face and she'd just jumped in front of him. You looked at the giant plate she'd just set down. Fucking steak.

With a knowing glance at Nate, you nodded. "Yes, but jocks don't really like admitting it. So I just ask him about his buddies who do have superstitions. Seeing as he has none of his own."

You didn't bother to look at the fuck-you-so-much glare he was sending your way.

"Oh, yes, Mom, Nate's just the best. Don't you think he's just the best, Y/N?", cooed Aaron, clearly hinting at something only he and Nate were in on.

"Yes, yes, he's very good at what he does."

"What he does?"

"I mean, you are talking about him as QB, right?"

He took a gulp of water, nodding as he searched into your eyes for some tell that he'd expected you to have. "Right."

Nate subtly shook his head after you frowned at him. Let it go.

"So, you've taken psychology."

His dad didn't really seem the jerk that Nate had made him out to be. Sure, he had the whole terrifying handshake thing going, but he wasn't all bad. He was the only one with his sanity intact, and the fact that he was plastered yet normal was both relieving and mildly concerning.

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Always been interested in how it works."

"Can you read minds?"

"Essentially."

"Read mine."

"I... don't know you well enough."

"Later, then. When we know each other a bit better. Meanwhile, dig in."

Involuntarily, your gaze turned back to the asshole you'd had the misfortune of interacting with for the past three weeks, and he nodded, either telling you you did well, or giving you permission to eat.

Either way, your mouth was now shut and would continue to be unless someone forced it open. The awkward clinks of glasses and clangs of cutlery rang through the room, battling fruitlessly to dissolve the tension.

"How's the food?"

Why was Nate trying to get you to talk?

"Oh, great, I really like it."

Nate's mother smiled at that. "Well, thanks. It's actually a new recipe I found on some obscure old cooking show tape my mother had recorded, back in her day! God, I'm telling you, those were simpler times."

Oh. So Nate hadn't cooked. Couldn't say you were surprised.

"Well, it's lovely.", you replied, smiling down at the garbage you had to put into your system. It was nothing personal, really, steak was just gross.

"I must say, Y/N, you're so much more polite than that girl. She was a real-"

"Mom. Mom.", warned Nate, shaking his head and waving his hand in front of his throat in a cut it out motion."She's friends with Maddy."

The entire table suddenly went silent, as if he'd just confirmed your involvement in a pyramid scheme. "Oh.", said Aaron, and his fucking eyes showed you he was full of pure mirth. "That's interesting."

"You're friends with both Nate and Maddy?", questioned Mrs Jacobs, as if trying so desperately to figure out your intentions for her baby boy.

"I'm friends with Maddy, and have been for... basically my whole life. And, yeah, I guess now I'm friends with Nate for the project. I don't get why it's so-"

"She's pretending to be her friend, Mom, alright? It's a childhood loyalty thing, but no one likes Maddy, she's a fu- she's not likeable."

Oh, so now Nate could suddenly write out your entire story and replace it with a script of his own making?

Acting as if she'd just dodged a cancer scare, she placed her hand on her chest, sighing in relief. "Thank god. You could've said that, dear. I was worried for a moment there."

You looked back down at the food. You couldn't shake the feeling that your lack of response had been a form of betrayal, though it was rooted in fear.

"So you and Nate are friends?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I don't know, Aaron, why do people befriend psychopaths? To save their own asses, of course.

"I mean... what do I even say to that?", you laughed, and it was supposed to mock him, but it just showed how nervous you really were. Fuck. Blood in shark-infested waters. "I guess he's... a nice guy, so, y'know."

Even you didn't believe that. Even NATE didn't believe that.

"That's a new one."

You nodded, clearing your throat as you continued to work on slicing up your steak. All three Jacobs men watched the piece go into your mouth and you wanted to throw it right back up.

"You think he's hot?"

"What?"

"Nate. My lil' bro. You think he's hot?"

"Aaron, honestly!", muttered his mother, shaking her head as if this was all just a playful banter session. "Stop it. Nate said they're friends, so they're friends."

Your phone buzzed.

'I really didn't know they'd be here.'

'Shut up.'

'Ur doing great.'

'I said shut up.'

'Lol.'

"Nate, didn't you tell her we've got a strict no-phones-at-the-table rule?"

You stuffed the phone back in your pocket, as well as any hope you'd get out of this house anytime soon.

"I mean, you're a total smokeshow. And he's..."

"Aaron."

Aaron smirked through his chewing, winking at you. "Well, he's attracted to smokeshows. Total match. But you're, what, a cheerleader? That's his real type."

"No, I'm not a cheerleader."

He sucked in breath, sharply, tutting as he shaked his head. "Tough luck."

"Aaron.", warned Nate, sucking his teeth. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying. It's not surprising he hasn't dicked you down yet."

THAT escalated fast.

"Aaron! No cussing at the table, and especially not in front of guests.", hissed Mrs. Jacobs, as if her youngest son's entire vocabulary didn't consist of the word 'fuck'. "I'm sorry, he gets like this when he teases his brother."

"Or maybe he... oh, wait, didn't he invite you here alone first?", mused Aaron, frowning in mock curiosity.

Nate's hand found your knee under the table, patting the side of it as if he could tell you were losing it. There was some kind of psychological warfare underfoot, and you weren't in on the joke, the origin or the punchline. You were being blindsided. Let it go. Fuck what his eyes told you, you'd fucking riot if you didn't get out of there right now.

Cal, who'd been perfectly silent for all this time, leaned back in his chair, his fork down and apparently, his booze-filled blood shooting up. "I'm curious, too. In more polite words than that. Why are you and Y/N just friends?"

Okay, this was clearly not your jurisdiction. This treatment was not because he'd, like, broken curfew or something.

"Dad, we're just partners. Project partners."

"Shame. She's a knockout."

Okay, Aaron saying that was creepy enough.

"No, seriously, Y/N, you're really beautiful. Nate couldn't do better if he tried." Sounded backhanded, and it probably was. "If you're not attracted to him, it's kind of an insult to me, isn't it?", he inquired, innocently, his eyes twinkling. "Aren't I good looking?"

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" It was weird seeing Nate playing the white knight in your story and not the dragon, but hey, you'd take it.

"I mean...", continued Cal, taking a bite of his food, all the while gazing at you. "Unless your issue is just with his personality. Because then..."

What. The. Fuck.

"Y'know.", said Cal, offhandedly, as if the entire fucking table didn't know what he was implying. "Just food for thought."

"What the fuck are you guys doing?", he repeated, his voice sounding more strained by the minute.

"Nate."

"No, Mom, I will fucking cuss, if they're sitting here being fucking assholes about it!"

"Don't you DARE talk to me like that, son!", yelled Cal, and suddenly, you felt like a voyeur zooming in on someone else's life, someone else's argument, someone else's issues.

