#on one hand i feel so bad for him bcs he looks so overheated and dehydrated(he was literally crouching down on the podium)

[skitskatdacat63]

2005 Malaysian Grand Prix - Fernando Alonso(my personal post-race highlights)

[jasmineandcedar]

"His head went quiet."

[Second Solstice] “It's beautiful," she [Elain] whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck [Azriel's BC).

When I read that Azriel’s head went quiet in the bonus chapter, I often think of it in a wider and perhaps more symbolic sense. As in, Elain gives him peace and quiet. He relaxes with her in the garden, sunning his wings. His shadows vanish in her presence (here’s a post I wrote dissecting my perception of the meaning of this). His soft and gentle side comes out around her (meaning he has no need to be stone-faced and guarded, as he usually is). However, I also believe the peace and quiet she gave him in that precise moment is also very specific and contextual.

What had been plaguing his mind leading up to their moment during Solstice night?

[Second Solstice] Sleep, they [his shadows] seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep. I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours (Azriel’s BC).

“Razor-sharp thoughts” and “wants and needs”. These words give meaning to Azriel's actions in ACOSF. All throughout ACOSF, we see Azriel distressed and clearly not OK, because of his feelings for Elain. Even to the point that Cassian (who, let’s be honest, is not the most observant) notices.

[Azriel telling Cassian Nesta and Cassian are wanted at the river house] “You and Nesta are wanted down there.” “Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.” “It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.” “It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him. Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up. (ACOSF)

[Cassian asking Azriel if he wants kids] Cassian looked over at Az. “You think you’ll ever be ready for one?” Ever be ready to confess to Mor what’s in your heart? “I don’t know,” Azriel said. “Do you want a child?” “It doesn’t matter what I want.” Distant words—ones that prevented Cassian from prying further. He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why. (ACOSF)

[Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta training] Nesta’s stare seared him from across the ring. Cassian might have flexed his stomach muscles as he approached the chalk-lined circle. Az shook his head and muttered, “Pathetic, Cass.” Cassian winked, nodding to his brother’s equally muscled stomach. “Where have you been exercising these days?” “Here,” Azriel said. “At night.” After he returned from spying on their enemies. “Can’t sleep?” Cassian took up a fighting stance. A shadow curled around Azriel’s neck, the only one brave enough to face the sunlight. “Something like that,” he said, and settled into his own stance across from Cassian. Cassian let it drop, knowing Az would have told him already if he’d wanted to share what had been hounding him enough to exercise at night, rather than in the morning with them (ACOSF).

Clearly, Azriel’s head has been nothing but quiet all throughout ACOSF. But during Solstice night, with Elain, it went quiet. What happened before his head went quiet? It's reasonable to assume that what preceded his head going quiet is what caused it. So, what was that?

[Second Solstice] “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck (Azriel's BC).

“Put it on me?” Elain asked, and Azriel’s head went quiet. Why? What is it to put a necklace on someone? It is to act.

Up until the necklace, Azriel knew Elain was aware of his feelings for her, and why he hesitates to act on them.

[Second Solstice] He [Azriel] left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. (Azriel’s BC)

So, Azriel knows they have feelings for each other that they both are aware of. They have shared glances and brushing of fingers.

[Second Solstice] It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching (Azriel’s BC).

What is missing, for those feelings to be more than mutual feelings, is action. What Azriel doesn't know (I think) is if Elain would be ready to act on those feelings, beyond the occasional brush of their fingers and a lingering glance here and there. I am doubtful he had expected Elain to be willing to act on it that Solstice night, and I am convinced he had never felt entitled to it. Why do I think this? Because he never planned for a future with her in it beside him.

[When Rhys confronts Azriel during Solstice night] "So you'll what?" Rhys's voice was pure ice. "Seduce her away from him?” Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to (Azriel's BC).

Why had he not allowed himself to plan beyond his fantasies? Because he didn’t feel entitled to a future with her. Why do I say that? Think about what planning is. It is imagining a future you want and how to get there. If he didn’t expect Elain to be ready to act on their mutual feelings, it makes sense he had no hope of a future with her, because he is not entitled to a future with her that she doesn’t consent to.

Think of what kind of person Azriel is. And then think of the circumstances required for him to imagine a future he wants with Elain, and to imagine how to get there (= planning). Azriel is a guy who is seemingly intent on consent and not pushing himself on, especially, women. Look at how he acts with the priestesses in ACOSF. And with Elain, he extends a hand, an arm and so on (an offer). But not only that. He extends a hand, an arm, after having asked her (offer and permission).

[Azriel has just flown Elain to the town house] Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” (ACOWAR)

[Feyre offering to take Elain to the garden] I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. (ACOWAR)

So, when Elain said, “put it on me?” I think it meant to Azriel that Elain showed him she was willing to act on their mutual feeling. It is an explicit expression of consent for him to act (offer and permission). Then, he “nearly groans with relief and need” when she allows him to put the necklace on her, urges him to touch her, and gives him her consent to kiss her (offer and permission). What is he relieved about? That she is willing to act. She confirms not only that she feels the same, but that she is even braver than him and ready to act. Even with her mate upstairs.

If Elain is willing to act, there is a possibility of a future. It opens the door towards a future with her that he could imagine, and if he can imagine a future with her, he can imagine how they’d get there. That is what it means to plan. Something he couldn't have allowed himself to do before "put it on me?" and all that followed in that interaction (with Elain leading it).

Look at what happens after he learns Elain is willing to act. He is questioning the Cauldron itself openly for the first time, with Rhys. I see it as the first seeds towards a bigger plan.

[Rhys confronts Azriel during Solstice night] Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud (Azriel’s BC).

Consider Azriel’s nature. He is not impulsive. He works in the background. Waiting for the right moment to act is not only a cornerstone of his job, but of his personality, as evident in his assertion that spying suits him precisely because of that. He is not careful and prudent because he is Spymaster, he is Spymaster because he is careful and prudent.

[Training with Nesta and Cassian] “Right,” Cassian panted through gritted teeth as he blocked Az’s kick and bounced a step back, circling again. “Whoever lands the next blow wins.” “That’s ridiculous,” Az panted back. “We go until one of us eats dirt.” Az had a vicious competitive streak. It wasn’t boastful and arrogant, the way Cassian knew he himself was prone to be, or possessive and terrifying like Amren’s. No, it was quiet and cruel and utterly lethal. Cassian had lost track of how many games they’d played over the centuries, with one of them certain of a win, only for Az to reveal some master strategy. Or how many games had been reduced to only Rhys and Az left standing, battling it out over cards or chess until the middle of the night, when Cassian and Mor had given up and started drinking (ACOSF).

[Cassian and Azriel on the lookout] “Four fucking days,” Cassian hissed from where he and Azriel monitored the castle. “We’ve been sitting on our asses for four fucking days.” Azriel sharpened Truth-Teller. The black blade absorbed the dim sunlight trickling through the forest canopy above. “It seems you’ve forgotten how much of spying is waiting for the right moment. People don’t engage in their evil deeds when it’s convenient to you.” Cassian rolled his eyes. “I stopped spying because it bored me to death. I don’t know how you put up with this all the time." “It suits me.” Azriel didn’t halt his sharpening, though shadows gathered around his feet (ACOSF).

When Azriel says “this was a mistake” about the almost-kiss, and “tonight had proved he 'd been right to do so” (Azriel's BC) about staying away from Elain, it is obviously not an expression of rejection. He didn't suddenly change his mind about Elain. He is questioning his impulsivity and recklessness. Because, as much as I, for entirely self-interested reasons, wish Rhys didn’t interrupt them, making out downstairs during Solstice (and whatever that might have led to) was quite reckless and impulsive. Clearly, none of them had planned to do that.

Azriel achieves his goals not through impulsivity and brute force, but through careful consideration and strategizing. I think that, since Elain said “put it on me?”, he has perhaps been cooking up some "master strategy" to make them happen (I, too, don't think it was a coincidence he was present to find out the Cauldron had, in fact, been tampered with, in HOFAS). He got her explicit consent, and a minute later he is questioning his religion in front of his High Lord. I think there might be some miscommunication initially in Elain’s book, given how Elain probably doesn’t know Rhys is the reason Azriel decided not to follow through with the kiss. And I think Azriel definitely will struggle with his feelings of not being worthy.

But then, I think we’ll be privy to some master strategizing on their part, challenging not only Rhys but fate itself.

[pedroshotwifey]

Bad Idea

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, sex pollen, dubcon but not rly (just putting this here bc of the pollen), piv sex, softdom Frankie, smut, fluff, friends to lovers, Frankie is a fucking sweetheart, oral sex (f receiving), breeding kink if you squint, unsafe sex (wrap it before u tap it, babes), ill add more shit later if I missed something

Summary: While on a mission, you and Frankie find yourselves covered in some kind of pollen and realize that there is no chance you'll be able to resist each other.

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to finish this, I hope it was worth the wait! I'm not really sure what compelled me to make this so fluffy, but it's there, so, like, I hope you people like fluff. Likes, comments, and reposts are extremely appreciated <3 (Also feel I would love to start getting some requests in if anyone's up for it)

***

You knew this was a bad idea. 

It always is, accepting any kind of job that Santi offers you. But the asshole knows your weakness. He mentioned Frankie would be there and you were in. Suckered once again. He, and the rest of the group for that matter, seem to be well aware of your infatuation. Except for Frankie, of course. He’s never really seemed to pick up on it. Which, honestly, you’re not sure is a good thing or not. 

You’ve been harboring a massive crush on Frankie since the first time you were introduced. You and Santi–against your better judgment–had been longtime friends when he brought you to a local bar to meet up with some of his other buddies. You had been away on a job for the last year or so, so when he heard you were back in town he jumped at the opportunity. You hadn’t expected much, already knowing Ben and Will meant that you would only be meeting two guys you wouldn’t be familiar with. 

What you really didn’t expect was for one of them to be a devilishly handsome and ridiculously charming bachelor. Frankie had absolutely taken your breath away the first time you laid eyes on him. You two had hit it off immediately, practically separating from the rest of the group as you polished off drinks and told stories from your military days for the remainder of the night. 

Fortunately, you kept in touch through mutuals and occasionally worked together on smaller jobs–thank god for Santi. (But also fuck him.) Unfortunately, nothing ever came of it. Frankie never showed any kind of explicit interest in you, so you never pushed it. You were perfectly content to just be friends if that’s all he was willing to give you. 

That's exactly why it’s such a problem when you find yourself coated head to toe in some kind of powder, right next to Frankie, who received a dusting as well. Your walkie is going off at your hip and you briefly register Tom’s voice coming through the receiver. He is positioned right behind the two of you and got the perfect view of whatever the fuck just happened. One second the two of you were walking, looking for any signs of landmines or traps around the building you are targeting for the mission, and the next your vision was completely compromised by a soft yellow pollen. 

“Fuckkk,” you hear Frankie mutter next to you. You look at him with wide eyes as the powder settles on your skin, eliciting a tingling sensation wherever it touches. The said sensation, however, becomes the least of your problems when you feel the amount of slick that suddenly coats your panties. Your knees buckle and you have to drop your gun to hold your balance, which doesn’t seem to help much as you continue your descent to the forest floor. Frankie’s hand quickly shoots out and steadies you by your elbow but it only makes it worse. 

The feeling of his skin on yours acts as a balm on your quickly overheating flesh and you moan involuntarily at the feeling. He retracts his hand as if you had burned him and the action would have embarrassed you if not for the moan that slips out of Frankie’s lips, as if he had felt the same thing. At least it’s not just you. At the sound, you feel another wave of arousal coat your already-soaked panties, the wetness growing extremely uncomfortable as the fabric starts to stick to your cunt.

“Uh, F-Frankie,” your voice sounds weak as you call for him. You have no idea whether or not he heard you, but you take a guess based on the pained groan that escapes his lips. The sound is like heaven as it reaches your ears. 

Your vision grows slightly blurry as a sudden need to be fucked takes over all of your senses. Without Frankie’s hand to help you up, you let yourself fall the rest of the way so you can lie down on the ground beneath you. You watch as Frankie’s blurred form follows suit with a groan. You start to inch toward his writhing body until you hear Tom’s voice again, this time it sounds much clearer, like the connection is getting better as he gets closer to you. You struggle as you pick up your walkie and press the button. 

“D-don’t come any closer, we're covered in some kind of f-fucking pollen.” You have to take a breath before explaining further. “It’s itchy and it’s everywhere, stay where you’re at.” You don’t bother listening to his panicked response as you tuck the walkie back into the clip on your pants. Your skin feels tight and you can feel your clit starting to throb between your legs. It feels like the smallest amount of friction would grant you an orgasm, and as good as that sounds right now, you would rather not cream your pants in front of your crush.

“Fuck,” Frankie repeats his statement from earlier, his voice strained and raspy. “We need to get out of here.” You nod your agreement and crawl your way toward him, ignoring the way his skin feels so cool against your own as you reach out to help him up. The both of you use each other to get back to your feet. By the time you’re standing, the feeling is less overwhelming than it had been at first, enough so that you’re able to hold your balance this time. You pick up the weapons you had dropped while Frankie comms the rest of the guys to let them know what happened 

You definitely got the most of the blow, as you were the one who had stepped on whatever the fuck that plant was. Frankie had only been a few feet behind you and had been exposed to a good bit, but likely nowhere near what you had been covered in. At least one of you is lucid enough to figure out what to do next. You hear the tail end of the conversation before Frankie signs off of the walkie and bends down next to you. 

“Alright, Hermosa, I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” You hiss as Frankie wraps his arms around your sensitive skin, picking you up bridal style. 

“Fuck, Frankie, it hurts,” you whine and tuck your head into his neck, breathing in his scent. He is shaking slightly and even you can feel the way his skin has started to heat up. “I know, sweetheart, just hold on for me.” You nod into him and close your eyes, only opening them when you feel your body being set down in what you assume is the passenger seat of Frankie’s truck. He leans over you and you have to resist the urge to grab onto him as he buckles you in. 

You close your eyes again and wait until you hear Frankie get into the driver’s seat before you speak.

