#something is wrong *standing there* something is wrong and i no longer feel like a person anymore but oh well

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

PERFECT:

Requested: Chishiya x Reader who is insecure about stretch marks.

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"Kuina is asking for you," Chishiya said as he entered the room, closing the door behind him and remaining standing with his hands in his pockets.

"Ah, right. We were supposed to go to the pool, but I’m not feeling very well," the girl replied, lying on the bed and covering her eyes with her forearm.

Chishiya didn’t respond. The girl heard his footsteps approaching the bed and felt his presence towering over her. After a few moments of silence, the man finally spoke.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was dry and sharp, almost bored, but Y/N could discern a slight hint of concern in it. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

"Nothing, I just… I’m tired," she answered, turning over to give him her back, pulling the thin white silk sheet further up her body.

Chishiya stood there, watching her in silence. The semi-transparent sheet clung to her skin, accentuating the shape of her body. Her black bikini stood out underneath.

"She insisted a lot," he said. "I think she’s obsessed with you. She said she’d drag you out of the room if you’re not at the pool in five minutes."

The man watched as the woman squirmed, groaning in frustration.

"Fine. Leave." she replied, sitting up on the bed and pulling the sheet even closer around her body.

Chishiya raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Leave?"

The woman only groaned in response, waving her hand to shoo him out of the room.

"Why?" he asked, confused, with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I need to change," she said, finally turning to face her boyfriend.

He stared at her for a few seconds, doubt still etched on his face.

"And I have to leave for that?"

The girl let out an exasperated sigh.

"I don’t want you to see me."

Chishiya felt like he had lost track of the conversation—something extremely rare for him. And irritating. Very irritating.

"You don’t want me to see you?" he repeated, making sure he had heard correctly.

"Yes, I don’t want you to see."

She rolled over again, turning her back to him.

That was when an alarm went off in the white-haired man’s head.

"What is it that you don’t want me to see?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning toward her figure under the sheets.

Y/N responded with muffled sounds against the pillow.

"What?" he insisted.

Y/N sighed again and turned to face her boyfriend, her gaze fierce and visibly frustrated.

"I don’t want you to see my body."

Chishiya’s brain went blank for a few seconds.

"What?" he repeated once more. His cold, distant stare contrasted with the fire burning inside him, fueled by doubt, uncertainty, and confusion.

The girl huffed one last time before getting up from the bed, wrapping the thin fabric around herself. She locked herself in the bathroom with a soft click that echoed in Chishiya’s ears like the most irritating sound he had ever heard.

"Y/N." His voice came out neutral, emotionless.

"I won’t take long," she replied from behind the door.

And she didn’t. In less than three minutes, the girl emerged from the small space, now wearing a bikini with a towel draped over her arm.

"What was wrong with the other one?" the man asked after a few seconds of observing her intently.

"What?"

Chishiya nodded toward the black swimsuit lying on the bathroom floor.

"Oh. I didn’t like it," she replied.

Like pieces of a puzzle, Chishiya added this new information to his mind. It still didn’t fit.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment.

"Y/N! I swear I’ll drag you out if you don’t come out right now!"

"Kuina," the man thought.

He watched as Y/N walked to the door, opening it and greeting Kuina with a brief hug, her back now turned to him. Chishiya took the opportunity to admire his girlfriend’s new bikini a little longer. It was undeniably different from the previous one. The fabric hugged her hips, covering more skin than the last, but what really struck him was the style. It wasn’t a piece of clothing that suited Y/N’s style.

He watched as the two women walked away, leaving him behind. Under any other circumstances, he would have stayed in the room, away from all the noise and chaos of the pool. But that day, something was off. He didn’t know what, but he was going to find out. He followed them, keeping a safe distance, giving them space.

When they reached the pool area, the noise was instant. Chishiya noticed Y/N subtly shrinking, growing smaller before his eyes. He even caught the way she crossed her arms slightly over her stomach. The puzzle pieces were starting to come together.

From a distance, he kept his eyes on the two women as they settled on a surprisingly empty lounge chair. He watched Kuina lay out her towel and lie down, motioning for Y/N to join her. He saw Y/N shake her head softly, instead perching on the edge of the recliner, crossing her legs and carefully draping her towel over her lap, letting it fall conveniently over her hips.

He sighed.

He observed them for a few more minutes, deciphering the pattern. And when the answer finally lit up in his mind, he decided to act.