Aaron lifted up his hands in defense, standing up as well. "Hey, man, I'm just saying. You're disappointing men everywhere if you don't hit that."

"Oh, you're one to talk, you bitchless waste of FUCKING space."

"One goddamn night! One goddamned night without this bullshit, please!"

"Oh, come on, Marsha, you know full fucking well you're no innocent here! You've raised these boys up so goddamn weak that they can't even fucking do their own laundry, and CLEARLY can't fucking learn RESPECT!"

Evidently the no-cuss-rule was out.

Nate's hand slammed down on the table next to you so hard your plate shook, and suddenly, you wished you had shown up in lingerie. At least the mother would've kicked you out as soon as you'd walked in.

Your eyes stayed on your fork, the shitty fucking steak, and you waited. For what, you didn't know. But eventually, Nate sat back down, and so did the other two Jacobs men.

Okay. Phew.

And then Nate muttered 'faggot', and suddenly, Aaron was ushering you into a room - Nate's room, he informed you, in a hurry - and you were locked in. Screams, the sound of things slamming on the floor, and a distinct crack ensued.

FUCKING CHRIST.

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The light from the living room beamed into the room with the monogrammed pillows -pathetic, you had to remember to mock him for it later- about twelve minutes later.

You knew that because you'd been keeping track.

The entire evening was surrounded by a lack of clarity, and after whatever had happened out there that you were not allowed to be privy to, thankfully , you were now completely in the dark as to what the whole stiff, insinuation during dinner was all about. What, they thought you guys were hooking up, was that it?

But all that just dissipated once you saw Nate standing in the doorway, looking at you as if he had just accidentally broken your favourite toy on the playground at five years old. And he was even drunker than he was before.

And once more, you allowed your heart to break for Nate Jacobs.

Wait, no, scratch that.

Your heart broke for him, with none of your own volition. It just fucking happened.

"Are you okay?" What you were really asking was 'did he hurt you?', but you didn't say it.

He didn't respond, and instead took cautious steps toward you, as though you were a bomb he'd never learnt to dismantle before.

But the caution wore off quite fast, because suddenly, your hands were stroking his hair and he was clinging onto you like a vine. Or a python with its prey. TBD.

He kept muttering things into the crook of your neck, things that vaguely resembled 'I'm sorry', but, I mean, it was Nate.

That was usually followed by some kind of blackmail, right?

Blackmail, not pained moments when his mind led him to thoughts that made him grip tighter onto you, like the hug was his lifeline. RIGHT?

"I'm so fucking sorry."

Evidently, you'd heard him right the first time.

"It's okay. Shh. It's okay." At this point there was nothing else you could do except lie to him.

"I fucking hate him, he's a fucking asshole!", he grunted, his words muffled but strong in your hair.

"It's fine, I wasn't offended." You understood. People are weird when drunk. Not usually asking a minor to fuck them kind of weird, but maybe that was just your lack of exposure.

He pushed you away, looking at you as if you'd just suggested cannibalism or something even more sickening. "It's fine? You weren't offended? Y/N, my dad literally asked to fuck you! What, do you want him to, is that why you were looking at him like that?"

'He's sloshed, he's sloshed, he's sloshed.' , you reminded yourself, lest you punch him again.

"Nate-"

"No. I have a question.", he said, closing his eyes and then opening them wide for a moment. This told you that the liquor had just pierced his skull. "You- You fuck Shane Crestin, the biggest fucking cunt in the world, you wanna fuck my DAD, but you won't fuck ME?", he asked, his voice increasing in decibel and his finger repeatedly slamming against his chest, like he apparently wanted to do to you.

SLOSHED, SLOSHED, SLOSHED. Remember.

"Nate, I didn't fuck Shane, I don't want to fuck your dad, and I- I don't wanna fuck anyone!"

"Why not ME? Do you not like me? You think I'm a prick? I'm not good enough for your whore ass?"

"Nate, I'm just-"

"HOW ARE YOU SO FINE WITH MY DAD WANTING TO FUCK YOU?!"

"I'm not! It makes me sick, but-"

"SO WHY WON'T YOU SAY HE'S AN ASSHOLE? SAY IT! SAY IT!"

"Nate-"

"FUCKING SAY IT!"

You almost cried at how fast you had to dodge the lamp that came whizzing your way before crashing and disintegrating against the wall behind you.

It amazed you how you knew that this boy's mother and brother were probably still lingering in the same house, hearing this bullshit, and yet not a peep came out of them. Fucking jerks.

"Nate."

"I swear to god, Y/N, if you don't say it right now-"

"Fine, he's an asshole!"

He looked up at you. He didn't believe it. It's fine, you didn't give a shit anymore. It went without saying, and if he needed you to say it, he was an idiot. "Bullshit."

"You're not apologizing?"

"For what? Yelling? No, I'm not."

Deliberately obtuse, just like always.

Speaking of which, you were a hundred percent sure you'd been grazed at your temple. Your fingers returned from the site with red all over them.

"I could've been hurt." You displayed those fingers to him, right in front of the eyes, so he could better view the same scarlet gore you had to see in his first ever text to you, but he looked at them like you'd showed him his own face in the mirror.

'That's normal', his look said.

"You could've fucked my dad, too, but neither of those things happened tonight." This was what he actually said.

It was like he'd forgotten what happened two seconds ago. Like the shards of glass lying in front of his wall had always been there, and were nothing out of the ordinary.

"Okay, that's fucking it.", you scoffed, shouldering past him on your way out. You'd hoped he wouldn't stop you, but you'd known he would.

"No."

Okay, you'd expected 'wait', or something nicer.

"Shut up, Nate, don't push me."

"You're bleeding. The corner store doesn't have first-aid. I do."

He said it like that was the answer to everything. That you should never have any more questions about his actions.

You let him lead you back to the bed, the silence gnawing at you both. He seemed more than happy to let it devour him whole, seeing as he was tight-lipped and disinterested, almost, when he turned on the light in his bathroom, foraging around for his first-aid kit, or whatever.

He looked like he was about to go batshit for a second time that night, the frantic manner in which he was throwing stuff off his counter to find it, yanking the drawers open so forcefully they'd scream if they could.

Luckily, though, he found the damn thing, tossing it to you from where he stood. Catching it, you opened the box, wordlessly rummaging through for cotton or band-aids or something to keep your hand and eyes - and most importantly, mind - busy.

The cotton sitting nervously in your hand, you took tentative steps into the bathroom, wisely keeping your distance from Nate, who stood still, ruminating on something with one hand still on the drawer's handle.

You stood in front of the mirror.

The mirror lied to you. It always has, always will. Your damage looked minimal, but that was excluding the emotional one.