“I think I saw a motel a few miles from here.” Your throat feels like sandpaper as you struggle to get the words out. “I think I saw it, too.” Frankie’s voice doesn’t sound much better. The entire way to the motel the only thing you can focus on is how your nipples are rubbing painfully against your bra and how fucking bad you want to suck this man’s cock. Your thighs keep clenching and rubbing together and you have to bite down on your lip so as not to moan at the slight pressure. You feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Think you can walk, sweetheart?” You nod at Frankie’s question as he turns the truck off. His voice still sounds pained and you’re not even sure if yours will work at this point. He keeps one arm around you just in case as the two of you walk into the motel. He gets keys for two rooms and you feel a twinge of disappointment. It only lasts a second though, because you can’t think of much else than the fact that everything feels hot and sensitive. 

As soon as Frankie gets the keys, he leads you to the rooms. They're side by side so you won’t be far from him, and the fact that he will be in such close proximity, likely doing exactly what you’ll be doing, is enough to cloud your judgment again. And fuck, now you’re thinking about his cock again. You know it has to be big, there’s no way it isn’t, not for a man like him. Frankie sets one hand on the small of your back and leans over you to unlock your room for you. You gasp to cover your moan as you suddenly feel something else against your back, definitely not his hand this time. 

“You’ll be okay?” Frankie’s concerned tone cuts you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up into his own lust-blown eyes. He looks fucking wrecked. God, you would get on your knees in the middle of this dirty hallway for him right now if he only asked. “Yeah, you?” You ask when he doesn’t. He nods slowly, and you let your eyes fall to his plush lips before trailing back up to meet his gaze again. He says your name lowly, like a warning, and you lick your lips, ignoring his tone. 

You roll your hips back against his while keeping eye contact, watching Frankie groan as you grind on him. His hands fall to your hips and he begins to guide you against him. “W-why don’t you come inside?” You ask him breathily. “Are you sure that's what you want?” He steadies your hips and brings his face down so he can whisper in your ear. “If you let me in there, I’m not letting you leave until I’ve properly taken you apart.” You shiver at both the way his words elicit another gush of slick from your cunt and at the way his tone turns dark so quickly, letting you know he means it. 

Instead of answering him, you turn on your heel and crush your lips to his, your hands going up to wrap around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair, knocking his hat to the ground. Frankie moans deeply and grabs onto you as he guides you backward into the room. His tongue finds its way into your mouth as he slams you against the door once it's closed, both of you grinding against each other like desperate teenagers. He only breaks apart once he hears you whine in pure desperation. 

He steps back and takes in your disheveled appearance, his hand flying to the front of his pants to rid himself of his belt. “Strip, get on the bed.” You don’t need to be told twice. You practically rip your clothes off as you stumble through the room. Each article removed feels like a relief, allowing the cool air to kiss your skin, sticky with sweat. Frankie does the same, both of you completely naked by the time you reach the bed. The sight of his cock hanging flushed and heavy between his molded thighs makes your mouth water.  

He quickly climbs on top of you and you both moan at the way your flesh brushes together, temporarily soothing the burning sensation. Frankie wastes no time in lowering himself to a position easiest to lick into your aching cunt. 

The first stroke of his tongue makes you scream out and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. He immediately starts eating you out like a starved man, licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue like there’s no tomorrow. You throw your head back as your free hand buries itself in Frankie’s hair. He groans when you tug on the strands and you swear you can feel the vibrations run up your spine. 

You feel the knot in your stomach growing embarrassingly fast, your entire body tensing as you reach the edge. 

“F-fuck, Frankie, fuck-” you unsucessfully attempt to get a sentence out. “God, don’t stop, please, god!” You feel him smirk as he continues his assault, before taking your clit into his mouth and sucking hard. 

You think you scream as you climax, but you can’t be sure. There is nothing you can feel, see, or hear other than the orgasm Frankie is currently riding you through. It’s the most intense thing you have ever felt, and you don't know if it's because of the pollen or because it’s Frankie. Probably a good bit of both. 

He continues to eagerly lap up your release until you pull him away when the overstimulation starts to become too much. Hand still in his hair, you guide him up your body until you can look above you and into his eyes. Your heavy breathing catches in your throat when you see the sticky liquid dripping down the lower half of his face. 

“Oh my god…” you trail off as his smile widens, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. “Look so fuckin’ beautiful when you squirt, Hermosa.” He brings his lips down to yours in a bruising kiss and you sigh as you taste your release on him. Needless to say, you get over your embarrassment pretty quickly. 

Despite your orgasm, your skin seems to burn even more than before, and your clit seems to throb out of control. All it takes is one look to know that Frankie feels the same way. His eyes are filled to the brim with tears getting ready to overflow and you have no doubt that your expression matches his own.

Before either one of you gets a chance to say anything, Frankie surges forward and encases your lips in his own. He kisses you sloppily as he pushes you back even deeper into the mattress. 

“Gonna f-fuck you now, Hermosa,”  he says, his voice bordering a whine. “Need to feel this soft fucking pussy.” You whine in a way you hope signals your agreement, your arms wrapping underneath Frankie’s to let your fingers claw at his back. “Just f-fucking hurry,” you manage to squeak, your skin burning as you grasp at him.

He listens, immediately scrambling to grasp his weeping cock and guide it to your sopping entrance while keeping one forearm settled next to your head for stability. There is almost no resistance as he slips in, bottoming out in one frantic thrust. The two of you moan in unison, capturing each other's desperate noises. 

Frankie wastes no time in setting a hurried pace. The force of his thrusts makes the headboard of the bed slam against the wall but you can’t find it in you to care. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he immediately starts to hit something heavenly within you. The pressure is already building up in your abdomen.

You open your mouth to scream but you find that the punch of his thrusts are restricting your ability to make any kind of sound. Your eyes close as your second orgasm sneaks up on you. With two more frenzied thrusts from Frankie, you’re coming undone around his thick cock. 

Frankie hisses as you squeeze around him, the added sensitivity from the pollen enhancing every small stimulant. 

“God, not gonna last long in this s-sweet cunt, pretty girl.” Frankie’s voice is pitched an octave higher than usual as he tries to stave off his own orgasm–damn well bordering a whine. You can feel how close he is by the way his dick pulses with need and by the way he clings tighter tighter to the bedsheets beside your head. 

“Go ahead, Frankie, need you to come inside me.” He practically whimpers at the request but shakes his head to juxtapose the noise. 

“N-no baby, give me o-one more first.” He’s shaking with the amount of effort he’s exerting to hold off. Almost as if your body is listening to his demands before you can process, you find yourself arching your back as you spasm around his cock once again. It takes you by surprise–you didn’t even realize you were that close. 

Completely fucked out, you let Frankie use your body to chase his own end. “Come on baby, mark me, come inside,” you slur your permission for a second time. He lets out a guttural groan as he lowers his head to nuzzle into your neck. His strokes get deeper with the lower position and you wince from the overstimulation, though you want more at the same time. 

“Yeah, Hermosa, that’s what you want, huh? Let me come inside this pretty pussy, let everyone know who you belong to now? Let everyone know that you’re fucking ruined for any other man?” His pace gets more frantic as his own words spur him on. You whine at the thought of the people knowing that Frankie fucked you, laid his claim on you, made you his. 

“Yes, Frankie, God please,” you keen into his ear as you bring one of your hands down to tangle your fingers into his curls, bringing him closer into your neck. “I’m yours, all yours, take what you want, baby.” 

Your words push Frankie off the edge and his teeth lock onto your neck while he comes to a stop deep inside you. You pull him closer still, encouraging him to leave his mark. As his seed floods into your cunt, it feels like you jumped into a pool of cool water. Your entire body relaxes further and by the way Frankie settles his weight onto you, you figure he feels the same way. 

After his dick stills and softens inside you, the two of you lay there for a moment. You run your fingers through Frankies messed hair while he licks over the mark he made on your throat. It feels like the most natural thing, laying there with him tangled in your arms, his head on your chest, both of you on the verge of sleep. You’re about to drift off when Frankie interrupts the silence in a gentle tone. 

“Been wanting to do that for so long, pretty girl,” he says quietly, his voice filled with sleep. Your eyes open and are immediately filled with tears. 

Frankie must sense the way you tense up because he quickly lifts up to look at you. You can see the panic that blooms in his eyes as he meets yours. Before he is able to say anything, though, you surge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and planting your lips onto his.

You feel a few tears drop from your closed eyes, but you ignore them as you continue to kiss him and push until he’s forced to lay on his back, pulling you with him. When you finally separate, you stare into eachothers eyes, both of you with lopsided, love-drunk smiles. 

“Me too. I’ve wanted you for so long, Fish, you have no idea.” 

“You’re right,” He huffs a laugh as he says it. “I had no idea, I never thought you could feel that way about me. You’re so fucking perfect and I don’t deserve any part of you. I'm just…” he trails off and looks down for a second before meeting your gaze again.

You give him a slightly confused look as you answer him. “I thought I was being so obvious,” you laugh quietly in return. “I’m nowhere near perfect, sweet boy. Even if I was, you deserve anything you could ever want. I want you, Frankie. Do I deserve you?”

He doesn’t miss a beat before he has you pulled into his chest. “Of course, angel, you deserve everything, I’ll give you anything.” 

You’re crying again and you wipe away your tears before saying what you need to say. “I love you, Frankie.” You look into his eyes to see that he is tearing up as well.

“I love you too, my perfect girl,” he says softly as he pulls you into a hug and rocks you, his one of his hands on the back of your head, tucking you into his chest. You close your eyes and breath in his scent, knowing that this is where you belong. 

pt. 2??

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

I had a funny idea inspired by a tiktok trend where girls would get their nails painted the same color as their bf's tip

What would the different characters reactions be to their listeners having lip gloss/lipstick the same color as their tip?

Tiktok trend.

Alphonse

OH YOUR A FREEAAKKK?? Dw he lowkey into that.

But also is so amazed you found a color closed to his tip. He likes how the nails look bc they also have lil candy charms on them.

If you found a lipgloss/lipstick he lowkey can't help but stare at your lips. And how they looked wrapped around his dick

Seth

.....HUH??? Really surprised that he didn't know what to say for a quick minute.

When...when did you find out what color his tip was??? Did....did you show someone to find it????

The nails are cute don't get him wrong but....HIS DICK TIP COLOR FOR THEM???? AND A LIPGLOSS TOO??? SCOUT WTF-

Charlie

His face is bright red. CASPER OH MY??? I- UM....OKAY???

Blushes everything he sees your nails, he can't help but want your hands all over him.

Don't even get him on the lipgloss cause now he has a boner bc of it.

Finn

His brain got fried and now is bright red. Sun...Sunflower I'm sorry I think I heard you wrong?....No? I didn't? Oh! OHMYGODDESSIHEARDYOURIGHT??

Can't look at your hands or face or he'll flush bright red every. Single. Time. Teasing him is easy with the nails and gloss.

He likes how they look on you when he finally does look at them fort he first time. But now he's hot and bothered so can we go to the back please-

Faust

He's seen the tiktok trend and was wondering if you were gonna do it. Ngl he at first teased you saying you couldn't get enough of his dick.

But is a bit flustered by it, bc now when ever he looks at your hands and lips he's reminded of his dick and all the times y'all fucked-

Might get back at you and do the same thing. I mean both know that the color means something everyone else doesn't know.

Auron

You what- My dick tip color? Really? Wow Rookie how bold of you. Not surprised but is interested on how you found the color.

He's freaky and might be into it too ngl. Whore. But anyways he likes how the nails look and now he wants to kiss your lips more.

This is giving him ideas bc no one else knows except you two. Might tease you by wanting a picture with your hand wrapped around his dick to have when he's feeling 'needy'.

Lucien

Angel are you secretly a succubus and haven't told him yet? He teases you bc you act more sinful than him most of the time.

Likes how the nails look, maybe they'll look better when your sucking him off while stroking him?

Also will not let you leave the apartment bc of your lipgloss. Want the color that bad? Come over here Angel baby.

Jack

Frozen and blinking rapidly, wow...Buddy didn't know *ahem* you liked the color that much!

He's super shy about it and feels like he's overheating looking at the nails and your lips.

But he's also curious how you found the color so quickly? He might also know the trend from people he works with showing him things.

[134340am]

hello yuna!! ur working on bnha stuff again? how exciting!! hmm, if i had to guess, is ur new drabble about shouto? 🙇🏻‍♀️

u r absolutely right todoroki shouto x gn!reader, 0.5k words warnings: no mention of gender-specific body parts, public sex, mutual loss of virginity, tender touches, nsfw — minors do not interact.

you guessed, long before you even dated him, that shouto would consider his first time with his partner sacred and precious. he’d want a plush bed with silk pillows and rose petals, plenty of prep with more than half of his time spent between their legs, lots of sweet kisses and gentle affirmations…

too bad you don’t have the patience for that, not when your lover is looking like the dictionary definition of dashing in his loose button-up and wind-swept hair. and while the thought of having a bed to crash in after you were done with your anniversary dinner was nice, your sole focus right now is finding somewhere secluded—a dressing room, a toilet cubicle, or even the janitor’s closet—anywhere private enough for you to stick your hand down his pants freely.

shouto’s not happy, of course. he had this elaborate plan in his head of fucking you soft and slow into thousand-thread count sheets while the moon hangs high in the sky. but who is he to say no when you’re clinging to his bicep, all arched up against him with your puppy dog eyes just begging for him to be inside you? 

so here you are, pressed up against the cold concrete wall of the restaurant’s fancy washroom, moaning into shouto’s collarbone while he eases inside of you.

“you alright, love?” he asks, one hand pulling your thigh up over his hip while the other rubs soothingly at the small of your back. 

“it hurts,” you moan. “you—you’re fucking big. give me some time.”

he blinks. “sorry—“ he blurts out, choking when you squeeze around his cock.

despite everything—the astringent smell of lemon-scented cleaning product, the discomfort of not being able to move inside you, and the muted buzz of the dinner crowd outside, shouto drops your leg gently to embrace you sweetly. with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other rubbing circles into your overheated back, the tender gesture almost has you forgetting he has his cock in you. almost. 

“take as long as you need,” he whispers into your hair, then grunts when you spasm around him in response. “i’ll pull out if you want.” 

“i-it’s fine, just needa get used to the size.”

“breathe for me, sweetheart.”

you manage a shuddery inhale. your hands slip down shouto’s biceps to grip his forearms. as you try to even out your breathing, you start to feel the steady hum of pleasure stirring in your stomach, which makes you sigh contentedly against shouto’s clammy neck. 

“feel good?” your lover asks.

“yeah,” you whisper back. you clench around him again, intentionally this time, and giggle when his hips stutter into yours clumsily. “‘m fine. you can move now, shouto.”