Chishiya had never been good with words—he said what needed to be said, with no sugarcoating. So he had to bite his tongue as he approached the two girls and saw Y/N grip her towel a little tighter.

"Come with me," he said, hands still in his pockets, casual as ever.

Kuina lifted her head, lowering her sunglasses with an exaggerated expression of surprise.

"Go, go, go, go!" she cheered, nudging Y/N encouragingly.

Kuina was the only person on The Beach—hell, in all of Borderlands—who knew about their relationship. And she loved to exaggerate moments like these. Chishiya mentally thanked her countless times a day for bringing a little enthusiasm into their dynamic—something he didn’t know how to do. He’d be embarrassed to admit that more than half of the so-called romantic ideas he executed came from Kuina’s vivid imagination.

Y/N sighed and stood up, tying the towel tightly around her hips. She followed him as he led her toward the hotel’s interior.

"What is it? I was having a great time," she confronted him when Chishiya finally stopped in a dimly lit corner of the empty main hall.

"Were you?" he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze was dark. Predatory. Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine.

"What are you talking about?"

Chishiya locked eyes with her for a moment before nodding pointedly at the towel around her waist.

Involuntarily, Y/N crossed her arms over her stomach.

Chishiya let out a mocking chuckle—one he immediately regretted when she lowered her gaze to the floor. Yes, he was upset—very upset. But not with her. Well, maybe a little. But he had to play his cards right, or this could spiral out of control.

"You were uncomfortable," he said, this time in a softer tone, one that made her look up again. "Insecure, I’d say."

He saw her swallow hard before lowering her head once more. With a sigh, he pushed off the wall and placed a finger under her chin, gently lifting her face.

"Tell my girlfriend…" he began, using his other hand to undo the knot in her towel. "That she’s perfect…" He let the towel fall to her feet. "And that she better not dare think otherwise."

He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her closer.

Y/N instinctively grabbed his wrists, trying to pull them away so he wouldn’t feel the roughness of her skin—evidence of the stretch marks on her body. It was futile. He simply started tracing slow, soothing circles over her skin.

Noticing her relax slightly, Chishiya smirked, tightening his grip around her waist and pulling her impossibly closer. She hesitated before sliding her arms around his neck.

"You’re perfect," he whispered, lips barely brushing hers.

He watched in amusement as her cheeks turned bright red, her gaze darting away. He gently shook her, forcing her to meet his eyes once more.

"Don’t ever forget it," he murmured—low, almost threatening—before sealing his words with a deep kiss where doubt, uncertainty, and insecurity faded into the background, overpowered by the taste of unconditional love and adoration.

© 2025 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

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I had so much fun writing this! Thank you so much for reading, any feedback is always appreciated🌟.

[erysser]

Can i request thanos x reader where the reader sacrifice herself for thanos in the bathroom scene

A GUT FEELING

-> pairings : Choi Su Bong [Thanos] x reader

-> a/n : Thank you so much for requesting!! This is my first time writing and I hope you enjoy anon <3

The third vote had just ended with a tie. Your eyes stare at the scoreboard, unsure of what it would display tomorrow when the voting was redone. Truly, you wanted to vote for X, you had a life out there, but with Thanos' pleading eyes as he promised you one more game... how could you say no?

Besides you, Thanos and Nam-gyu were whispering amongst themselves about something together, their eyes glaring at Min-su who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the X team. Pity engulfs you as you see the boy's nervous expression. You didn't blame him for voting X.

The guards call out to the players like clock-work, instructing people who wanted to go to the bathroom to go now. You lean back on your bed, back against the wall, the feeling of wanting to relieve yourself not making itself present yet.

Thanos climbs up into your bed beside you, a wild grin on his face as he talks, "Hey senorita, me and Nam-gyu are going to the toilet to have a small chat with Min-su."

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head lightly at his plan.

"I don't think that's a good idea," you start, your voice soft and persuasive, "a fight could break out and..."

Thanos laughs at your hanging sentence, "Don't worry about me, flower! I'm Thanos, I can deal with whatever they throw at me! You probably have to worry about Nam-gyu over there though."

His voice was dripping with boisterous confidence as he reassured you, Nam-gyu rolling his eyes at his statement before hurrying the purple-haired man up.

Your chest constricted, something felt wrong about this and as Thanos moved away from you, your hand caught hold of his wrist. He stops his movement, his gaze meeting your eyes. His eyes were full of unfiltered confidence, like there was no fear behind them. He never seem to have fear in him. After and during every single game, he smiled and joked like his life was not on the line.