You looked away from your reflection's eyes to focus on the side of your forehead, and sometimes to your left, at the occassional huff that escaped him.

Mirror-you grimaced just like real-you, as you harshly rubbed at the skin around your cut. So much red.

At this point, it was impossible to avoid your own eyes, those essentially vapid pools of numbness at this point. You didn't know what was going on, and lord knew if you'd understand it even if it was explained to you like a five year old.

Because it couldn't be real. You couldn't be standing right next to the guy who almost maybe blinded you, maybe even KILLED you, had the impact been angled differently.

Your pain only seemed to be getting exacerbated the more cotton you used up. The piece of glass you were trying to remove from your temple was stubborn, like the man who helped transform it from its shape to a shard.

When you finally did remove it, you were quick to try to put a stopper to the gushing blood coming out of it, but the way you did it had you wanting to scream in agony.

"What the hell are you doing? You're supposed to dab, not rub.", he muttered, sucking in his breath sharply as he slapped your hands away, seeming furious at you for not knowing what to do after you get impaled by a piece of broken glass. "The rubbing makes it worse."

His finger turned your jaw toward him, and he snatched the cotton from you before dabbing softly at and around the wound where the little refracting fragment of glass had sat before, and intact, unblemished skin had sat once before that.

Dutifully grabbing a bottle of antiseptic from the first aid box, he tilted it so that it would gently stain the cotton, before pressing it to your temple, shushing you softly as you winced.

Jovially traumatizing what you imagined to be every single cell in the wound, the antiseptic finally fizzled out, its effect no longer sharp and concentrated and debilitatingly painful.

"You're a mess." His voice was so cold, so unkind, so... detached.

You're one to talk.

"Are you going to say anything?" He sounded almost... bored.

You stayed silent. If he thought you were going to give him more things to throw shit at you over, he was sorely mistaken.

He sighed, his jaw ticking slightly. "Y/N."

Your eyes moved away from the mirror behind him and back to his.

He paused his lazy movements to look down at you, your eyes, specifically, before gently bending down so he was suddenly looking up at them.

What that was supposed to achieve was unclear, but what it did affect was your ability to look away.

"I want to hear your voice.", he informed, his eyes moving between yours.

Like a bull craves the muleta.

Glancing down at him, you realized his eyes didn't match his tone. There was something almost dead about them.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Cuss me out, maybe? I don't know. I don't like the quiet."

"Why, 'cause it makes you think?", you scoffed.

"Yes, actually.", he replied, looking at you deadpan. "It does, and that's not really what I wanna do right now, okay?"

He wasn't bored, you realized. He was numb.

"Okay."

"So say something, damn it."

"About what?"

"Y/N. Listen to me when I'm talking to you. I don't give a shit. ANYTHING." He shook your shoulders as if that would cause you to spit out a good conversation in the aftermath of this night.

"Okay, uh... you promised me you'd listen to Queen with me."

He stared at you for a good while before his face softened, just enough for you to wonder if you'd imagined it, and then he frowned. "I did?"

"Yes."

"Then I will."

You nodded. "'Kay."

"Tell me about Queen."

"Look, man, I don't know-"

"Y/N.", he warned, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he reached for a band-aid, eyes never leaving your wound.

"Jeez, fine. Uh, 'We Will Rock You'. 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. 'Another One Bites The Dust'."

"That was them?", he mused softly, the words dying out a little before they reached your ears, as he ripped the cover open with his teeth, then unwrapped the band-aid.

"Yes. Freddie Mercury's the lead singer."

"The one with the teeth?", he inquired, pressing slightly on the band-aid to ensure it stuck.

The sheer dichotomy of what he was doing - cleaning up a wound caused by him that might have killed you- and what he was saying - some quip about the lead singer of some '70's band he'd barely heard of - was astounding.

"Yup." You popped your p, hoping that would echo around the room and fill the silence for long enough that Nate wouldn't pester you to talk again, which was the last thing you felt like doing.

He gazed at your wound for a little while longer before nodding. "Done. Don't touch it for another week, maybe two."

"Okay."

"And I'll get you, like, a blanket or whatever, let me just put this shit back."

"A blanket?"

"Well, yeah. You don't get cold? What are you, superhuman?"

"I'm not staying here. I'm going home."

"Like hell you are.", he laughed dryly, opening his drawer and carefully placing the box back in before moving to the sink again. His hands moved quickly, squeezing paste onto his brush. "Not this late."

You looked down at your watch. "It's nine."

"It's late."

You snorted. "Thought you were the badass curfew-less one. Now you're freaking out about nine p.m?"

Why were you even still talking to this... thing in front of you? Why were you arguing with him? You could just fucking walk out.

He rolled his eyes, his toothbrush being as thorough as possible for a couple minutes before he spat it out, gargling and then turning to look at you. "It's late."

"I'm not spending the night, Nate."

"You a sleep-talker? 'Cause that's crazy shit.", he said, spitting out his mouthwash and wiping with the back of his hand, walking past you as he opened a cupboard, and tossed a heavy-looking duvet down at your feet.

"Nate, I'm not staying over!"

"But the really creepy ones are the sleep-walkers, I'm tellin' you.", he continued, shaking his head as he picked and chose two of his pillows and threw them at your feet, too. "My cousin, back when we were eight, I woke up and found him, like, banging his head on the door. Ouija board shit, bro, I'm tellin' you."

It was clear he was blatantly ignoring you, but what infuriated you the most was that he expected you to sleep on the same floor which was strewn with dangerous, nigh invisible shards of glass.

"Nate!"

"No, seriously, I don't care if it's like, a medical condition or whatever, they're like the fucking Conjuring movie, bro!", he declared, throwing his hands up as he distractedly moved to the other side of his bed, now, checking his phone. "You're not one of 'em, right?"

"You're such a fucking asshole, I'm leaving."

"If you step out that door, I will fucking kill you."

What unnerved you was that his eyes never moved from his phone. This was as casual as his reply to his Mom asking what he wanted for breakfast or something.

Saying he'd kill you was like saying 'pancakes with butter' to him.

"What?"

"I'm going to kill you if you leave." , he huffed, tiredly. And this time, it was clear he really was bored. Bored of the conversation, bored of your resistance, bored.

"You're fucked up."

"Look, sweetie, we've both had a long day-"

"Don't fucking call me that."

He let out a breathy snicker, nodding. Almost like he'd been wondering when you'd call him out on it.

"Fair. Look, bitch, we've both had a long day...", he corrected himself, with a self-satisfied grin, before continuing, "... and I'm not letting you drive home alone with a bleeding forehead."

"I thought you fixed it."

"With the way you're yelling right now, the blood vessel you're about to pop could rip the bandage from the inside out. Look- I- I can't deal with this shit, Y/N, okay? Not tonight. So shut up and close the fucking door."