“alright, love.” eyes still glimmering with concern, shouto hikes you further up against the wall before dropping a tender kiss on your cheek. when he pulls back, however, his eyes were clouded over with lust and want. “please stop me if i’m hurting you. but otherwise, stay quiet and let me do my job.”

a/n: screaming bc the last time i wrote for shouto was 14 march... as a self-proclaimed shouto lover i m embarrassed pls don't look at me (masterlist)

[nancywheelersgirlfriend]

didn't wanna have to do it (ronance)

a/n: short ronance blurb bc i love my girls + will lose sleep for orientation tomorrow over writing them

(1,502 words)

Somewhere along the way, Nancy stopped being Nancy Wheeler and became something in between. Now she and Robin were sprawled, connected by bare prickly legs and sticky summer arms, across her unmade bed. Robin snored into her hair. Sinus issues from the Upside-Down. Nancy drooled on her left arm. They slept together in every sense of the phrase. 

Her mom had stopped trying. At first, when it was going on two days of Robin now existing in permanent company with the Wheelers, Karen had dropped some unsutble hints about booting her out. But now they were two weeks out from the spring break from Hell and Robin was still here. She’d always be here, draped over Nancy. Protecting her even in sleep, starfish style. 

Nancy woke up first. She’d let herself lie there for a peaceful moment, appreciating the red tints on Robin’s cheeks from how overheated her bedroom got. Their hair mixed together on the singular pillow. Nancy lifted a hand to hold onto Robin’s calf. Long, pale, and unshaved. The little dark hairs underneath her fingertips felt like carpeting. She pressed her nose to Robin’s neck and took a deep breath in.

At the kitchen counter, they’d formulated a routine. Ted at the head of the dining room table, coffee in one hand and newspaper in the other. Holly across from him or, when she was feeling up to it, at the counter with Robin and Nancy. Nancy would grab the bowls, Robin poured the milk as Nancy poured the cereal in the other. They dunked each others’ spoons in their respective bowls. Robin liked water with ice in the morning. Nancy liked room temperature. 

Mike often wedged his way in between them, half of the time a furious whirl of conversation and the other a ghost of a person. When he was a ghost, Robin poured him cereal. When he was up for living, he’d pour his own - ripping the box from her hand and spilling out marshmallows all over the kitchen in the process.

When it was nice enough outside, a rare occurrence with the apocalypse and all, they’d sit out on the back patio and share bites of soggy Lucky Charms. Robin fed Nancy bites of hers. Nancy let her steal when she was pretending not to look. Which was a complete lie, because Nancy was always looking at Robin. She and the way the morning sun reflected off her face, as if she was as dew-coated as the grass and the shrubs. Robin the garden. Robin the flower. Nancy reached over and tucked a stray hair behind Robin’s ear. It felt like water between her fingers.

What she liked particularly about Robin’s hair was its innate ability to bounce back from any and all obstacles - a bad hair day was unheard of. Especially then, with her bangs grown out far too long to keep clung to her eyelashes, Robin’d tuck strands behind the backs of her ears. It gave her this sense of forlorn curtains on her cheeks, sticky with summer sweat and baby hairs clinging to her forehead - the gaps in the hair where the bangs used to be. It made her face look as if it were a stage newly opened to the public, the show about to start. Nancy took a front row seat.

When the bangs got far too long for Nancy to tolerate and Robin to properly tuck, she easily convinced Robin to get it cut. But the barber had been eaten by a demogorgon, so Nancy had to learn to work a pair of cutting scissors instead. She pushed the chair from her bedroom desk into her bathroom, blushing over the pink walls and little girl makeup kits in the drawers as if Robin hadn’t been practically living in her house for the past two months. Robin sat dutifully on the wooden chair. It was clearly a struggle to sit so still, but Nancy’s hands in her hair had her fairly pacified. She leaned her head back to offer more access, some blissful smile spreading across her face as Nancy chopped unprofessionally at stray hairs and guessed at length.

Then the cutting was over and washing began. Robin bent herself over the half-shower, half-bath to allow Nancy more access. Her knees hit the tile without much ceremony, eyes closed and turned up to Nancy like a sunflower as she ran her hands through the locks over and over again. The sight was almost religious. Nancy couldn’t take it - she had to duck Robin’s head underneath the faucet just to survive. Baptism.

And now her hair didn’t look half-bad. Nancy’s poor attempts at chopping it had all but returned her bangs to their natural state (sleeping on her forehead) but Robin didn’t seem to mind. In fact she hardly recongized she had hair anyway. Nancy stopped worrying about curlers and perms. Her hair grew stringy and straight, the way it had been when Barb was there to brush it out.

Robin liked her hair nonetheless. When they got the chance in between chasing breaths of tumultuous air, Robin would comb out Nancy’s wet hair and press kisses to her neck. All the way down her exposed spine, the way her pale skin curved around her back. The little birthmark on her left side. Robin loved it all. Nancy loved the way Robin’s hands, slightly larger than hers and knobbier at the knuckles, felt pressed into her skin. When they softly tugged at the skin on Nancy’s neck, dancing along the spare freckles  When Robin’s fingers skated down her bare arms, laughing lowly into Nancy’s ear as she felt up the goosebumps she caused.

Later, hair mussed up and spread out onto pillowcases above them, Nancy tried her best to fold her body completely into Robin’s. Sometimes it felt like it was about to work - her legs to her legs, her arms clasped against Robin’s chest, Nancy’s face pressed to her collarbone. But they never got nearly close enough. It was never enough. Not for lack of effort - their fingers pulled and left marks in respective skin. There was something they couldn’t bypass. But they could get close enough. 

On days where going outside was unfathomable, Nancy and Robin curled up in her bed and read to each other. Robin was especially good at doing voices for comic books they snatched from Mike’s bed (who spent most of his days at the Byers’ new house on Apple Avenue, anyway), but she didn’t have the attention span for the thick classics Nancy preferred. So Nancy read those aloud instead, and textbooks too - prepping them for college days that might never come. Learning with each other to ignore the oncoming assault outside.

When they were in the thick of it, covered in blood and sweat and faces slick with tears, Robin had found Nancy. In between family and ex-boyfriends and brothers Robin pulled her close and tried to fold them together. Nancy let her. She looked up at her with galaxies in her eyes. It was like touching a cloud. They came really, really close. The ground shook and Robin lifted up a jacket-covered arm to protect herself and Nancy, cowering underneath the shield and sticking together. Nancy’s sweaty, frantic kiss landed more on the side of Robin’s mouth rather than her actual lips. It was heaven on Earth.

And when it was finally over and Hawkins was allowed to take a breath, Robin interlocked her fingers with Nancy and stepped away from the gates of Hell. In the hospital, patched up for minor injuries and bouncing their knees in worry for the others with more life-threatening conditions, their fingers stayed interlocked. Nancy Wheeler’s bony, pale hand. Robin Buckley’s tanner, longer fingers. They mushed together in the middle. It felt almost inhumane to spilt at this point.

Walking down what used to be Main Street, showered and not as sweaty but still completely devastated, Robin pulled Nancy into her side. And she said, whispered nearly inaudibly into the strands of Nancy’s ponytailed hair:

“I’m glad it was you.” Nancy looked up from where she’d pressed her face square to Robin’s chest with a soft, innocent smile on her face. She was twenty and she felt sixteen. Time reversed in Robin’s arms and for a moment, waiting for the crosswalk light to change even though there was no chance of a car going down the street, they were kids. Idiots. Unaware. She wrapped an arm around Robin’s waist in reply and squeezed.

“I’m glad it was me, too,” Nancy agreed. Robin couldn’t stand looking into those big, brown eyes anymore, so instead she laughed and pulled Nancy in closer. They walked home no longer two separate girls but one four-legged lovesick animal. Nancy was not Nancy and Robin was not Robin. They were just two people, tow women. Going nowhere and having nothing to do. It was the first breath of fresh air they’d both taken in years.

Sleeping in had never felt so good.

[a-libra-writes]

ramsay bolton keeping the reader warm after the coldest night in winterfell hc? idk just thought it would be cute-

(I have no idea what the coldest night in winterfell is bc brain broke i guess but i have a good alternative ??? lets see)

Ramsay is an absolute furnace. You've thought this before, and you'll keep thinking it almost every night he insists on gluing himself to your side in bed. On the evenings he wants you (which is most), you don't even bother pulling the furs on. You go to sleep overheated and sweaty, occasionally waking up cold, but not often. He doesn't even light a fire in the hearth.

Winter and the blizzards it bring a difference to this routine. The cold crawls into every stone and crack in the Dreadfort, making it even sadder and more dismal, if that was possible. You relish the few sunny days you get between the steady snows and frightening storms. Ramsay still insists on going outside, even on the days the hounds refuse to leave their kennel. You wonder if he'll die out there, but he returns before dark or close to it, shaking and covered in icicles on his hair, eyelashes and clothes. It makes you realize you've never actually seen him shiver.

It's kind of annoying how nice his bodyheat is during storms like this. Very, very annoying. You both actually need a large fur on the bed now, and it's hard to resist snuggling next to his side. You don't want him to get that excited, smug expression.

He flops himself next to the hearth and you also realize that, like most men, the snow actually slows Ramsay down. The wild look in his eyes is subdued and he's more focused on thawing out his boots then getting your immediate attention.

On the days and nights when it's simply too dangerous and cold to go out, you try to stay in the few rooms that are being kept warm. Ramsay is going stir crazy, which is what you and Roose expected. Of course your father-in-law left you to deal with it. So you're left amusing Ramsay in this way or that, unless you want to go further into the frigid halls and rooms of the Dreadfort. It gets unbearably cold, and since it's dark, you might get lost...

When he finds you again, he'll carry you all the way back to the warm rooms. You can feel some of the warmth against him as he carries you, even through the fur cloak and wool tunic. It's not terrible. Every time he brings you back, he examines your hands in his scarred and calloused ones, those pale eyes scanning for frostbite. Your nose and toes are next. He doesn't want anything to happen to his pretty wife.

Ramsay would really prefer you wear your regular dresses and his own fur cloaks he piles on you. He still wants easy access to your body, because he's The Worst. But if you're right by the hearth and bundled up, with some nice warm drink, it's not so bad. If you keep being stubborn and running wandering off, he'll just have to lock you inside.

Overall, it's an... interesting way to endure the Winter. Though you may go nuts a few times. At least you still have access to the things you pass the time with, unless it's an outdoor activity. And avoiding Ramsay (or just keeping him occupied) is a whole day's activity in and of itself.

[atla-suki]

it’s time.

why mako and katara are completely different characters and should stop being compared so much:

so, i see way too much comparison between mako and katara. like.. too much. and it always boggles me because aside from a few things, they’re really nothing alike.

keep reading under the cut !

let me point out their similarities:

- lack of parental figure/s

- a ‘comic relief’ brother

- second-hand clothing item from a dead parent

- romantic interest in the avatar

- strong benders, brave.

not many, right? mako and katara are largely different characters - from unique character traits to respective personalities to their purposes/roles in their respective stories. while they’re both main characters, the biggest difference lies in the fact that atla revolves around katara just as much as it does aang. what i mean is, without katara, atla is a COMPLETELY different show. without mako, LoK is still a relatively similar show (not that i’m saying he’s not important. he is. mako is so underrated stop trashing him sm. actually that’s another similarity - mako and katara both get overhated in the fandom. interesting..) ANYWAYS yeah katara is crucial to like 70% of everything that happens in atla. where aang is the protagonist, katara is the deuteragonist. where korra is the protagonist, mako…isn’t.. the deuteragonist. he’s a secondary character, sure, but not the deuteragonist. so straight off the bat they are completely different characters in terms of their place and significance in their respective stories. it seems unfair to compare them, no?

and that’s just the logical storytelling/plot side. when we look at their characterisations and personalities… again, NOTHING alike.

their differences include:

- mako is generally a pessimist; katara is in every way an optimist

- katara is in touch with her emotions and understands the emotions/feelings of others; mako.. not so much

- katara is a complex, well-written character with many layers; mako had many chances to be written better (ik that’s on the writers not on him but i’m including it anyways)

- katara’s motivation is the power to become a strong bender and a good person, to help the avatar bring balance back to the world; mako is a pro-bending athlete? i guess? he was a cop too bc they didn’t know what to do with him? idk

- mako is intelligent, quick on his feet, not one to trust easily, uses head above heart; katara lets her emotions dictate her actions (not always, but yk what i mean), sometimes too quick to trust, uses heart over head

more differences than similarities, you see? while their scenarios are kinda similar, they as characters are not. i’ve also seen the whole ‘they both raised their siblings’ shit… absolutely NOT??? mako was completely alone with bolin - he did it all. katara didn’t RAISE sokka, and even tho she was more maternal towards him it wasn’t something she was forced into the way mako was (lol that makes it sound like mako is bolin’s mother.. haha). similar scenarios, different situations.

quick detour: i just re-read those points above (the differences) and it sounds like i’m painting mako in a bad light. i am absolutely not. i love mako. i love katara. but i am also aware that mako is not as well-written as katara. it’s unfortunate but it’s also true.

ok back to my ramble. katara/aang and mako/korra are ALSO not the same. their dynamics are different, their roles in the story are different, their characterisations are different. their relationships are different. so their roles within said relationships are DIFFERENT. going off canon here, katara was always supportive of aang and clearly loved him. mako kinda liked korra and so they tried it out but it didn’t work. why? because mako and katara are different characters and so they are written as different characters. they’re INDIVIDUALS. they are not parallels. mako is not the next-gen katara. (he’s also not the next-gen zuko but i won’t go over that bc i WILL get tomatoes thrown at me). stop comparing them and their trauma. they are not the same.

katara lost her mother during a war. it was tragic, it was unfair, it was a direct act of hatred and done on purpose. mako happened to lose his parents at random. it was just as tragic, just as unfair, but DIFFERENT. katara had family left to help raise both her and sokka. mako was alone with his little brother. shit, he even joined a GANG to make sure they’d survive. i always felt like mako gave up more than katara (in their respective situations. they both still grew up too soon). but the thing is, i am ABLE make these distinctions between them. why? BECAUSE THEY’RE DIFFERENT AND SHOULD STOP BEING COMPARED SO MUCH.

give them the recognition they deserve as individuals. because they deserve it.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

"There is just so much to doooo...", you whined against Nanami's chest as he embraced you.