"Be careful," you whisper softly to him, turning to Nam-gyu and repeating the same words as you pulled your hand off.

Nam-gyu scoffs as he hears the words, but gives an irritated nod as he moves to walk away towards the door. Thanos looks at you and winks, giving you a thumbs up and a flying kiss as he and Nam-gyu excitedly walk off to the bathroom area.

☆

You weren't sure how long it had been. 5— No— 10 minutes, maybe since Thanos and Nam-gyu had left for the bathroom. A sinking feeling was slowly taking over you as your mind lingered on it longer; why were they taking so long?

With a huff, you stood up from your bed, moving towards the door where the guards were, announcing to them that you needed to relieve yourself. Thankfully, as the allocated time wasn't up, they let you through.

Your footsteps echo throughout the long winding hallway until they finally stood in front of the two doors leading to the male and female toilet. Your heart beat quickens, hearing the shouting and arguing from within the male bathroom. Eyes widening, you quickly realise what was happening inside.

You look at the guards who stood outside. They stood as still as a statue, their heads looking in-front, as no emotion or feeling exuded from their faceless bodies as they stood guard.

"Aren't you going to do anything?!" You shout at them, your face scrunching up as confusion and frustration laces your voice.

You knew they wanted you dead. You knew they didn't care about the people who died, but you thought they would at least have the decency to let the players die in the games and not in a dingy bathroom!

You groan as no response came out of the triangle-masked guards. You didn't care. You stomped towards the door as they make no moves to stop you.

You heaved slightly as you move to push the door open, chest tightening as you see the scene unfold in front of you.

Men stood, fighting with each other. Some of them were on the floor, rolling around in who knows who's blood. Disgust fills you as today's dinner threatens to come up. What the hell was happening here? Your eyes scan the room, searching for the man with the bright purple hair in the middle of this brawl.

It didn't take you long to spot him. He sat on top of player 333, hand around his neck as he moves to choke him. You stood frozen, staring as you watch. Your eyes drink the image up. He didn't notice you, his whole focus on eliminating player 333. He didn't notice player 333's right arm moving and raising to stab him with the fork they had give you all for dinner.

Before your mind could even process what was happening, you move towards them, pulling Thanos off with a clean tug as player 333 swung his fork into air, barely missing Thanos' neck.

Thanos looks at you, wide-eyed and confused but before you could even answer his unasked questions, player 333 lunges for him again. You push Thanos away, trying your best to restrain him as you topple onto the floor with him, hitting your back onto to the cold tile floor. You gripped onto player 333's hand, trying to disarm him but his grip was tighter. His arm was stronger. He was stronger.

In the last few seconds, you catch Thanos's panicked gaze. Funny, that was the first time you had ever seen him panic. You give him a soft smile as you feel a sharp pain through your neck. Your neck heats up as you let go of player 333's hand, subconsciously trying to stop the blood from leaving your body.

Thanos tries to pull him off but it was no use as you continue to bleed out. Player 333's falls back, shocking painting his facw as his eyes stare at your face as you heaved, trying to breathe.

"Nonononono, c'mon y/n, you can't do this to me," Thanos says, immediately going to hold your head. He lifts you up slightly, holding you close to him as he takes his jacket off, trying to stop the bleeding. He wraps the green fabric across your neck, desperately trying to block the blood.

You could barely muster a goodbye, your vision fading slowly as it all turned into a haze, you could make out his purple tufts of hair as he stared at you.

"C'mon, that was real stupid of you y/n! You're Thanos' star, my star you can't die on me! You promised me one more game! I- I promised to take you out after we get out of this shithole." His voice was rapid, fast and breathless. Cracking and breaking slightly but stable enough to understand. No wonder he was a rapper. The thought amused you as you move to touch his face but your arms felt limp. You couldn't even move to touch him.

It wasn't long before you're heart stopped beating. The heart that once rapidly beat in Thanos' presence stopped at the moment he was closest to it.

Thanos could feel your soul leave your body. His mind reeled as he watches your eyes glaze over, your mouth slightly ajar as a satisfied look shrouded your face.

You were dead.

He couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. His mind replayed your last moments as his hands that held your lifeless body shook. You were alive right? This was all some sort of sick nightmare, but as you laid unresponsive to his words. He was forced to deal with the truth.

He puts you down neatly on the tile floor, hands shaking as he opened the locket where he stored his drugs. Slowly, he popped one in, eyes roaming across the room until they see the man who had taken your life. He stood up, knuckles whitening as he rushes in front to put that man in his place.