"My family's expecting me home."

He raised a brow, as if you'd just said something so pathetic he almost felt sorry for you - like you'd just said you still fucking watched Disney Channel, or something. "They know you're here?"

"No." As if.

"Where do they think you are?"

Oh, he'd expected you to have told them you were with another friend. Sorry to disappoint, asshole, but some people aren't as prepared to stay over because their friend had a psycho family.

"I'd rather not talk about it - I don't like to recall my lies."

His eyes widened, and it looked like, for the first time that entire, painful night, he was actually amused, and fuck you for being so pathetic, but you were actually glad you'd mitigated the agony, at least a little bit. "They still think you're at your internship? You didn't tell them?"

"Tell them what? That some jock thinks touching me is his good luck charm, so he stalked me, found out where I worked, and cost me my entire internship by barging in?"

"Or you could've just said your boss was a perv, and you quit."

"He wasn't a perv."

"I'm a guy. I can tell."

Wow, way to dig at an entire gender's ability to perceive danger.

You shook your head, rubbing your forehead. "What is your problem, Nate?"

"I care too much."

You laughed loudly at that, and he looked too tired to even be mad. "I just don't like the thought of you driving home alone at night, okay? Simple as that."

"Then don't think the thought."

"You're staying."

"Like hell I am."

He groaned, putting his phone back down and rubbing his face as he walked towards the front of the bed - towards you. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. Because my family-"

He rolled his eyes, reaching into your pocket and grabbing both your wrists to keep you from stopping him as he scrolled through your contacts - god, you had to get a fucking passcode.

"Maddy- no fucking way.", he mumbled, his thumb racing across the screen. "Cassie- one of Maddy's minions, so no- oh. Who's Lex?"

"Alexis."

"Oh, Alexis Howard? Lexi? She'll cover for you, right?"

"Not without telling Cassie. Now give me back my phone!"

"She won't tell Cassie. How's this? 'Lex, tell my family I'm sleeping over at yours, ok? Love you, xoxo!'", he read out, his voice attempting to mimic yours.

"Is that what you think girls talk like?"

"Yeah, with a scary amount of emojis."

"Misogynist."

"Badge of honour, baby. I'm sure Lexi, one of your best gal pals will cover for you."

Yes, of course, but that was besides the point.

"That's not the point-"

"The point is that you don't feel safe enough to fall asleep around me."

"What?"

"That hurts, sweetie."

"You know what else hurts?", you spat, pointing at the band-aid at your temple.

"It'll heal." He was still refusing to apologize.

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

"Smash or pass, uh... McKay."

You almost laughed right then and there. "Smash."

"Really?"

You looked up at his ceiling, imagining him up on the bed, judging your smashability-scale.

"Yeah, why not?"

"You could never do it, you know? Realistically. You're not his type."

"Shut up. Smash or pass... Kat."

"Pass. Hard. Pass."

"Why?"

"I should say it's because she's close to Maddy, but you and I both know the real reason is 'cause she's so fucking ugly that-"

"Alright, shut up."

"See, this is the problem with you girls. Just agree. She's ugly."

"I don't think anyone's ugly. I think it's all action-based."

"God, then you must think I'm hideous."

He scoffed at the silence that followed. "Ouch."

"I don't think you're hideous, Nate. Just extremely unattractive."

"Superlatives, really? Y'know, whatever, I deserve it. Uh... smash or pass, Shane."

"Uh... pass."

"Why?" The glee in his voice was evident and mildly amusing.

"He cussed me out after I said the date wasn't going well."

The laughter that escaped Nate seemed to go on for hours on end. "In the middle of the restaurant?!"

"We weren't in a restaurant."

"Where were you guys?"

"He took me to a club or something."

Nate's face came into your peripheral view as he peered over the edge of the bed to face you. "On a first date."

You nodded. "Yup."

"The guy's both a fucking tool and a miserable little cunt. Anything other than a restaurant is fucking unacceptable for a first date."

"I know, even a bowling alley's fine, but a club is stupid, right? I mean, like, at the very least a café."

He nodded, his mouth curling down slightly. "Yeah, at least. Bare minimum."

It was uncomfortable, him looking down at you with pity the same night that his father had embarrassed him and cussed him out. Wasn't right. "Well, whatever. Smash or pass, uh... Rue."

"Rue Bennett? We got history, so, uh, I dunno."

"History?"

"A miscommunication during prom.", he told you, shrugging, but it was clearly something much more serious. "She's hot when she's off the drugs, I guess."

You rolled your eyes and he smiled.

"Hey, Y/N?" He didn't move back to his pillow, instead letting his arms dangle off the edge of the bed as he reached and toyed with a strand of your hair, glancing down at you. "I'll leave you alone after tonight, okay?"

"What?"

"Like, I- tonight? It was... bad. And I'm... I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm, I'm sorry. If you just, y'know, fist-bump me before every game, we'll be good. Okay? I won't bother you outside of that."

See, he said this, but his thumb kept returning to your lower lip every two seconds. You'd be a fool not to take this deal. But you'd be a liar if you said you remembered anything about life before Nate.

"Okay."

"You should get to sleep. It's two."

"What will you do?"

"Try to sleep.", he mumbled, his eyes moving away from you and towards the glass, which lay several feet away from you, on your left - almost like it was trying to reach your heart.

Your eyes followed his, and you sighed. "For the record, I don't want to fuck your dad."

"Yeah. I got that now."

"You gotta stop drinking, man."

He chuckled, nodding. "No. But thanks for the concern." Rolling back over, he left you staring at the ceiling once more, as if there were clues there as to the enigma that was Nate Jacobs.

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

When you'd pulled up to your driveway the next morning - Sunday - it hit you that you were free of Nate forever. Last night, you'd have probably not known how to feel about that. This morning? Fucking elated.

You didn't even have to draw out a map, or take a single moment to think it over - every single problem in your life over the last month could be traced to him.

So fucking yay. Good riddance.

And the next day, Monday, you realized something.

School had never been so fucking fun.

Your classes started making more sense, seeing as you no longer had to look over your shoulder for some motherfucker who'd slit his own throat if you didn't go where he wanted. Fucking yay.

No, seriously. That's it. We're done here. No more Nate. End of story.

...

Ha.

So gullible.

----

Nights after Nate had always been the hardest.

Because you always found yourself losing your sanity and you knew that the only person who could even remotely get your mind off it was Nate himself.

Maybe that was his allure.

Hurting you then comforting you.

Making you cry then wiping the tears away.

But that night, he wasn't there with a blunt or tequila. Hell, you'd have even taken the gun. And you should've been ecstatic that he'd finally left you the hell alone, but at this point you had no clue what you were supposed to be feeling.