"But right now you're going to rest because you had a bad day", he said in a stern and gentle tone, the vibrations on his chest starting to relax your body bit by bit.

"But it's really important!", you started squirming against him like a kitten that wanted to be put down. Nanami found it absolutely adorable when you did that, it reminded him of how small you were to him, of how much he wanted and needed to protect you.

"No buts. Nothing is more important than you", the way he held your face with one hand and your waist firmly with another left no room for you to disagree and when you looked into his eyes behind his glasses you knew it was a losing battle to argue.

".... you're right", you mumbled. You both knew you wouldn't get anything done with your brain feeling like an overheated computer and your muscles wounded so tight.

"I am", he chuckled. "Now come", he said, hoisting you up like it was nothing. "I'm gonna take care of you so good tonight".

sorry you're feeling down bestie hope this cheered you up (/･ω･(-ω-)

Hey babe have u considered writing fanfiction bc i really think you should be writing fanfiction sksksk

[lookotherway]

I don't think his dad died of overheating though. The leaks hadstated he used a gruesome way to say the dad and girl died by being turned into lumps of flesh. I can't find reverse search for sentences using the kanji and on the whole saying they died or turned to a actual corpse would have been less gruesome? I don't know. Some on Japanese side of Twitter posted art of Shishikura as a joke so I'm leaning that way. Considering AFO kidnapped his dad they had the theory of AFO tries uses that quirk

Also the hand Enji was looking at had scars. Some theorized the dad was a quirkless reckless do gooder. At some level both Deku and All Might were estentially quirkless and gained the powers to be superhumans. And AFO and Endeavor will then have that one flimsy connect that they both believe acquiring suitable quirks is the only way to make someone the strongest.

i just checked the raw before going to bed yesterday and yes, it doesn't contain any word implying 'fire' in Japanese. this reminds me of a few weeks ago with hawks' "prosthetic wings" but bro, in Jp it implied his swords 💀 the kanji was used (悪漢) isn't the word mha uses to refer 'villain'. it simply means 'bad guy' although it does mean 'villain' in the dictionary. rip.

both fantrans and official just like to tempt foreign readers to learn JP themselves huh?

(and yes, tf enji don't use that tone with your parent! it sounds impertinent even to me who barely understand jp. and if anyone question if it's really enji's father then yes, the Japan word said so.)

the wounds didn't really show which type of damage he had received. i said the kanji isn't the word that used to refer 'villain' in mha but look at the damage, like, it's so obviously that was a criminal using quirk a.k.a a villain. so enji's father wasn't (necessary) a quirkless gooder or a civilian either. heroes have already existed long before all might debut, just that that era was tyrannized by afo and, not really important but, the older generation had their quirks weaker than the new generation. it makes an era where heroes were there but not enough, where heroes tended to lose their lives in action and people lived in fear. with that scar then enji's father probably was a hero too.

also bc if he wasn't a hero then it made less sense for enji to put his portrait on the wall. that's an action only for those (who's gone) with prominent talent and/or achievements you revere. Japanese usually won't do it for family member, but i guess that partly implies how enji feels about his father? like, it sounds weird if his father died as a reckless civilian but enji was just deeply shook by the 'weakness'. he would have been a weak fool too and enji would have mourned him in the butsudan like he did with touya instead of looking up to his portrait. culture problem. it makes even less sense if enji's father was quirkless. how did it influence enji's self-deprecating take about his own quirk?

one more thing is if enji's father had a quirk it probably was fire-type and had the same physical limit as enji. (shoto and touya inherited that limit as well.)

idk about afo since i think that bald bastard is your typical 'i do this because i can, not for any particular reason' villain in the neighborhood. endeavor, as the world, didn't know ofa is a gastrointestinal quirk until after the war. he was simply an asshole, narcissistic Asian parent who thought of his children as expanded parts of himself. which was why shouto and touya were held significantly in his mind and heart, because fuyumi and natsuo doesn't inherit his fire part, and shouto and touya does. although such mindset probably had gone during the short time he and touya training together. idk, love changes people. every mistake he made after touya's death was driven by trauma and effort to deny his weakness.

[todourouki]

Misery Business | K. Bakugou

a one shot

✰ SUMMARY the one where you didn’t mean to take the hothead away from his girlfriend, but you did anyway. It was nothing personal, you just knew that Bakugou Katsuki deserved way better than what he was settling for.

PAIRING Taken/Pro-Hero!Bakugou & Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT 4.6K

WARNINGS explicit language, mentions of cheating, cheating lol, suggestive language, angst, and some fluff at the end bc I cannot end my fics in a bad way I am weak sorry!

You were not a home wrecker.

At least, you wouldn’t say that to your own face.

You knew that the crush you had on Bakugou was wrong. You know that no matter how it is that you put it, or however strong your feelings are, or even however long you’ve even had feelings— liking a guy in a relationship was a huge no-no.

You weren’t the kind of girl to go around liking a girl’s boyfriend, though. It’s not like your feelings magically appeared out of thin air and now you’re stuck falling inlove with a guy that finds solitude in someone else— no, you aren’t like that.

Your feelings for Bakugou are much more complex, to say the least.

It all started in high school, when just the mere thought of the boy brought butterflies to your stomach with how strong and courageous he was. From his attractive face, to his blunt and explosive personality, you always found yourself admiring him when given the chance.

All of that went to shit when he decided to finally give one of the girls that were always fawning over him a chance during the beginning of your third year attending Yuuei Academy.

It was like you had gotten punched in the face, and now it feels like you’re just purposely getting stabbing in the heart every time you did as much as look at them.

That definitely explains why you’re sulking at your table during a school dance with a scowl on your face so you don’t have to see the happy couple waltz around the cafeteria floor.

All the top Pro-Heroes were assigned to attend the dance as academy alumni in order to ensure the safety of the students (as well as make sure students even decided to show up). You, being one of the top five heroes, were ordered to show up with no complaints.

The song currently playing finally changed from a low-tempo song to a much higher one, and with that, you decided to make that your imaginary queue to take a walk around the school’s building before returning to the large decorated area.

Your heel-clad feet dragged you all the way across the gymnasium, sending kids smiles if they were in your way and simply telling them that you were “getting some fresh air before the real fun starts.”

The doors slammed shut, and the solitude of the hallways engulfed in dark hues reflected against your strained eyes in a way that made you have to physically restrain your hand from harshly rubbing at it in order to make sure your make up stood intact.

The halls reminded you of a younger you (and by younger, you mean two years. you’re only 20 and already have the mind of some old hag) that used to run through these halls with a mini little green skirt and an imagination you wish you could still understand.

They also reminded you of the blond boy inside. Especially the room you stood in front of right now.

Almost as if it was second nature, your body made its way to Class 1-A: the place where it all began, the place where you met your closest friends, and the place where you fell inlove.

Opening the door, the lights turned on to reveal a classroom almost identical to the one you walked into every day four years ago. The desks were positioned the same, the posters remained in the same spot, and even the words on the chalkboard seemed oddly familiar.

The room reeked of new paint and textbook papers, and the only thing you really wanted to smell was the designer perfume clinging helplessly to your body so the odors of a high school class don’t even think twice about sticking to you.

Your body walked towards your old desk, Seat 12, the dress you wore clinging to your body as you pulled the chair out and nostalgically sat down. You were a first year all over again, and the thought made you laugh.

You looked embarrassing your first year— as embarrassing as someone who looks like you now can get. From the hideously overheated hair, to the emo phase you still seemed to sort of be stuck in, the world seemed too easy no matter what bullshit was going on the minute you sat down at that desk.

That explained how you felt now— no matter how much your heart yearned to be in the hands of Bakugou, the minute the cold sturdiness of the chair touched your warm body, all of that disappeared. For once, nothing in the world mattered. More precisely, Bakugou didn’t matter.

“Tch, I knew you’d be in here.” Annnddd there goes that.

Your eyes widened, now staring at a smirking blond wearing a black and white tux instead of the chalkboard you once zoned out on.

His arms were crossed against his muscular chest, and the muscles outlined the button up shirt in a way that should just be downright illegal. His face was gleaming with mischief, slowly walking his way over to the empty desk directly next to yours, taking a seat, and positioning his body in a lazy manner with his legs propped up against the table. Just like before.

“You know, this brings back a lot of shitty memories.” He grunted, stretching his arms behind his head and lolling his head to face you.

You nodded in response, glancing your head up to look at the lights in a way to move the gears in your brain to say something. Literally the same thing you used to do during Midnight’s long, tedious classes.

“Yea, a bunch of ones I’d much rather forget.” You said, looking over at him and watching as his eyes stared directly at the window you always found him staring out of when he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone in class.

“Always hearing your annoying ass mumble and suck your teeth used to really piss me off.” His words were masked with seriousness, trying to hide the playful smirk on his lips you identified much too quickly. With that, a scoff left your lips and you crossed your arms.

“Nobody said anything about the pencil you insisted on tapping for hours straight.” Your jab back made him chuckle, looking back at you with vermillion eyes that made you lose all sense of feelings.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you always forgot what it was like to look at anything before you looked into his eyes. That’s how scary it was— how intimidating it was to be under his presence. His eyes captured you, holding you hostage and probably never letting you go.

“At least we didn’t sit next to each other during our third year,” he began, placing a hand loosely around his tie as he continued to look at you in your eyes, “I don’t think I would have ever focused with the humming you did to the same damn song every day.”

“Yeah, instead of me though, you ended up sitting with your future wife.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID.

It was like word vomit, the snarky tone slipping through your lips as if it was trying its hardest to come off in a jokingly manner, only ending up appearing as sarcastic as possible. It was like the words fell from your tongue quicker than you could punch your own esophagus.

Bakugou stood quiet for a moment, staring at you and knitting his eyebrows together as if deep in thought. Your eyes ended up leading you back to the words Relief Fund written messily against the green chalkboard to save your embarrassment.

You didn’t see the frown itching across Bakugou’s lips.

“We aren’t married, ya know. I don’t know why people decided to start that rumor.” He said, a sigh passing by his lips to quiet his tone as if he was scared his girlfriend was around to hear it.

“Might as well marry her. You’re not really the kind of guy that dates just to date.” Your words struck hesitantly in the room in a timid yet informative voice, and Bakugou watched the board as well so that you were both avoiding each other’s gaze.

“Yeah well I’m not sure, marriage is a big deal.” Bakugou was muttering, and the tone of his voice made you crane your neck over to where he was seated as you stood quiet.

What were you, someone who was basically inlove with him, supposed to say that?

You both stood in silence for a few seconds, the words in your throat itching to escape as the remnants of memories you both had both in class and just together in general filled your vision.

“I always hated this seat because I knew it meant that I would always be the person you would argue with.” You began, closing your eyes and releasing a strained scoff from your glossed lips.

You didn’t know what you were doing, or what you were talking about, but as the moon danced across the pale boy’s face and the music in the cafeteria continued to gently ring through the halls, the only thing you were thinking about doing was speaking more than you ever have.

“Morning after morning, I grew used to your loud voice and extremely hostile—” “HAH? I was NOT—”

You sent him a glare, immediately cutting him off and proceeding your weird speech that just couldn’t let anything go.

“Anyways, morning after morning, I ended up looking forward to the words you decided to call me and yell at me about for the day. It’s like, if it didn’t happen,” your arms moved in an animated way, catching Katsuki’s full attention as he looked on to your rant, “I felt like my day wasn’t really an actual day, ya know?

The one thing you loved appreciated most about Bakugou was his ability to listen. And when you say listen, you mean just listen. His ears were perked up in your direction, shoes turned towards you and eyes watching your movements like a hawk.

“And then—” you gulped, pausing for a second in order to think your words though. It was always now or never to you, the drama giving you a sense of hope against a man like that.

It’s either I bring it up now, or I never get to speak my peace, and I refuse to be one of those people showing up to the wedding yelling ‘I oppose.’

“And then it was here that I realized I was the biggest idiot alive by feeling the way I felt about this one person.” You said, eyes glaring at the wall in front of you blankly as you cowered behind the whisps of your lashes.

Bakugou said nothing, but from the corner of you eye, you could see him staring at the side of your face with an expression you had never really see on him.

“I spent years pining after some dumbass that didn’t even see the genuine interest I had in him.” Your words were like alcohol, and Bakugou was too busy drinking them all in to fully acknowledge what you were talking about.

“I watched him give in to this one girl though,” a lightbulb when off in the boy’s head and for once, he felt like the idiot in the room, “a girl that doesn’t even care for him.”

“Y/N..” Bakugou growled, almost as if he was threatening you and warning you to tread on light waters.

If there was one thing he ever respected about you though, it was that you were never scared of him.

Your eyes snapped towards him, a scowl on your face as you began to feel anger bubbling up in your stomach from the way he tried to shut you up. You were finally speaking your peace and he’s too much of a coward to let you finish?

“You know, I thought the first red flag of her trying to change his attitude was enough. I thought that maybe, just maybe, after her telling him that being number one hero wasn’t really tangible, he’d have some common fucking sense and see what everyone else sees.” Your words were like venom, your eyes not leaving his as you huffed in your seat.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Bakugou’s voice was low and angry, laced with anger as he stared at you just as intensely as you stared at him. Your expression never faltered, and instead, you turned your entire body around in the chair to fully face him with arms across your chest.

“I know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about,” you taunted, your anger only rising in value, “and so the fuck do you, Bakugou.”

“You know she doesn’t give a fuck about you and you know very fucking well she’s only with you because you’re Bakugou Katsuki!”

His name slipping off your tongue brought shivers to his spine as he sat up in his seat and glared at you with the tip of his ears painting themselves a light red hue.

He was angry— not necessarily at you, but at the fact that he was getting called out for something like this. He was getting called out for finally being with a girl and was getting shit for it from someone he saw as a best friend.

“You don’t know shit— you don’t even fucking know her.” His voice began to get louder, the bass in his voice causing your heart to vibrate as you shocked both you and him by slamming a hand against the desk in frustration.

“For God’s sake, Katsuki open your fucking eyes!” You only used his first name when your emotions were high, and that made the man’s hands shake in anger as he watched your outburst.

“She forgot your anniversary! She doesn’t make you your favorite food— fuck she doesn’t even kiss you unless there’s a shitty camera around!” You stood up, stomping your feet and watching as he stood up quickly after you and scowled over at your angry face.