The only thing you could do was block him. Show him how mad you were. In your past experience, that didn't really matter to him, but you were running out of options.

And you probably shouldn't have done that, because you might have gotten a heads up about Tuesday.

════════════════════ ⋆ ♟️ ⋆ ══════════════════

You should've had your guard up as soon as you saw Nate walk into the school library that Tuesday afternoon, his eyes somehow darker than when he'd asked you to your face, no less, if you wanted to bang his father. You had no clue whether you had to hide or just keep doing what you did.

Flight or flight was fucking useless.

But your guard wasn't up, at least not immediately, because it was Nate. Because he may terrify you and almost kill you, but he'd never hurt you, because he just... worked differently. Things that may make someone psychopathic, he thought were normal. No biggie.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't secretly hoping he'd come back to further provoke you, because not-being-mad at him was kind of a grey area for you. It wasn't your usual state of being.

The moment your guard went up, though, was when Aaron walked in behind him. Hands in his pockets. Did he have a knife in there? Money? Or would he just flip you off?

You didn't want to find out, but it also didn't seem like you had much of a choice.

[the-badger-mole]

You know what really irked me, even as a kid watching ATLA? Any time Aang vented about his crush on Katara to anyone, they would pat his head and assure him she would come around eventually. Some even implied since he's the Avatar, she basically has to. No one ever told Aang to maybe respect Katara's boundaries and choices, and not see friendship as a stepping stone to being her boyfriend. That bothered me then, and it bothers me even more now.

It should bother EVERYONE! One of the things I hate about Kataang- the MAIN thing I hate about Kataang- is how little Katara matters in the relationship. She is Aang's prize. Whatever she might actually want for herself is irrelevant. I hate how little care was given into Katara's side of this relationship. It was so poorly developed that when pressed, the only examples of Katara's feelings being more than friendship are that last scene in "The Fortuneteller", which has Katara literally only considering Aang for half a second because someone outside of herself pointing out that he was a powerful bender, and then never mentioning it again, or that scene in "The Headband", which has Katara giving Aang bedroom eyes FROM HIS PERSPECTIVE, but again, not talking about it or giving him any actual signal that she wants to pursue something with him. I'm convinced the only reason those scenes exist is because Bryke were just aware enough of how romance should be structured that they knew that Katara should have some sort of participation in the romance. Too bad they didn't care enough about her feelings to actually center her feelings.

Meanwhile, Aang's feelings get explored, discussed (with everyone EXCEPT Katara) and validated. We can't NOT know how he feels. The reason all those people reassuring Aang that he'll get Katara is so insidious is because Aang never considers her feelings. He can't even fathom her turning him down. It never crosses his mind that her answer might be no. That she has the right to say no. So when she says no in EIP (and it was a no. If👏🏿 it's👏🏿 not👏🏿 a👏🏿 yes, 👏🏿it's👏🏿 a 👏🏿no👏🏿), Aang can't respect that boundary. He stomps over that boundary because he's the Avatar, and he wants her, so of COURSE she's not going to turn him down. She can't say no to him. And Bryke agree with him! They don't ever address how messed up it was for Aang to kiss Katara without her consent TWICE, and they don't ever address Katara's feelings. Instead they make it so the only charitable explanation for why Katara's feelings changed between EIP and the finale is that she feels like she owes Aang.

She is not romantically interested in Aang until the moment she sees him on stage being hailed as tH3 r3@L h3R0!!!11!!! He was the Avatar she'd been hoping for. He ended the war. He wanted her. Bryke, instead of giving Katara moments of having Aang support her, give emotional validation, or even just helping her with chores without being a baby about it, ignored developing Katara's feelings altogether-ignored the fact that Zuko was right there giving her in like 5 episodes what Ang never gave her in the entire series- in favor of presenting her as a literal prize for their boy.

[lancermylove]

Body Swap (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: DB x fem!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Can you do a body swap headcanon with demon brothers? So basically female MC swap body with one of the brothers

A/N: Hope you like it! Anon, who requests the N.SFW version of this. I don't write for gender bender, especially with 18+ HCs. This one is an exception because it's more emotional and comedic, so sorry!

———————————————

Satan

Oh my Devildom, he doesn't feel angry, even when triggered. This feeling is very difficult for him to get used to, but it's a refreshing change. However, he constantly reminds himself that this is only temporary and that he should not get used to it.

He is also mature about the body swap and does his best to respect your body as best as possible. Even though Satan won't admit it, he finds the experience fascinating and finally understands how a woman's body works. Although, he will never get used to random body aches, especially random lower back pain.

You, on the other hand, are not so fortunate. You feel like you are a ticking time bomb of anger. One little mishap, and you feel like destroying everything around you. Satan tries his best to pacify you, but it doesn't work all the time. At times, Beel and Lucifer have to restrain you after you have a rage episode. Then, you profusely apologize and nearly break into tears. It's a vicious cycle.

This makes you realize just how hard Satan has to work to keep his anger in check, and Satan realizes how difficult it is for his brothers to control him when he gets angry.

Once you switch back, you are tempted to tell Satan to meditate, but the thought of a demon meditating is hilarious yet odd.

For the rest, visit my website: Body Swap

———————————————

➣  Please visit my website for the full masterlist!

[burst-of-iridescent]

Personally Kat.aang looks bad to me because Aang gave his most lightest skinned child special treatment 💀 there were air acolytes who weren’t air benders themselves but were still dedicated to keeping the culture alive so leaving Kya and Bumi out on account of them not being air benders is absolute bullsh*t. You don’t see Zutara shippers calling Kat.aang shippers racist because of it 🤔

yeah see this is one of those things that again ties back to bry.ke being totally oblivious about the implications of what they were writing because the optics of the kat.aang family are… troubling, to put it nicely.

the darker-skinned woman is a waterbender. the lighter-skinned man is an airbender. the nonbender is conveniently in-between. their clothing all correspond strictly to their individual elements (except bumi who gets chucked to red for the audacity of not being born an airbender — at least till he conveniently turns into one). if you knew nothing of these characters you’d never know they were biracial at all.

which is just… so disappointing. part of the reason i love zutara is how the fandom handles the incorporation of both cultures, and yet bry.ke couldn’t even be bothered to do the bare fucking minimum of at least having the kat.aang kids in blue and yellow clothes. if you’re going to claim that a significant aspect of this new, postwar world is the increased cultural exchange across nations then the kat.aang family of all people should be emblematic of that change! but no, instead of taking the opportunity to actually delve into and depict the intricacies of a blended household, we might as well just stick to the same shit we’ve been doing since atla because why think of something new, right?