“She doesn’t care enough to remember shit that you don’t like which is why you always end up at stupid shit like this and she doesn’t even care to meet your friends!” Your voice was now loud, the music of the cafeteria being long forgotten as you huffed over at him and slammed a finger into his chest at every syllable you spoke.

“You want to know what I think about her, Bakugou? Bestfriend to bestfriend?” The words bestfriend seethed through your lips like venom as your finger dug itself into the middle of his pecks. He said nothing, waiting for you to continue as his hands balled into fists along his sides.

“I think that you’re such a fucking pussy, you can’t fathom being with someone who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on the way she does.” You growled, narrowing your eyes at his angry expression as you took a step closer to him threateningly.

“I think you hate the fact that I’m right— the fact that she blatantly uses you and doesn’t give a fuck about you, and you hate the fact that I know you so well enough to know that—”

Before the last few letters of the words could slip through your lips, a warm hand slammed against your fingers and snatched it into his grasp as he began to huff in anger. The caramel smell only increased, and you could sense his quirk begin to flare the abnormal heat in his hands up every second.

“You don’t know shit,” he growled, his voice raising as he began to yell at you in your face, “you don’t know shit about me!”

“Are you shitting me?!” You exclaimed, grabbing at the hand that grasped yours with a grip so tight Bakugou had to glance at it quickly before reverting his eyes back to yours.

“I’ve known every little fucking thing about you since we were fifteen!” You yelled, tears threatening to spill down your eyes as the anger inside you finally erupted in a way you couldn’t control.

“Nobody asked you to be so invested in my fucking life anyway!” He retaliated, his voice booming through the room as you stared at him incredulously.

“I was so fucking invested in you because I’m fucking inlove with you, you idiot!”

Your voice silenced the room, the grip he had on your hand tightening as he stared at you with shocked eyes yet the same familiar scowl you were used to. Your expression never faltered the way his eyes did when he heard you, though. You stood your ground.

“It’s so annoying seeing the guy you are inlove with be so unhappy in a relationship because he feels as if he has no one else.” Your voice began to quiet down, a tear slipping down your eye as Bakugou watched you with a slightly softened face.

The hand gripping yours loosened a bit, still gripping it to his chest as he wrapped all his fingers around your bracelet covered wrist.

“It’s so annoying watching you try to force someone else to fall inlove with you, when I’ve been inlove with you for free for years. It hurts watching you try to force yourself to be inlove with a girl you know you don’t want to be with. It just fucking hurts Bakugou, so fucking bad.”

There was a crack in your voice that Bakugou knew all too well from the restless nights you’d spend together, and it didn’t take much for him to engulf your frame into a tight hug as he rested his head against yours. You dived into his chest, the familiar warmth wrapping around you in a way that made a few more tears slip from your eyes. You didn’t make a noise, but he knew that you were hurting.

Neither of you said anything, only holding each other until you removed yourself from him and wiped the tears off your face before he could see the evident streams marking your cheeks. He stared at you silently, as if he was contemplating something.

With timid eyes, he watched you fix the straps of your dress to find something to play with under his gaze. The silence was deafening, and was an unusual characteristic for the boy who always had something to say.

“You know she hates me, that’s why you never bring her around me.” You said, a tone of blankness carrying your voice through the room as your tears dried up and was replaced by the anger haunting your heart once again.

“No she doesn’t, she just feels like we’re too close.” Bakugou retorted, sighing and taking a seat on the chair he once occupied. You followed suit, leaning against the back of your own seat as you faced his body.

“Back in high school, I never told you this, but her and I argued in the bathroom once.” You informed, dryly chuckling as you watched his face contort with confusion.

“I told her that her pretty little face and fucked up manipulation wasn’t going to keep you around in the long run.” You stood quiet after letting him know, gulping some saliva down as you averted your gaze from his body to your painted nails. “Guess I was wrong.”

Bakugou didn’t know what to do. There were many things the man was capable of: he could destroy any villain in his way, was braver than any other fucking half assed hero out there, was smart as fuck, and could manage a relationship as well as being a top pro-hero because that’s just who he was.

What he couldn’t do, though, was fully digest the situation in front of him.

He bit his lip, running a hand across his face in frustration and staring meekly at your face. You couldn’t help but admire his frame as you did before. He was strong, well-built, smelled good, had great posture— there was nothing wrong with him. It was almost surreal.

“We’ve been dating for like two years.” Bakugou’s low voice broke the silence as he stared deep into your now glazed over eyes. You didn’t break the contact, hands rested against each side of the seat as you watched him speak.

“I’ve been dating her for two years and yet...” His words were lost, almost sounding as if he was hesitating the very same way you were earlier. You said nothing though, knowing he would stop expressing himself if you had opened your mouth.

“And yet I can’t help but imagine she was someone else.”

It was like every word he said was the last glass of water, and you drank it up against your skin in a way that brought goosebumps to his. You furrowed your eyebrows, silently signaling for him to continue.

“I never told you this,” he mocked your voice, his scowl still resting against his soft face, “but there was a time where I thought about what it would be like if we were a shitty thing.”

Everyone always assumed Bakugou and you would end up together. Whether it be from watching you both pin are each other relentlessly, to watching you fawn over him, and from just watching your interactions with one another— it almost seemed destined for you two to work out. Keyword: almost.

“Shitty Hair and Dunce-Face tell me all the fucking time that I’m an idiot for choosing this girl over you.” He scoffed, and you couldn’t help but feel your stomach tingle at the use of the name ‘this girl’ for his own girlfriend. “It’s not like I wanted to, you were always my first option.”

You stood quiet. The last sentence was lower than the others and sounded way more vulnerable. You couldn’t help but gape at him, repeating it in your brain as if they was the last words you’d ever hear again. You were always my first option.

Maybe it was the buzz you felt from the energy within the room, maybe you were drunk on adrenaline, or maybe you were just being a fucking dumbass, but the way your feet moved you from your seat to the desk he was sitting at was something you just couldn’t stop in time.

Bakugou hasn’t said anything beyond what he just finished as he watched you gently push his body away and hop up onto the desk. Your body was now inches away from his as you watched him shyly. You were always so obnoxiously close to him, so why is it that his stomach was throwing fireballs at his insides now?

“You deserve better, Katsu..” You lowly began, fiddling with the rings on your fingers as you glanced over at his body through your dark eyelashes. “Does she take care of you?”

Your words hit him in the chest and he couldn’t find it within himself to look away from you. He wasn’t sure what it was, or how you were doing it, but he was entranced by your every word and it was scaring the shit out of him. He found himself shaking his head, eyes never leaving yours as the scowl in his face began to soften.

“You’re a strong man, Katsu,” the way his nickname slipped from your lips nearly made him melt, the unfamiliar feelings he was so used to suppressing caused his head to jumble around and process your words, “you need someone who takes care of you the right way.”

You watched him, a hand lifting towards his head and running itself through his soft yet spikey hair. Bakugou always claimed he hated it when you played with his hair since that was something he thought no one was close enough to be able to touch, but he always seemed to lean into you unknowingly.

His chair scooted closer to the table, your legs now in between his lazily opened ones and his body aching to go closer into your touch.

“What are you suggesting?” His dark voice questioned, eyes staring at you as the once softened expression transformed into another of a slowly rising mischievous smirk. You were sure you were breathing earlier, but now? Not so much.

“Are you suggesting that I need someone else to take care of me?” His words hit you hard, your body facing whiplash from all the sudden changes of emotion.

You looked down shyly, trying to find the confidence you once had that was now lost in the gush of your flustered moment, yet Bakugou’s calloused, warm hand then reached up to your chin to perk it up to face his now standing body.

“Are you saying that you should be the one taking care of me?” He asked, staring at your eyes with more intensity than you were fully even prepared for. Your eyes dug into his as the feeling of his hands on your chin caused your brain to short circuit for a moment.

“You said it yourself, I’m a strong man.” You could feel the confidence drip from his words as you bit your left cheek to keep from whimpering at the intensity laced within the empty classroom. “I need someone to take care of me the right way, and I don’t think this girl is doing it Y/N.”

The use of your name caused you to tug your bottom lip between your teeth and blush behind his words. You didn’t miss the way his eyes quickly zipped from your eyes to your mouth, and back to your eyes once again. His body was now towering over your seated one, looking down at you as if you were the only person in the world at this moment.

Bakugou was out of it, to say the least. Usually he felt as if he had control over situations like this, but even with towering over your frame and his hand gripping your chin, he felt as if you were in complete control of the situation. He knew that his current girlfriend was probably coming to look for him, and he knew that everything was inevitable and he was simply just prolonging it.

That didn’t stop him from sliding his hand across your neck to grip the back of it and pull your face in towards him.

A kiss was the last thing you were expecting, and you would have gasped if his lips weren’t putting you in such a trance. It was like everything had stopped, time stopped, the dance stopped, everything was just on a hiatus.

His tongue danced against yours in a way that made you whimper lowly into his touch. His hands explored your body, rubbing against you in exasperated motions as you reciprocated by rubbing your hands across his chest, shoulders, and waist. It was like you were both doing the last thing you’d do before the world came to an end.

His lips moved feverishly across your own as tilted your head upwards to get a more comfortable position. A warm yet equally rough hand snaked it’s way back onto your neck and gripped your throat with such possession, you felt a tingle reach your lower half.

The intensity of the make out was one that put every other sound to shame as the room was filled with nothing but the small whimpers coming from either of you and the sound of your lips smacking against his. It was like a dream, and Bakugou couldn’t control himself any longer as he groaned into your touch.

It wasn’t until a gasp broke the seductive silence within the room, as well as pushed the two of you apart only to see his girlfriend staring at the two of you with wide eyes and a fizzy drink in both of her hands., that you realized something.

Shit just got really fucking complicated.

—

back to masterlist

I wanna have an angsty kiss moment with bakugou

>:( damnit anyways yeah like, reblog, comment, follow! thanks for reading! don’t forget to send some requests in <3

- heilly

[ri-ahhh]

concept: grayson completely falling for his friend sister who is very shy, quite and ‘innocent’ but hes kinda irritated bc his friend told him she’s off limits?

The first time Grayson saw Melrose Clarkson walk through the front door of his buddy Eli’s house six months ago, he had been taken immediately by her. Like, heart dropped to the floor, head in the clouds, rom-com level smitten. He doesn’t know what it is about her that he’s so drawn to right away, but off the bat he finds her outlandishly pretty. And, to be frank, for a young guy such as himself, that’s the only quality he really needs to be able to identify to have his interest piqued.

“Yo,” he muttered to his other friend (and Eli’s roommate) Brooks. The two of them decided to have a kickback, and there’s been a flow of people in an out of the house throughout the night. Grayson nudged him in the side and jerked his head conspicuously at the caramel-skinned beauty that had just floated in with a friend. “Who’s that?”

Brooks looked over and raised a dark blonde eyebrow in surprise. “Melrose? Dude, that’s Eli’s sister. You’ve never seen her?”

Grayson shook his head and sat back on the couch, trying not to look like an awkward creep as he admittedly eyed this girl up — from her white-painted toes in her flip-flops, up her legs to her curvaceous hips that were hugged perfectly in a pair of distressed cutoff denim shorts, over her torso that was hidden beneath an oversized band tee, and finally to a mass of long, wavy hair that flowed wild and free halfway down her back.

Her ultra-casual outfit was polar opposite to what he was used to seeing in the very few LA parties he’s attended. Even the friend that she came with was decked out in a tight-fitting body suit, tiny mini skirt, and the oh-so-predictable AF1’s. Grayson got the impression that Melrose wasn’t there to stand out or impress anyone... and he kind of liked that, too.

His feet were picking him up before his brain even realized what was happening, and he strode over to her with a pseudo-confidence that’s become his signature when approaching women lately. His sex life was fine, but he hasn’t had much luck in the dating department, unable to find someone he’s enticed by enough to spend time with in the light of day and not just in a bedroom.

There was no chance in hell he wasn’t going to take a chance with this girl, though. He’s drawn to her in a way he hasn’t experienced before.

And she’s standing alone now, filling up a red solo cup with a jug of iced tea. That always helps.

He picked a cup from the stack and cleared his throat a little, fixing a crooked smile to his lips even though she doesn’t look up. She’s even prettier up close, and his heart sped up a little.

“Hi.”

Melrose’s eyes raised in surprise. “Oh, uh, hi,” she returned, doing a double-take when she observed the boy in front of her; he’s hot. So hot, she was thoroughly distracted long enough for her hand to shift some, resulting in a splash of tea landing on the countertop right next to her cup.

“Shit,” she mumbled, a pretty flush warming her cheeks that makes Grayson smile wider. She scrambled for the paper towel roll tucked a few feet away and swiped up the mess, blushing harder when she noticed Grayson still standing there. “Sorry, I’m such a fucking klutz. Did you want some of this?”

She scooted the giant bottle towards him, and Grayson wrapped his hand around the handle. He didn’t, really, but also he didn’t want to make her feel more awkward. And he was holding a cup, so who would really be the awkward one if he said no?

“Sure, thanks,” he said. He started to pour it, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she tossed the wet towel in the trash. He’s twisting the cap back on the bottle when she flashed him a small, shy smile behind the rim of her cup and started to pass by him to leave the kitchen.

Fuck. Words, Grayson — speak, use your words!

“I like your shirt,” he managed to blurt, swallowing down his embarrassment at how rushed that came out with a gulp of tea.

Melrose glanced down at the garment in question and gave him a genuine grin, her teeth pearly white behind full, pink lips. “Thanks. You like Cub Sport?”

Truthfully, Grayson hadn’t even read what was printed on her shirt, but his excitement picked up as soon as he matched her words with the image.

“I love them,” he said, and another realization hits him. “I actually have that shirt.”

Her chocolate eyes narrowed playfully, just in case he’s being slick. “Really? What’s your favorite song?”

Grayson pretended to consider her question, looking up to the ceiling and scrunching his nose a little. Melrose thought she had him for a moment, but he comes back with, “I’m partial to Hawaiian Party, I think. How about you?”

She nodded, admittedly impressed that he did, in fact, actually listen to the band. “Trees, for sure. But can you really have just one favorite?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered, holding out his hand. “I’m Grayson.”

It swamped her own petite hand when she grasped it in return, and his body warmed pleasantly at her touch. She bit her lip. “Melrose.”

“You’re Eli’s sister?” he questioned. He didn’t realize he’s still holding her hand until she looked down at them, and he dropped it at once. He could feel his cheeks turning pink again and wondered why he was so easily flustered by this girl.