it’s even more troubling that within the strange cultural division of the ka kids, it’s katara’s culture that gets the shaft. tenzin’s entire family might as well be air nomads through and through, and while bumi and kya seem to have been intentionally excluded from air nomad culture through no fault of their own, they don’t seem to know (or care) any more about their swt heritage either. the natural conclusion to draw from that is evidently that katara’s culture just doesn’t matter as much as aang’s in their family, and that paints a very disturbing picture of how aang views his wife’s heritage (especially with the worldbuilding of atla portraying the air nomads as ‘spiritually pure’ in comparison to everyone else).

i have no patience for the common ka defense that aang is a survivor of genocide so his culture should take more priority because a) katara is also a genocide survivor, as ka stans are so fond of pointing out until it doesn’t work in their favour and b) why are we acting like cultural integration is some sort of zero sum game? tenzin, kya and bumi aren’t going to run out of space for their air nomad traditions and practices just because they know more about their swt background as well. there’s no arbitrary limit on how much you can learn of your heritage.

yes, i know bry.ke didn’t intend for the ka family to come across this way. but whether the implications were purposeful or not, they still exist, and it’s fucking galling that the fandom will call zutara and zutara shippers racist all while defending the shitty writing choices of two american white men — and then pat themselves on the back for being progressive, as if genuine activism means harassing real poc in the name of fictional ones.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

David and Michael interview with Emily Aslanian for TV Insider, 10.7.2023 :)

David: So Gabriel shows up at Aziraphale's bookshop naked. He's lost his memory. Where does that leave our good heroes?

Michael: Well, Aziraphale, for someone who is of a slightly nervous disposition, for a naked... his ex boss to turn up outside his bookshop in Soho in the daytime, naked and wanting a hug, is not necessarily what Aziraphale had on his bingo card that day. But once he comes in and Aziraphale has to take him in, we discover that there is a mystery to be solved.

David: Yes.

Michael: And Aziraphale enjoys a mystery, but doesn't enjoy things like the end of the world or the stakes being that high.

David: He enjoys the mystery a little too much for Crowley's like.

Michael: He does a little bit.

David: Crowley just wants this sorted and he doesn't want you indulging your fantasy of being a private eye.

Michael: That's right, Aziraphale gets to really enjoy that. But they are forced, you know, they're a team of two now anyway, because they become detached from their respective head offices. But this forces them together even more. They've only got each other to rely on and they have to solve this mystery. And the clock is ticking. So it starts a whole chain of events that starts off potentially not being as high stakes as Season One. But as it goes along, we realise the apocalypse was just the beginning.

David: It was nothing! It was a mere bagatelle! How much time passes between Series One and Series Two. Do we know exactly?

Michael: I don't know exactly. But things have changed, obviously, between... I mean, Aziraphale is thoroughly enjoying himself. He's sort of got what he wanted, which is to be able to be in his bookshop, listen to music, watch shows, eat nice meals, drink wine, hang out with Crowley. He's a little disconcerted by not having the company behind him because he's such a company man. So that's a bit strange. But Crowley is...

David: It's not worked out quite so well for Crowley. He has the liberation of being free from Hell breathing down his neck. But he has lost the company apartment. So he is living in his car now with his pot plants. So circumstances are slightly reduced for him and he can't quite let go because we see him on a park bench catching up with Miranda Richardson's character Shax, who's taken over from him, trying to dig up a bit of gossip and find out what's really going on. So they have the freedom of not being watched over. But for Crowley, it's not worked out quite as well as perhaps he imagined.

Michael: What are they looking for in each other, I wonder?

David: In each other...

Michael: Well, I mean, I think, they sort of... on the surface, the things that annoy them the most about each other are actually what they are most compelled by.

David: Crave, yes, yes.

Michael: And so they’re sort of bound together, aren’t they? In all kinds of ways. I think Aziraphale is both infuriated and maddened and very stressed out by Crowley’s constant questioning of things. Things that Aziraphale thinks are just… those are the rules. Crowley being a sort of rule breaker and a rule bender, he finds incredibly stressful. And yet I think that’s sort of what he craves.

David: Drawn to.

Michael: He’s drawn to that.

David: Irrepressibly.

Michael: Yes.

David: Yes. And I think probably Aziraphale’s very consistency and very even-temperedness is something that Crowley kind of craves as well. There’s a sort of security in that which he doesn’t really get anywhere else. But, yes, they bicker away, but clearly with the security of a couple who know they can't really exist without each other. But I don't think... they never really admit what they are to each other. There's sort of understanding that they've only really got each other now, and therefore they rely on each other hugely. And, you know, as soon as Aziraphale is in trouble, he calls up Crowley to come and help him. There's no question there's...

Michael: Someone once said, what do any of us have but our illusions? And what do we ask of anyone but that we be allowed to keep them?

David: That's... who once said that? Should I not ask you that?

Michael: Don't ask me.

David: Don't ask you that.

Michael: Let me just say that.

David: It's lovely.

Michael: And sounds clever.

David: Michael Sheen once said something about illusions. It was really nice.

Michael: Whenever you hear someone say, 'A wise man once said', it's usually me.

David: It is usually you.

[dreamchasernina]

The live action writers hate Aang

I have given myself a lot of time to think about the live action, and reached the conclusion that the writers hate Aang. I dare you to read read this and tell me I'm wrong.

Let me start this by asking you a question? What's the most badass scene Aang has in the first season of the OG show? No matter what you answer is, I know for sure, that scene doesn't exist in the live action. Aang does absolutely nothing to prove the audience he is the right person to be the Avatar, he learns absolutely nothing throughout the show, he doesn't need to look into himself and change his way of thinking. Nothing. Most of the fundamental lessons Aang learns throughout the first season are gone.

The first mistake Aang does in the OG is staying at Kyoshi island too long, letting the attention go to his head, getting too comfortable. He realises he brought destruction to the island and tries to fix his mistakes by jumping onto the Unagi to help the village. That's how he learned the responsibly he holds as the Avatar and finds a unique way to help the village. Well that doesn't exist in the LA. Instead, Kyoshi takes over Aang's body to fight the whole fire nation for him. Aang, himself, does literally nothing.

The spirit world. In the OG show Aang is forced to face his Avatar duty for the first time by trying to save the village that's beeing attacked by Hei Bai. This is his first test as the Avatar and he fails. Not only that, he loses his friend. So Aang has to figure out himself how to get Sokka back from Hei Bai. He figures out who her bai is, himself, understands why Hei Bai is angry and gives him hope, the way Katara gave him hope. So we see that even though Aang failed at first, he kept trying and was smart and compassionate enough to realise what the problem is and solve it. This does not exist in the LA. Aang sees Hei bai in the spirit world, within a second realises who he is and just gives him the Acorn, without having to face him at all!

Another reason I'm convinced the writers hate Aang is the way all the avatars + Bumi treat Aang. Everyone is mad at him for disappearing for 100 years. And look, I get that, you can be mad at him if he ran away from his duties...but he never did! He went to clear his head on Appa and got caught in the storm. And if he hadn't run away he'd be dead, so why are you all so mad at him?! Bumi being mad at Aang could make sense, because in the OG show Aang did spend a significant amount on time of goofing around before he finds out about the comet. But here, it makes no sense! Bumi is mad for no reason. As soon as Aang got out go the ice he took his duty seriously, so please, make it make sense! And the show just glosses over the fact that if Aang hadn't run away he would be dead with the rest of the air benders. Instead of letting Aang feel guilty himself, which he does in the OG show, they just get these characters to hate on him, because they're incapable of making their characters have any emotional depth.

Aang doesn't learn water bending. At all. And there is no logical reason for that. I guess they thought it wasn't that important but please explain to me how you want to make Aang more serious and focused on the Avatar duties but not make him learn water bending? The literal next step Aang has to take to becoming the Avatar?? That is the only clear goal Aang has from the second episode of the show - to find a master and learn waterbending! Make it make sense!

Taking away Aang's talk with Koh. So I assume if most people didn't answer my question above with the Koi fish, they probably said Aang's journey into the spirit world and his meeting with Koh. In the OG show, Aang has to find a way to figure out how to save the water tribe. He does so by going into the spirit world and talking to Koh the face stealer. So Aang had to talk to Koh showing zero emotions so he doesn't have his face stolen. That scene is so creepy and so badass and shows that Aang is really capable, even though he is a kid, he is facing the creepy ass spirit and is doing an excellent job. So when Aang finds out who the moon and the ocean spirits are, it feels deserved, it feels like an accomplishment. In the live action he doesn't have to show zero emotions because Koh is not stealing faces, he's just stealing random people for whatever reason. Koh tells him exactly what to do, bring me a MacGuffin so I can release your friends, Aang just goes to see Roku, no problem, no obstacles to overcome, brings the Macguffin to Koh and he just releases his friends. Wow, really shows us how resourceful Aang is by making him...get an object and give it back to Koh...

And the very last point that I absolutely hated in the show. When Aang goes into the Avatar state and becomes the giant koi fish and wipes everyone out, the live action show goes out of its way to emphasise that that is not Aang in there. Aang is gone. The Koi fish is just rage. and that's that. Taking away ANY agency Aang ever had. Look, I know in the OG show Aang is not in control of the Avatar state either, but we know that's still Aang in there, that's his power he's showcasing. He might not be in control but that's him doing it all, being all powerful. But in the live action, they tell us Aang is gone, that's just his body the spirit is using. Plus Aang does no watebending himself, no gestures like the original where you can see aang in the sphere water bending, controlling the giant Koi fish, showing us how far he's come as a water bender. But in the LA he's just in the sphere...doing nothing because he never learned water bending so of course that's not him doing all this cool shit.

I am so angry over all of this. This is you MAIN PROTAGONIST. and you made him nothing but a vessel to progress the plot. You gave him no character, no growth, no struggles, no power! So no, you cannot convince me, at this point, that the writers of the live action don't hate Aang. Probably as much as they hate Katara.

[darlingshane]

Dumb & Poetic

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Michael and you cannot communicate anymore without screaming at each other, but you've managed to keep that out of the workplace. Except for today. Your argument reaches a boiling point, and you have a big blowout in the kitchen in front of everyone. You end up apologizing to each other at the end of the day in the only way you know how to.

CW: +18, explicit, heavy angst, complicated relationships in the workplace, smut, vaginal sex, hate sex, making out, misogynistic comments.

Word Count: 2,2k

— Links: AO3 // Michael Masterlist

The kitchen is on fire, and it's not because everyone is working their asses off. It's only because of the heated argument you're having with Michael.

If your hands weren’t busy with the sandwich you’re making, you would definitely close your fist and sock him in the face. You don’t condone violence, but right now, he's earning himself a good punch. Breaking his nose could be the only thing that would stop him from relentlessly nagging at you while you work. There's fire in your knuckles already, itching to hit something. Anger is really starting to fester in your stomach as he keeps yapping in your ear about nonsense. You give him one more minute before you either swing your fist or quit altogether. It'd be pretty funny to leave him in the lurch with the show full of people anxiously waiting for their food. You're understaffed, overworked, and lacking better management. He knows it, you know it, everyone and their mother in the neighborhood knows it. And yet, Michael refuses to listen to reason. The only thing he loves listening to is himself talking.

If you had other options, you’d certainly drop what you’re doing and walk right out the door. It'd take you to be as much of an asshole as he is to just leave him stranded today. Unfortunately, you can’t afford the luxury of quitting this job.

Turning heads on your way, you yell at each other, going back and forth between everyone working tiredly on the tight kitchen space. It's not unusual for you to fight, but today there's a time bomb ticking that holds something inside more complicated than any of you can understand.

You knew mixing business and pleasure was a mistake. Yet you jumped, eyes closed. It serves you right, you're hitting your head against the bottom of the pool for not following your gut. You knew Michael was trouble, also your boss, and that didn't stop you from getting into bed with him.

Now everything is a mess. You can't communicate without screaming at each other. All the back and forth between being together and apart has burned the last bridge between you and Michael, and there's nothing you can do to fix it when he's not willing to do his part in helping you.

“Orders are piling up. You either move out of the way, or join the party. So help me God, Michael.” You throw your knife with disdain into the sink before you do something you might regret.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why did you change the menu without telling me?”

“I tried! I called you ten times, and you never picked up. And I didn’t change the menu. I just added a special for the weekend to try it out. See, it’s working.” You use your hand to point at the kitchen window crowded by heads on the other side. “You said you were leaving for two days, and you were gone for over a week. You think that’s normal, to go on a bender and leave us to fend for ourselves? You got orders, bills, vendors to deal with… You're being fucking irresponsible. Has anyone told you that? ”

“Give me a damn break. You have no idea what I have to deal with. You've been working here two days and act like they own the place. Who the fuck you think you are?”

“I've been here two years, Michael! Two fucking years carrying your sorry ass around. You’ll be lost without me, asshole!”

“I'd be lost without you? That's rich.” He scoffs loudly. “I taught you everything you know.”

Now it's your time to snort. “You showed me how to make your stupid sandwiches. It's not like you taught me how to cure cancer. You should be grateful I care enough to do something about it.”

“It wasn’t your place! You added chicken to my menu. Beef. We serve beef.” He points at the logo on the shirt he's wearing. “Can't you read, sweetheart? If we start serving chicken, people are gonna get confused.”

You roll your eyes intently.

“I told you, it's just for the weekend, Mr. Beef.” You have to hold yourself back from throwing the wrapped sandwich in your hands at him.

“Yo, cousin, since when we do chicken specials.” Richie walks in, protesting, from the front of the shop.