“Yep,” she answered, ducking her head and tucking a curl behind her ear as she shifted on her feet. “You guys friends?”

“More acquaintances, but yeah. I was friends with Brooks first and got to know Eli through him.”

Melrose smiled and opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly someone is calling her name over the thud of the music and loud laughter of fellow partygoers.

“Melodie Rose! Get your ass over here, we’re playing flip cup and need one more!”

It’s her blonde friend she had walked in with, waving her over with an excited, tipsy grin. Melrose yells back to give her a second before turning back to Grayson with an apologetic expression on her face.

“Party duty calls,” she joked quietly, chuckling when he does. “It was nice to meet you, Grayson. I’ll see you around?”

“For sure,” he said, and follwed her with his eyes as she left the kitchen and wiggled through the increasingly crowded living room to the beer pong table set up in the center of the space. He shook his head a little and made his way to where Brooks was still seated on the couch, now joined by Ryan.

Brooks shook his head with a knowing grin. “Don’t even go there, bro,” he warned jokingly as Grayson plopped down next to him.

Grayson took a long sip of his tea, willing it to cool his overheated body. “What are you talking about?”

“Melrose,” he said. “First off — total prude.”

Grayson was a little taken aback by his friend’s brashness. Brooks talked like a douchebag sometimes, but for some reason it hit a new nerve to hear him say that about her. “So? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I mean, she’s a prude by LA standards; girls that hot are always the fastest to put out, and trust me, I tried a good long while to get in there.” Grayson shook his head, suddenly sick to his stomach. “Second, she’s off-limits. Eli will have your balls on a platter if he found out you were fucking with her.”

‘Fucking with her’ was hardly what Grayson had in mind with what he wanted to do with Melrose, but the former part of his sentence made him sit up a little. “Seriously?”

Brooks nodded. “I mean, it’s kinda part of bro code, I guess. Sisters are a no-go.”

Grayson considered that. Plenty of his friends over the years had had crushes on his sister, but it never bothered him too much. Then again, none of them that he knew of were as big of an asshole as Brooks, or he definitely would have intervened there, too.

He looked to Ryan, his older and wiser friend. “Is that bro code?”

Ryan shrugged. “I think it’s situational, to be honest.”

He shot Grayson a look, and Grayson hid his smirk into his cup; he and his best friend were definitely on the same page.

Just then, Eli strode into the living room, greeting people as he made his way to his roommate and friends.

“What’s up?” he said, leaning down to dap up all three of them.

“Yo,” Brooks greeted in return. “Mellie just got here a little bit ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Eli looked around the room and grinned when he spotted his sister. “Alright, imma go say hi to her. And you fuckers better stay away from her. Brooks, you know parties aren’t really her thing, and she gets touchy when she’s drunk. She’s too much of a lightweight for her own good.”

His tone was joking, but there was definitely some seriousness behind his threat. Sure enough, Brooks nudged him in the ribs and muttered “told you.”

Grayson sighed and took another drink as he watched Eli give his sister a quick hug before slinging his arm over her petite shoulders. He glared down the kid ogling her legs, until the guy shrunk back from intimidation.

A gap in the crowd suddenly formed, leaving a direct line of sight between the couch and the beer pong table. Melrose was bent over with laughter, the soft features of her face even more radiant now that she’s a little more relaxed and under the protective presence of her brother. By some miracle, her eyes catch Grayson’s looking at her softly, and she sends him a friendly little wave.

His breath hitched, and he waved back with his heart in his stomach.

Shit.

[kurtstinypurse]

Klaine + 4 please please please

your wish is my command <3 here is coworkers!klaine at a vaguely nondescript office job bc who cares about those details when u can have kissing thanks

-

Blaine knows he shouldn’t be drinking so much - in fact, he had told himself not to drink at all.

He loses his inhibitions too much when he does, needs only a cocktail or a couple beers before he’s excitable and giddy and beyond firing on all cylinders, and he isn’t close enough with the people he’s here with to let loose like that.

But here he stands, leaned up against the back wall of the bar for a breather he desperately needs, nursing a third cocktail he somehow needs even more.

He needs both of these things because of Kurt.

Which is funny, really, and completely ridiculous, considering Blaine learned his name less than an hour ago - but of course, he’s been aware of Kurt for much longer.

Blaine’s job has always been boring, merely something to pay the bills in the interim while he searches for and takes whatever auditions he can, just until one of them sticks. He hadn’t expected to be working there long enough to now be at his third company Christmas party, but it’s not a bad job, just run-of-the-mill office work, and it’s reliable, and he’s relatively comfortable.

The company he works for is big enough to commandeer several floors within the high-rise office building, big enough that Blaine is a far cry from knowing everyone, particularly those in different departments, which is why he’s noticed Kurt but hasn’t had the chance to speak to him before.

He’s noticed Kurt in passing in front of their building, in the lobby, at the coffee shop around the block, in the elevator - he’s noticed Kurt for weeks, actually, each time making him feel more and more like a young little schoolboy with a silly crush, less and less like a working professional who could handle even approaching him.

Somehow, Blaine feels like Kurt is just someone who is impossible for anyone not to notice - from the high sweep of his soft-looking hair to his immaculate, unique outfits, never repeated, to his striking blue eyes and his air of confidence and his everything. 

Blaine would be willing to bet that Kurt pulls focus wherever he goes, whether he wants to or not.

Actually, he’s pulling focus now, somehow the center and the life of the party just by being there. He’s standing tall, standing out, and everyone is greeting him, giving him attention, calling him over - it’s how Blaine finally picked up Kurt’s name, having overheard it countless times by now.

Blaine wants to give him attention, too, but he feels oddly paralyzed and drawn in like a magnet at the same time, like if he gives into it, there won’t be any turning back, and he’s not sure what that means, not sure he’s ready to find out.

So he stays against the wall, sipping his drink, watching and wanting and waiting - though waiting for what, he’s not sure.

On the edge of the dance floor, he notices his favorite coworker, Tina, jumping around and shimmying goofily, waving at Blaine to get his attention and making him laugh, though he doesn’t go over.

Still, he’s distracted enough by her that he doesn’t notice someone has approached him until a hand is on his arm, until the heat from a body so close is warming him, until a voice is low in his ear.

“What are you doing all alone over here?”

Blaine jolts, breath caught in his chest as he jerks his head over to see who it is, blinking slowly as his head rushes at the speed of his movement, and it takes him a moment before he realizes - it’s Kurt.

It’s Kurt.

Kurt’s hand is on his arm, right in the crook of his elbow, and Kurt is looking at Blaine intently like he’s something to see, and Kurt is biting his lip, now, as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“I’m Kurt.”

“I-I know,” Blaine blurts out, though he immediately blanches, face flooding with heat. “I mean- Hi. I’m Blaine.”

“I know,” Kurt grins playfully, leaving Blaine reeling and unsure if he means it. When Kurt leans back against the wall beside him, he’s close enough to knock their shoulders together as he settles, ending up with their arms pressed up against one another. 

Blaine feels like he’s on fire at the contact, overheated and overstimulated and sweaty under his sweater, skin burning where they’re touching even through the thick fabric.

But he can’t pull away, couldn’t even if he wanted to.

It all feels suffocating, though - it’s more than he ever anticipated, closer than he ever thought he’d be, but it’s suddenly not enough, and he wants even more, wants Kurt even closer, feels driven by the fog and the fuzziness of his booze-addled mind to make it happen.

So he leans over, right by Kurt’s ear, and he says it.

“We should dance.”

-

It feels like a rush and a flood and the blink of an eye between Blaine suggesting that they dance and where they are now - Kurt holding Blaine by the hips, fingers digging in right above his waistband, Kurt’s body molded flush against Blaine’s from behind, Blaine’s hand reached up and back to hold Kurt’s neck, rocking together to the steady thrumming beat of the music.

In the back of his mind, he knows they shouldn’t be doing this. Regardless of the fact that they’re at a lively, crowded bar, this is a work party, and they’re coworkers, whether they work directly together or not.

Blaine is on the edge of drunk because of his three company-provided drink tickets, and he’s here because Tina forced him to be, and now he’s so close to Kurt that he nearly feels consumed by him, unable to focus on anything but Kurt’s hands on him and Kurt’s face tucked into his neck and god, even what feels like the swell of him against the curve of Blaine’s ass. 

He wonders who’s still here, who might see them like this, if anyone’s looking - but in a twisted way, the idea of it makes it hotter, makes Blaine hotter, makes him crave Kurt’s closeness even more, even though he already has it, makes the heat spreading through his veins come to coil low in his belly, and he wants.

This isn’t like him.

As bad as Blaine has always been with romance, he’s always tried, at least, and his pull to Kurt has always been about wanting to know him, not just about getting Kurt’s hands on his body and Kurt’s mouth on his own.

He has no idea what this is for Kurt. He has no idea if Kurt’s ever noticed him before, or if Kurt wants romance, too, or a hookup and nothing more, but fuck, Blaine almost doesn’t even care.

Here and now, he feels driven by the alcohol and the vibrations in his chest from the thudding bass and the movement of his hips, but despite all of it, he still cares a little - he wants to know everything about Kurt, and he hopes Kurt wants to know him, too, and so he moves to turn in Kurt’s arms, hoping to ask if he wants to step outside, maybe to talk or at least so Blaine can have a chance to figure out how to breathe again.

He pulls his arm away from Kurt’s neck, and he turns close in his arms, nearly opening his mouth to speak and to ask him, but-

They’re close enough that Blaine’s lips brush against Kurt’s with the movement, the ghost of a kiss he hasn’t meant to give but still enough to make his knees threaten to buckle, to leave him positively aching for more, so close, so close, but he freezes, a breath hitching in his chest, the noise of the bar and the crush of sweaty bodies around them fading into nothingness.

He has no idea what to do - does he apologize, run, quit his job, leave the country?

Or does he commit, lean in for more, sweep Kurt off of his feet and take a risk and go for it, even though he doesn’t know what’s going to happen, even though-

Kurt’s mouth is warm and wet against his own, Kurt’s teeth are nipping at Blaine’s bottom lip, Kurt’s tongue is soothing the bites, then slipping into Blaine’s mouth, slick heat eliciting a broken whimper from the back of Blaine’s throat, setting him ablaze beyond belief, stopping him from thinking or worrying or considering or doing anything but desperately grasping at the back of Kurt’s sweater for purchase and pulling him closer, kissing him with the intensity of months of glances and looks and wonderings all pouring out at once.

And god, it’s more than Blaine ever could have expected, more than he’s ever known he could feel from a kiss, from another man, from anything at all.

And nothing else matters.

Not who can see them, not what Kurt thinks of him, not the booze in his blood, not his past, not his expectations, not what’s going to happen next.

Holding Kurt, kissing him, being held by him, getting to know him in this way-

This is all there is.

part 2 here!

[worldwidemochiguy]

the best of both worlds (soft! yandere taehyung)

Summary: A drunken man tries to assault you, and you see for the first time what it’s like for Taehyung to really lose his temper...

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, attempted drunken sexual assault, mention of kidnapping, idealisation of kidnapping, stockholm syndrome probably, (dead dove: do not eat)

Made For Each Other Masterlist (the rest of this series of one-shots) 

General Masterlist

a/n: Kim Taehyung, the king of duality! yes the title is a hannah montana reference, and no i’m not sorry, but i am sorry for the ending which is kinda bad bc i'm really bad at ending things lmao. get ready for warm, fuzzy, protective soon-to-be-dad taehyung, as well as pissed off, dangerous, i’m-going-to-murder-you taehyung (not directed at reader, of course). tell me which one you prefer lol

~~~~~~~~

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think this tie brings out my eyes?” You snorted as you saw Taehyung appear in the mirror, standing behind you with a Simpsons themed tie hanging undone around his neck. His eyebrows were raised, obviously expecting an answer.

“Really?” He huffed, and then placed his hands on his hips. 

“Does it bring out my eyes or not?”

“Well it definitely brings out your inner child.” He smiled, walking up to you and wrapping you in a hug from behind, one of his hands drifting down to cup your stomach protectively. 

“I wish it would bring out your inner child.”

“Ah, I think you’re gonna have to wait another six months for that, Tae.” His grin matched yours as he buried his face in your neck, planting little kisses on the underside of your jaw. “Also, it’s our child, you know.”

“Mmhm, I don’t know, you have been pretty friendly with Minjae from accounting recently-” He broke into a laugh as you reached over to grab the pillow on the bed and thwacked him with it. 

You were glad you had gotten to a stage in your relationship where you could joke about these things. At first, Taehyung had been too possessive to even dare, and you had been so fragile you wouldn’t have wanted to mention it even as a joke, for fear of upsetting him. Now, after being married for almost a year, and pregnant for three months, you were both far more trusting of each other. That isn’t to say Taehyung wouldn’t rip the arms off any man who tried to touch you. And, to be honest, you didn’t mind that so much. It felt nice knowing he loved you enough to not want to lose you. 

Forty minutes later, you were both dressed and ready to go. You had been ready half an hour ago, but when Taehyung saw you in your dress, he got that look in his eye… the look that meant he was about to undo all of the hard work that went into your carefully styled hair. After that, it took an additional ten minutes to fix your hair, as he had fisted into it as he thrusted roughly into your throat, and also fix your runny mascara and smeared lipstick. He told you that you looked equally beautiful all messed up, that you looked sexy even. You quickly reminded him that he wouldn’t want anyone else to see you in that state, though, would he? 

Taehyung’s face darkened and you barely escaped spending another half hour at home as he showed you who you belonged to. 

Once you arrived at the office party, Taehyung’s hand curled possessively around your lower back, you were immediately overwhelmed. This was an interdepartmental gathering, meaning it wasn’t just Taehyung’s six close friends who worked on your floor and who you had a growing rapport with. No, this was practically everyone, including Ryan from human resources and Boyoung from marketing and a billion other names and faces you just didn’t know. 

Taehyung turned to you questioningly, feeling your muscles stiffen up. Your forced yourself to send a relaxed smile back at him. He had promised his friends that he would show up, and you didn’t want to inconvenience him. Or worse, embarrass him. You were entirely willing to let your comfort take a back seat tonight, after all, Taehyung was always catering to your needs excessively, especially now that you were pregnant. You brushed a hand over the bump distractedly, just to reassure yourself. 

You were barely showing yet, and Taehyung had said many times about how he couldn’t wait until you were obviously carrying his child, this sentiment always expressed with a possessive gleam in his eyes which never failed to send a pleasant shiver down your spine. When you realised you were pregnant, you worried that he wouldn’t be so pleased with all the changes to your body, but Taehyung had been unfailingly supportive, positively ecstatic throughout the whole process. You could just tell that, once you had given birth, he would do everything he could to give your child the best life possible. 

The thought caused a tingling sensation of warmth to settle in your stomach, and you relished it, because you certainly weren’t going to receive that feeling from drinking alcohol, usually the go-to method of making office parties bearable. You felt bad, Taehyung wouldn’t even be able to indulge himself in that, and all because of you. 

When you told him you were pregnant, Taehyung had rid the house of all alcoholic substances — along with anything else that could be potentially harmful to the baby — within a day. You told him over and over again that you didn’t mind if he wanted to drink, but he swore he wouldn’t. After all, he reasoned, What if I kissed you with traces of alcohol in my mouth? What would that do to the baby? When you told him that he could just remember not to kiss you after drinking, his face became even more horrified and he tugged you into his chest. Not kiss you? I’d rather die. Your husband was very dramatic. You loved him so much it hurt. 

“So, Y/n, he’s still letting you out of the house?” Jimin joked, causing the rest of Taehyung’s (and your) friends to roar in laughter. They were all aware of Taehyung’s extreme possessiveness over you, and took great pleasure in mocking him for it. 

“Yeah, I thought you would arrive here with a leash for Taehyung to hold on to.”

“Hey, Namjoon!” You started harshly, and the man stiffened, preparing for a verbal lashing. “It would definitely be Taehyung wearing the leash.” The rest of the boys burst into laughter, apart from Taehyung who was busy giving Namjoon a death stare. 

You tapped your husband’s chest lightly to get him to snap out of it.

“Don’t worry,” You told him in a hushed voice, “Namjoon was just joking, it’s ok.” He growled, snaking his other arm around your waist and pressing his forehead to yours. 

“I know, I just- I love you too much to let anyone say anything bad about you ever.”

“I know.” You giggled, pulling back slightly and registering the whoops of your friends behind you. A sharp glare of Taehyung’s over your shoulder got them all to shut up pretty quickly.

An hour later, you were nursing a lukewarm Virgin Margarita and sighing. Jimin and Hoseok had looped Taehyung into karaoke at the front of the office on a little makeshift stage. At first it had been funny, but after nine songs it was kind of boring, and your feet had started to really ache, and you wanted nothing more than to be snuggling in your large bed, where there was no karaoke, and no uncomfortable high heels, and no ice cubes that melt into your drink literally five minutes after you put them there. 

You sighed again, discarding your non-alcoholic disappointment on a table. You glanced at it briefly. Someone had done their best to decorate it, placing a little ‘2020!’ novelty stand on it, as well as the tinsel left over from Christmas. You say ‘Someone’, knowing full well it was probably Jimin. Jimin had been the mastermind behind this hellish office party, and had somehow strong-armed everyone into agreeing to come, despite the fact office parties were universally despised by all. 

You heard the drums in the intro of ‘The Best Of Both Worlds’ start to play, and you looked up to see Taehyung chucking Jimin a blonde wig. He scrambled to put it on, almost succeeded, then proceeded to start belting into the fake microphone with artificial blonde strands finding their way into his mouth. Everyone in the office started cheering and crowding around the makeshift stage area, which was where you also stood, so that you could still be as close to Taehyung as possible. 

With the rowdy, tipsy and slightly sweaty people of the office starting to surround you, all jumping along to the Hannah Montana ballad, you felt yourself start to overheat. You had been getting occasional hot flushes since the pregnancy started, something which the doctors ensured you was normal and which Taehyung never failed to lose his mind over. Last time, you had gotten dizzy enough to fall over yourself slightly and trip onto the safety of the couch, and Taehyung had almost cried, rushing you to the hospital despite your protestations. 

You knew if you alerted him to your overheated state, he would go into overdrive, so you quietly slipped out of the large open-plan floor they were having the party in and into the corridor. It was much cooler out there and you could feel the unpleasant dizziness slowly rescind, melting out of you just like those ice cubes in your Margarita (which you absolutely weren’t still bitter about). 

You were in such a calm, placid state of relaxation that the footsteps coming down the hall startled you. Your eyes opened to see the stumbling figure of a man returning from the toilet. He hadn’t done up his fly properly — you immediately averted your eyes from that — and you could tell he was pretty obviously inebriated. A budding sense of foreboding made itself known in your gut. 

“Hello, pretty- hic- lady.” The stranger slurred, the scent of the alcohol on his breath wafting over to you. You wanted to clamp a hand over your nose, irrationally worrying if the stench would hurt your baby. 

“I’m married.” You told him in a closed-off voice, displaying the expensive wedding ring Taehyung had slid on your finger, sealing the promise with a kiss. Rather than backing off, the man grabbed your offered hand, pressing a sloppy kiss to it. You exclaimed in disgust, trying to wrench your hand away, but you only succeeded in pulling him closer to you. You tried to backtrack, but you were only walking backwards and further away from the safety of the entrance to the office, further into the dark corridor. The cold now felt dangerous, and confining, but worse still was the hot breath of the man fanning across your face as he backed you against the wall.

“Get off me.” You tried to scream, but it came out as a pathetic whimper. “Get off me.” He chuckled, his disgusting fingers setting themselves on your waist, and he was so close to your underdeveloped baby bump that you wanted to scream. 

“Gonna make me feel so good, aren’t you?” The man laughed darkly, 

“Get off me!” You sobbed, stronger this time but still not strong enough. He pinned your wrists behind you painfully, ceasing your weak attempts at shoving him off. 

“I’m gonna have a lotta fun with you, pretty lady.” He whispered, and your tears started rolling in earnest because oh God, no one was coming to save you, Taehyung wasn’t going to want you after this-

Distant voices echoed, a familiar voice. Your vision went white, and your legs buckled beneath you. All you could register as you crashed down to the floor was that there was no one there to catch you. 

~~~~~~

Taehyung was enjoying himself. It had been a while since he had gone out, probably years, due to his whole acquiring you, and then having to stay with you at all times until you came to your senses, and then having to stay by your side to protect you now that you were pregnant. It was a whole process. Don’t get him wrong, he loved you with his whole heart, and you were without a doubt the most important thing in his life, but he also enjoyed lesser pleasures like getting fresh air, having a change of scenery, and watching his friends get absolutely shit-faced and sing Hannah Montana in front of the entire faculty. 

But, after about half an hour of that, he was missing you again. He cast his eye over the crowd, checking on you where you were standing in the spot you had been for the last ten minutes. And then he stopped. You weren’t there. He squinted slightly, hoping that perhaps he wasn’t seeing right. But, it was real, you weren’t there anymore. He felt a wave of hysteria build up in him, ready to crash. He left the side of the karaoke stage, which was less of a stage and more a pile of empty printer-paper boxes, and strode through the room. Jimin tried to call him back, but Taehyung could barely hear a thing, too focused on searching for you.

He was frantic. He could just tell something bad had happened to you, someone was doing something to you, he could feel it in his heart. Once he confirmed you were definitely not in the room, he really started to panic. And then that panic subsided into cold, hard fury. Whoever had taken you away — because he knew you wouldn’t have left voluntarily, or without even telling him — he would tear them apart. 

He spotted the exit into the hallway, and as he got further away from the racket of the karaoke and closer to the doorway, a conversation drifted out to him.

“-off me.” A woman’s voice. A crying woman’s voice. Your voice. The rage within him grew fangs and roared.

“I’m gonna have a lotta fun with you, pretty lady.” 

By this point, Taehyung had reached the hallway and saw something he could have lived the rest of his life without seeing. 

A man had you pinned to the wall. You were sobbing, writhing in his grip, desperately trying to get away. He had his hands on you, he had his hands on your stomach, on Taehyung’s child.

“I’m gonna have a lotta fun with you, pretty lady.”

Taehyung ripped the man off you and threw him against the wall. He hit the surface hard, his head thrown back, and Taehyung let out a hiss of satisfaction as the man- the filth who dared to touch you slid down the wall leaving a smear of blood. But all thoughts fled from his mind as he heard your whimper behind him. He turned just in time to see your eyelids flutter shut, and he lunged to catch you as your legs gave out and you fell to the floor. 

“Oh God,” he muttered, “Oh God, Oh God, Y/n? Can you hear me?” No response. “Oh God.” Taehyung repeated. It seemed he couldn’t do anything but stare at your blank face, limp head resting in his lap as he sat on the floor with your unconscious form. 

“Please, baby.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’m so so sorry, please be okay.” His lips brushed your skin. No response. You always used to smile when he kissed you. He wished you would smile now.

“Taehyung, what- oh.” Hoseok paused as he took in the scene, having followed after Taehyung rushed out of the office. He had assumed it was something to do with you, since Taehyung rarely had that fervent look when he was dealing with anything else. But now, there was a body, a man, lying crumpled across the hall with a pretty serious head wound, and Taehyung was sat on the floor, rocking your unconscious form, seemingly in shock himself. 

“Taehyung,” Hoseok prompted him again, but he didn’t even pause in his litany of pleas into your hairline. Hoseok ran his eyes over you for a second, you were definitely breathing, and there were no wounds, so you must have passed out from shock. Okay, Hoseok thought, One problem at a time. 

“What should we do with him?” 

“What?” Taehyung looked up at Hoseok, disorientated, but Hoseok exhaled in relief. He had his attention, he could work with that.

“The man, over there.” Hoseok jerked his chin at the inebriated man, who was slowly coming to, groaning. “We have to get rid of him, and without anyone at the party knowing.” Taehyung snarled at the sight of the man, and Hoseok walked over and kicked the intoxicated figure in the head. Taehyung let out a hiss of feral satisfaction.

“You want him dead, right?” Hoseok questioned, and Taehyung nodded immediately, eyes going back to his wife, still unconscious in his lap. Hoseok pulled out his knife — which he took care always to keep on his person — but Taehyung interrupted him.

“Wait-” Hoseok paused, looking back at Taehyung. “I want to kill him. I want to kill him slowly, he doesn’t deserve a quick death.” The rage in those words was chilling, even to Hoseok, and he nodded, pocketing the blade. 

“Well then, I’ll have to get Namjoon and probably Jeongguk to help me carry him up to the top floor. We’ll tie him up, leave him there for you. I’ll get Yoongi to pull up this guy’s file — Yoongi has contacts in the police and he’ll know how to make sure this never happened.” Taehyung nodded again, and Hoseok strode back into the office, on his way to draw out the other man in a casual, subtle way so they could get the bastard out with no one the wiser. 