“Ask the smartass here. Thinks she knows better than all of us.”

“Well, I don't know about smart, but she certainly has a good ass.” Richie laughs.

“Oh, look at your other half agreeing with you. What a surprise! That's sexual harassment, by the way, Richard. And you're late, as usual.”

“Take it to the police, sweetheart.”

You feel like you're the one who's taking this place more seriously than both of them. Perhaps you shouldn't even try anymore. If Michael doesn't care enough to make this place better, why should you? You're sick of busting your ass for nothing. You should just take a step back and let him drive this hole further into the ground.

Done with arguing with someone who doesn't even listen, you turn around and go start on the next order.

“Hey, I'm not done talking to you.” He, of course, follows behind you.

“Well, I am. Stop wasting my fucking time.”

“Not until you apologize for going over my head and changing things around without consulting me.”

You almost burst into laughter.

“The only one who needs to issue an apology is you, Michael. Not me. I've done nothing but bringing life into this fucking dark hole you've created. You're just too obtuse to see that.”

“You've got some fucking nerve. And who do you think is paying for all the chicken you ordered? Did you get a new vendor?”

“I know a guy. He got me a discount on the first order.”

“Really? Vendors I know don't usually do that. Did you have to suck his dick or something? Cause that's the only—”

He can't finish his sentence because before you know it, the back of your hand is swiftly flying across his face. All that vitriol that was boiling inside, begging to get out, ends plastered on his cheek that quickly turns red. Your knuckles hurt from hitting his jaw, but it was worth it.

Suddenly, you notice almost everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of you, caught in the middle of the space in a standoff.

It takes him a second to tell everyone to go back to work. You can see him fuming, but he doesn't respond or retaliate to your aggression.

As much as he deserved it, you almost regret it immediately. At least you got him to shut up for the time being. You take a ten-minute break and finish the rest of your shift without more altercations or Michael pestering you, thankfully. You're not sure if you want to come back tomorrow. You're done with his shit. It's not worth it anymore. You'll have figured out something else, cause this is never going to get better, and today was proof of that.

Almost everyone is gone when you decide to have a word with Michael after closing.

“Hey,” you say, standing by the open door to his office as he looks up from the pile of papers on his desk. “I'm going to take a couple of days off from my vacation days.”

“Yeah, I think that'd be best.” He agrees.

“Are you going to fire me?”

“It has crossed my mind.”

“Well, are you?”

“Sit down” He motions at the empty chair while he stands up to close the door behind you.

“I'm not sitting down. I'm tired of arguing with you and I wanna go home. Just tell me, Michael. No hard feelings. We'll go our separate ways, and you'll never have to deal with me again. ”

“I'm not firing you, okay? Please sit. I have something to say.”

Begrudgingly, you sigh and sit in the chair with your arms crossed while he leans on the edge of the desk.

“Look, today got out of hand, and I'm sorry for my part. I shouldn't have said that.”

“It was way out the line. But I shouldn't have slapped you, either.”

“Did it feel good to slap me?” his lips pull up at the corners.

“Maybe a little.”

You both smile for a moment, but you know there's more to say.

“I appreciate you helping here, but you can't make decisions like that when I'm gone. You should have told me first.”

“You never listen, Michael. This isn't something new. I've been telling you for months. This place needs to change, or you're going to lose it. I thought it meant something to you, but hell, what do I know? But don't worry, I'm butting out from now on. It's your business, do what you want with it.”

“I highly doubt you can do that, sweetheart. You and I both know you won’t be able to stay out of it. You just love being a pain in my ass too much.”

No, you're done for sure. If he can't at least meet you halfway, you're done trying. You can't fix this place cause you can't fix him. And that's the main issue here.

“Believe what you want, Michael.” You stand up to leave, but he's surely not even close to being done with you.

“Wait, there's something else I gotta say.”

“What?”

He steps closer in your direction, and you almost flinch when he brings his hand up to touch your face. Sighing, you let him cup your face while he leans in to kiss your mouth. It's so puzzling the effect he has on you. It’s dumb and poetic. He keeps fucking with your head like it’s some kind of fetish, and you keep letting him for no reason other than you can’t help but caring for him. You wish you didn’t, but you do love him more than you’d like to admit.

“Your lips are moving, but I don't hear any talking,” you mumble against his kiss.

“Hm, I wasn't done yet,” he licks his lips and then the tip of his tongue traces the shape of your mouth before sliding past your lips to do his talking. You don't give in so easily to his dirty antics. He's going to have to earn it.

It takes you a moment to respond to the bidding of his tongue that moves slowly against yours, begging you to kiss him back.

You should know better by now that this won't end well. This is a path you've walked many times before, and every time you end up regretting ever stepping onto it. You should duck, run, kick him in the balls, but you’re far too deep into the mind-numbing rhythm of his tongue that casts an impossible spell on you to do anything but argue with your tongue. As the heat rises, the hunger of your lips locking becomes unbearably hot to handle. You can barely breathe when you notice his hands roaming all over your body, claiming it as if it was his.

“God, I hate you so much,” you grunt into the kiss, pulling slightly from his mouth to see the vicious red that has plumbed his lips.

“I hate you more, baby,” he huffs, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth as he presses his crotch between your legs. “That’s how much I despise you.”

“Not as much as I do.” You undo the buttons of your jeans before grabbing his hand and shoving it into your panties to make him feel how soaked you are already.

Dark eyes lock with yours as he viciously massages your whole pussy. Before you know, you’re turning your back on him, and bending over his desk, pulling your pants and underwear down so he can fuck you from behind.

There’s no time wasted, as you brace your elbows to the table, he smoothly buries his cock in your opening, collecting all your juices. He’s hard, and you're soft in all the right places for him to thrust firmly without hurting you. His hands grip your ass while the pace of his hips quickly drive you out of your mind. You feel every stroke and thrust rippling through your body, kindling a fire within your core. You glance over your shoulder to see him darkly staring at you before smacking your ass with his palm.

“How do you like that now, huh?” He snarls, slapping your ass a second time harder, earning a moan out of you. “Yeah, I know that’s how you like it, sweetheart.”

You then hang your head and let him drive you closer to the edge. You can feel his cock twitching inside you as you send one of your hands between your legs to touch your clit.

“What? You got nothing to say now?” He leans forwards to grunt in your ear. “Good. You look prettier with your mouth shut.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” you moan as his hand follow the path of yours to helps you take care of your clit as you both nearly touch that last final line.

With the help of his fingers, and those final firm erratic thrusts, you quickly come undone, letting your walls flutter around him, bringing him down with you. He spills himself inside, holding on to you as you and him are momentarily taken by that jolt of bliss that ripples from his body to yours and vice versa.

— credits: divider by @bernardsbendystraws