Taehyung brushed his thumb over your cheekbone and your eyelashes, fanned delicately over your cheek, fluttered slightly. Taehyung audibly exhaled. He gently displaced your head, resting it on the floor and you frowned in your sleep. Even in the situation Taehyung had found himself in, it was difficult not to coo at your pretty little face. He scooped you up, his arms secured underneath you, and walked to the elevator. He was confident his coworkers would handle the situation and, to be honest, he didn’t really give a damn about it. He didn’t give a damn about anything that wasn’t you, asleep in his arms, delicate and vulnerable and perfect. 

~~~~~~

You woke up to a pounding headache, and two arms wrapped firmly around your middle, a warm body pressed against your back. You immediately turned around to see the face of your husband, the man you loved and the father of your child. His face was crumpled into a scowl, and his arms tightened around you protectively. You shivered as the memories from last night caught up to you, and then gasped. 

Taehyung woke up, eyes immediately flying to your distraught face. He could do nothing as tears started to flow out of your eyes. You buried your face in his neck and sobbed. He whispered words of comfort and ran his warm hands up and down your back as you let it all out, crying until you couldn’t anymore, even though you felt no better. 

“T-Tae-” You whimpered into his neck.

“I’m here,” He whispered back, “I’m here, Princess.” The nickname, something he used to make you feel precious, and protected, only made you start crying again, to Taehyung’s dismay.  

“I-I’m so- Taehyung.” Your words became more and more fragmented as your sorrow choked you. Your hands were tightly fisted into his shirt, and he tried to pry them off so he could intertwine your fingers together, but you held on stubbornly. 

“Taehyung,” You started again, “I-I’m so so sorry.” He finally managed to free your hands, but instead of letting him hold them, you brought them up to cover your face. Your voice became muffled as you sobbed into your palms.

“Hey- hey,” Taehyung chided, wrapping his hands around your wrists and guiding them away from your face. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. Nothing.”

“N-no but I- I let someone else touch me!” You wailed, before trying to cover your face with your hands again, but Taehyung didn’t let go, so you eventually relented and slumped into him, defeated. 

“You didn’t let someone else touch you.” Taehyung informed in a forcibly calm voice, though he wanted to smash every piece of furniture in the house because you were upset and you felt guilty and it was all that piece of shit’s fault- “It wasn’t your fault at all. I should never have left you alone, I should have been there to protect you. And that piece of filth-” Taehyung snarled, “should have known better than to touch what is mine. Both you, and my child you’re carrying, are all mine, and he will die for even daring to come near you.” 

You sniffed, a damp spot forming on his shirt where your face was pressed, but Taehyung didn’t mind. He ran his hand up and down your spine, tucking you into his body carefully. After a moment, you tilted your head up at him.

“So… I’m still yours, right?” Taehyung’s brows furrowed, and he looked down at you in outrage.

“Of course you’re still mine. You’ll always be mine, no matter what.” 

Upon hearing this, your face smoothed out before you gave him the most dazzling smile, the one you had given him when you told him you loved him, when he proposed, when you told him about the baby. 

“Wait-” He looked back up, shocked by a realisation, before looking down at you again, “Did you think I wouldn’t love you because some asshole dared to touch you?” At his incredulous tone, you flushed and buried your face in his chest, but he wouldn’t let you, drawing you up to sit in his lap facing him properly.

“Did you seriously think-” He interrupted himself, pressing a series of kisses to your jaw, before continuing, “-that I would just discard the love of my life-” A kiss to your forehead, “-the mother of my child-” He leaned down and kissed the growing swell of your abdomen, “-and many future children I hope-” you giggled, shoving his shoulder lightly, knowing you didn’t want to actually push him away, “-just because some lowlife who doesn’t deserve to even be spoken of in the same sentence as you-” you gaped at him, before breaking into a smile, and he smiles back at you, resting his forehead against yours. You rest for a moment, fully content in each others company.

“Did you really think I’d let go of you that easily?” He asks, his voice soft. You search for the sincerity in his eyes, and you find it there, flowing out of him in his gaze, in his voice, in his actions. He loves you too much to get rid of you like that. And that’s good, because you love him to much to be cast off.

“No.” You reply, and he quirks a half smile at you. 

“You don’t?”

“No. Which is convenient, because I don’t want you to let me go.” 

He leans in and kisses you slow and deep, and its all so bone-achingly good, and familiar, and you know you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with this man. 

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//accidental irritations. akasshi keiji//

Request: hello!! Can I request what a first fight would be like with akaashi? From angst to fluff Bc my heart,,,, 😔🤚

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: someone put this baby to sleep please ;-;

You weren’t sure why you were surprised.  You knew your boyfriend well enough to know that this was something he would do.  He worked hard, you knew that.  He was ambitious and you knew that too.  He had a bad habit of not knowing when to stop, so the general negative aura that surrounded the setter should’ve been your sign that he was overworking himself again.  

Akaashi did this every now and then, especially around finals time.  He would stay up for hours, scanning his textbooks for anything that he might have missed that could possibly be on the test, copying his notes all over again into a separate notebook (he always that the repetition helped him, you just thought it was extra), flipping through stacks and stacks of flashcards until he got them all right.  He’d average around three hours of sleep a night unless someone physically made him go to bed and even then he would find himself tossing and turning for hours on end, unable to find the confines of sleep.  

But, seeing you boyfriend just, sort of, crumple onto the gym floor?  Well, it was not at all what you were expecting from your calm Thursday afternoon.  A stunned silence had fallen over the gym, everyone in complete shock that their composed setter just went down as easily as a sandcastle being washed away by incoming waves.  And when Akaashi didn’t move for a few seconds?  That’s when the mutual panic set in.  Sneakers all running over, frantic questions being shouted from the members.  “What happened?” “Did he hit his head?” “Should we call an ambulance?”  “Is he breathing?”  “Where’s Coach?”

You pushed your way through the group of boys, kneeling down next to Keiji’s body.  You would’ve loved to have been more help, but the worry took over you and all you could remember from your first aid training was how to properly apply gauze.  There was a cool rag pushed into your hands by one of the other managers to be applied to his forehead.  

“Keiji,” you say, tapping his cheek with your finger.  No response.  You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the desperation rising in your throat as you repeat his name.  “Keiji!”

His face contorts into discomfort, eyelids stuttering as his eyes shift beneath them.  Slowly, his lids start to open and he’s squinting into the bright overhead lights of the gymnasium.  Akaashi pushes himself into a sitting position, taking the cloth from his head, Konoha’s hand on his bicep in an attempt to keep the setter steady.  It takes a minute before he even says anything, just taking in the distressed expressions that formed a circle around him.  “I’m fine.”

“Dude, you’re really not.”

“Yeah.  Fine people don’t just pass out.”

“Akaashi, you should probably go home.”

There was a pounding in Akaashi’s temple, only further worsened by loud echoing concerns of his teammates.  He leans forward, his palm rubbing small circles into his forehead to try to alleviate the feeling.  Your hand is on his back and Keiji can’t help but to relax under the tenderness of your touch.  He felt like shit, truly.  His whole body hurt and this creeping wave of nausea kept climbing into the pit of his stomach.  No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t get the world to stop spinning around him.  So, when he felt you scoot up beside him, he immediately took the opportunity to lean his body against you, breathing deeply as he tried to ground himself again.  

Your hand snaked up to his hair, tangling your fingers into the soft curls.  “Keiji?” You ask gently.  There’s a soft hum in response to signal to you that he’s listening.  “I think we should get you home, okay?”

But, he just shakes his head, uttering again that he’s fine.  That he just lost his balance and tripped as if he was blatantly unaware that he had lost consciousness.  

There’s a cumulative sigh.  Everyone was expecting this response, but it’s only when Bokuto squats down in front of him that Akaashi’s eyes move from where they had been trained on the ground.  “I know you want to stay, but, come on, man.  We all just watched you go down and it freaked us all out.  You’re obviously not feeling good, so you’re either sitting on the bench the rest of practice or you’re going home,” the captain states, an overwhelming sense of concern lacing between his words.  

Akaashi wasn’t happy about it, but he let you call his mom to explain the situation, asking if she could pick him up early.  There wasn’t much of another option, really.  What was the point in staying if he was just going to have to sit out?  He already hated that the team was forcing him to sit on the bench while you went to get his stuff out of the club room.  He was fine.  He could get his own bag, but despite all of his objections, you were passed the keys to collect his things.  Akaashi felt like such a child.  Everyone looked at him like he was some fragile doll that would combust any second.  He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how out of proportion this whole situation had gotten.  It wasn’t anything serious, yet he was being treated like a baby.

But, when it was finally time for him to go, rather than just accepting your hug and small peck of goodbye, he laced his fingers with yours, a small plea buried somewhere behind dark irises.  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t being as tough about this whole thing as he would have liked, but he was just desperate to be comforted in the confines of his own bed rather than in the middle of the humid gymnasium.

But, you just kept nagging him.

You kept trying to weasel it out of him, the explanation as to why this happened in the first place.  You had felt his forehead.  He didn’t have a fever.  It wasn’t that hot, so he couldn’t have overheated.  It didn’t make any sense for him to just collapse out of nowhere like that.  But, no matter how many times you would ask, he would respond with a simple, “I’m fine” annoyance creeping into the edge of his voice with each reassurance.

You should’ve expected the snap, really.  He had been irritable most of the day and the incident in the gym only worsened his mood, but Keiji had never been one to raise his voice, especially not at you.  So, when the raven-haired setter released a loud groan, hands rubbing his face, frustration echoing in his eyes, that should’ve been your sign to stop talking, just let the subject drop, maybe come back to it when he was feeling better.  But, you didn’t.  You just kept pushing and it’s not like you wanted to piss him off; you were worried.  Seeing him just fall to the floor so easily without any warning had scared the shit out of you.

“Have you been eating well lately?  Maybe your blood sugar dropped and that’s why you passed out,” you say as you sit across from him on his bed. 

“Please, for the love of God, stop.  I have told you at least twenty times already that I’m fine!  Stop asking!”

“Keiji, perfectly healthy people don’t just pass out!  I just want-”

“If I knew what happened, I would tell you, but I don’t!  I don’t know why I fainted.  I barely remember doing it, so please, get off my back!  You’ve been nagging the shit out of me ever since we got here.  If I knew that you were going to be like this, I would’ve just let you stay at practice!  I don’t feel well and I just wanted to be able to lay down, but I can’t do that because you’re being obnoxious!” 

There was a deep scowl in his brows that you didn’t see from him often.  It usually appeared when he was deep in focus, but here it was, directed towards you.  It took you aback, the sharp bite of his words.  “Keiji, I-”

“No!  I’m not going to deal with this right now!  I’m tired, Maddi!  I don’t want to deal with you right now!”

The flash of hurt across your face brought Akaashi back to reality and out of whatever hellscape his head had been in.  You didn’t cry or make any outward sign of being upset, but he knew you by now.  He knew that the minute your eyes went to the ground, there was something wrong.  You had folded your hands in your lap and he was sure that if he looked away, you would begin shrinking.  

“Maddi, wait.  I- I didn’t- Hang on,” he stumbles, scooting closer to you in an attempt to comfort you by pulling you into his chest, but rather, you simply shy away from his touch.  Akaashi pulls his hand back, looking away, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just- I’m worried, Keiji.  I was scared and I didn’t know what the hell was wrong so I didn’t know what to do.  I’m sorry that I annoyed you, but please, I just want to know what’s going on,” you mutter, barely meeting his gaze.  

He nods solemnly and there’s a heavy sigh that leaves his mouth.  “I think I just didn’t get enough sleep.  I’ve been trying to study for finals and, I guess- I don’t know.  I guess that I just, sort of, tried to do too much.”

A small gasp of surprise escapes his lips as he’s tugged into your arms, letting him rest his head against your chest, but he’s quick to melt into your embrace, taking comfort in the feeling of your fingers running softly through his hair.  “You need to take care of yourself, Keij.  I know that you want to succeed and do your best, but your health is more important than a grade,” you whisper.

You can feel him not against you.  “I know, and I don’t mean to.  I just- It just happens.”  He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you back so that you’re laying down against the mattress with him.  Within a matter of seconds, he’s tucked into your side, seeking the comfort of your body against him.  “I’m sorry for scaring you and the others.  It kind of freaked me out too.  I think that’s why I got so mad, because I didn’t really know exactly what was going on either.  So, I’m sorry that I snapped at you, really.”

“It’s okay, Keiji.  I’m sorry too.  I shouldn’t have kept pushing you.  I’m just really glad that you’re okay,” you say, softly brushing the curls from his eyes, a small smile on your face.

“I love you, you know?”

“I know.”  There’s a soft shine in your eyes and you lean down to place a short kiss to his lips.  “I love you too, Keiji.  More than you know.”

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

We’re on Fire (blow a kiss to the crowd) ~ TDC ~ Chapter 6

Hi, I’m Scar and I’m here to damage some souls and break some hearts

CHAPTER 6 ~ So Homesick I Can’t Feel

~ District 10 ~

~ Mirabella ~ 

If there was one thing worse than her sister going to the games, it was her sister scoring a 12. That number was a guaranteed death sentence and as strong and sturdy as Arsinoe was, Mirabella wasn’t completely sure she wouldn’t buckle.

Her and Kat were sitting and watching the interviews of the tributes, Kat curled into Mirabella’s side. It had been a week since Arsinoe had left and Kat had been completely distraught, throwing herself into doing Arsinoe’s chores in some deep illusion of penance. Needless to say, Mirabella was concerned for Kat and falling apart as she tried to figure out how their family would function without Arsinoe. Mirabella couldn’t use an ax for firewood or milk a cow and Kat’s nightmares were always settled by cuddling Arsinoe because Mirabella overheated in her sleep. Mirabella watched as Christophe Arron introduced Joseph.

She tried not to blush when she sees Joseph. They had both agreed a long time ago that no one, especially Arsinoe and Jules, could know about the night they spent together 6 months prior. It was a guilt-inducing bad idea but Mirabella couldn’t forget the way his hands had felt on her. She watched as he amiably chatted with Christophe Arron, but she wasn’t really listening. Her stress about her sister overrides even her attraction to Joseph Sandrin or her feelings of heartbreak when he talks about his love for Jules Milone.

Arsinoe is finally introduced and Mirabella has to say she looks gorgeous. Her hair had been chopped to a cute bob and her skin glowed with makeup. She seemed okay as she walked on, even smiling at the crowd, but Mirabella could see the smart brain of hers working overtime behind her eyes. Arsinoe was playing the game like no one had ever seen as she laughed with Christophe Arron.

It gave her hope.

~ Jules ~

Jules wasn’t sure what came after death, but she was pretty sure she had died and gone to hell, because this was her worst nightmare. She had been forced to sleep by her grandparents in the middle of the week but hadn’t slept since, instead sitting in her living room, feeling her eyes get more bloodshot but unable to tear them away from the ever-present coDaphnege of the Hunger Games.

She watched the interviews and tried to look calm as possible while her family sits around her watching. If they saw her crack, they would send her out of the room, but she needed to see these interviews.

Joseph’s is first. He walks on stage with his usual glowing teeth smile, dressed in a slim cut, navy suit. He looks amazing and Jules tries not to throw up bc she knows that even he would trade the luxury to be home. He answers all of Christophe Arron’s with an easygoing nature until Arron asks him whether he has a girl back home and he goes solemn before answering.

“I have a girl back home who means everything to me,” the crowd awws and Christophe gestures for him to continue, “she’s fierce, strong, is so good with animals she can probably outrace the Capitol’s best racehorses and always has a way of making me smile. She has my whole heart and I miss her immensely, as nice as the Capitol has been to me,” Joseph smiles at the camera and Jules feels the slightest bit of ease.

“So, you’re gonna fight to go home to her?” Christophe asks and Joseph sighs, considering his answer.

“Actually, I think she would probably like her best friend back instead,” Joseph says, shrugging with a sad little smile. 

Jules doesn’t even hear the start of Arsinoe’s interview, so deep was her crying into Grandma Cait’s shirt.

~ Billy ~

To absolutely no one’s surprise, his mother had made a dinner party out of watching the Tribute’s interviews. She had invited the mayor and his daughter and a few of her socialite friends. Billy was tempted to get drunk enough that he wouldn’t remember watching it, but he knew that his brother and his… well he didn’t know what to call Arsinoe, but she deserved better than him getting plastered. At least Christine seemed to have taken a hint and was avoiding him.

They were all spread across the sitting room when the interviews started. The careers were their usual tough self and the young ones all said the same answers. Finally, Joseph was being interviewed. Billy was glad to see him smiling and joking. He had always been good with people and now he was using it to his own advantage.

Finally, it was Arsinoe’s turn. Billy couldn’t help but watch as she strode across the stage in a short mint green dress, her legs looking like they went on for days in their high heeled boots. He shook himself out of it. If there was one thing Arsinoe was not comfortable with, it was dresses. Still, her smile gave away no discomfort. She sat with Christophe Arron and stroked the Capitol’s ego like the pro no-one ever seemed to notice she was. 

It was extremely attractive.

Finally, Christophe turned to her love life.

“So, Arsinoe, you have blown all of us away with your intellect and beauty tonight, so surely there are boys lining up to be your boyfriend back in 10. Do you have anyone special?” Billy couldn’t breathe as Arsinoe dropped her eyes, a blush flaring across her cheeks.

“I- uh- well there is this one guy I know and I really like him. He’s smart, gentle and the way he smiles makes my heart feel like it might explode,” she laughs nervously. Billy leans forward slightly, trying not to be obvious.

“He sounds pretty special. Surely he’ll be desperate to go out with you once you conquer the Games,” Arsinoe rubs her arm and looks behind her, where Joseph must have been out of camera.

“I don’t know whether he’d want me back more than his brother, but that’s the hope I guess,” the room went still around Billy as everyone turned to watch him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t believe that she felt the same way about him as he did about her. He wants to get plastered with Jules because how dare Arsinoe and Joseph do this.

His mother came and crouched in front of him, a delicate frown on her face. She wipes away the tears he hadn’t realised had begun falling. She and Jane gently help him stand up and Jane walks with him to his bedroom, concern etched into every line on her face.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

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