It should've been him. It should've been Thanos. It should've been anyone but you.

He was a second away from pummeling the man's head in when the guards finally entered, tearing Thanos away from him.

They were all escorted into the main room, bloodied and battered. Thanos' mind kept replaying the scene, the drug seeming to have no effect in keeping those thoughts at bay. Beside him, Nam-gyu walks quietly, unsure of what to say.

Anger enveloped Thanos' mind as they announced the eliminated players, your number being called out last. His eyes look over to the X side, immediately catching player 333's gaze.

He had taken his money and had now stolen the person Thanos cared about the most.

Whatever the next game was, Thanos was going to make sure that player 333 gets eliminated.

[meo-eiru]

Theo doesn’t talk to her.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Because he can’t.

Because every time he even thinks about opening his mouth, his throat closes up, and his hands shake, and he feels like he might just throw up on the floor.

She’s right there, inches away, talking to someone else, laughing like it’s nothing, like it’s so easy to be… perfect.

Theo grips the hem of his sweater and looks down, brown curls spilling over his face, hiding what he doesn’t want the world to see. His eye burns, his single, lonely green eye, the one thing that makes him stand out in all the worst ways.

She can’t see it.

She can’t see him.

He wants to be seen, but only by her. Wants her to notice, but not too much. Wants her to hear the words he can’t even say.

"Y/N..."

The name is a fragile thing in his head, something that might shatter if he says it too loud.

He watches from the corner of his eye as she reaches into her bag, fingers brushing against something, a pen maybe, and the thought of how easy it would be to hold that hand makes his chest feel hollow. He knows the shape of her hands better than his own. Knows the way her lips move when she’s lost in thought. Knows how she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating.

But she doesn’t know him… maybe that’s for the best. Because if she ever really saw him, saw the way his fingers twitch when she’s too close, saw the way he lingers just a second longer in the places she’s been, saw the way his thoughts wrap around her name like thorns, and his eye—

She’d run.

They always do.

(Back with a short fic for my favorite cyclops)

I have to admit I was so immersed in this I actually tried to like it as if it was a post and not an ask in my inbox

My god op you write so beautifully, you really made me feel his loneliness.

Theo is indeed very lonely, he usually doesn't mind it. He made peace with the fact he would probably spend his entire life alone around elementary school. He's alright, it's not like he's jealous of the people who go out with their friends, do romantic stuff with their lovers or just... exist without the fear of the other person finding them disgusting.

But your sheer existence makes all his resolve crumble down. His sweet, beautiful, perfect y/n. Someone who can do wrong. Even if you did hurt someone you probably had your reasons.

He loves you. He loves you so much. For the longest time he couldn't even bring himself to think like that in his head because someone like him doesn't have the right to think of you in such ways.

But even as the monster he is Theo still has emotions. Some too strong for his weak body to handle, so he tries to make it better.

He sketches you as he secretly watches you from a few seats behind, he writes your name over and over again like a prayer, he secretly follows you home and takes you pictures. Sometimes he intentionally skips his lesson to go rummage your locker, if he's lucky he'll find a piece of clothing and will try to relive himself while hugging and smelling it for the next hour or so.

He doesn't want to be seen, but he wants you to see him. He doesn't want to be noticed, but he wants you to notice him. He doesn't want to be touched, but he wants you to touch him.

He often fantasizes about you catching him as he tries to steal one of your belongings. He wants you to make him regret it, but also become aware that he is there. He wants you to talk to him even if it's to call him a creep. Because Theo is a coward, he's a coward who pathetically stalks you instead of actually having to courage to speak up. So he wants you to do it. He wants you to one day turn around and see him, your eyes to meet his.

You noticing him, you knowing him, you insulting him, you loving him.

[heeluvv]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ( ၴႅၴ

pairing ༒︎ yandere/psycho!kim sunoo x student!reader

genre ༒︎ dark romance

warnings ༒︎ stalking, possession, masturbation (slight), forced love, obsession, etc.

natty’s notes ༒︎ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

sunoo never meant to fall this deep.

he was just watching. studying. learning.

he memorized your schedule, your favorite snacks, the exact way your lips curved when you smiled.

at first, he was content with the distance. watching from the back of the classroom. listening when you spoke—soaking in every word like it was meant for him.

then, he started following just to make sure you were safe. just to protect you.

but then—he saw you with them. laughing. touching. letting someone else be close to you.

something snapped.

you were his.

you just didn’t realize it yet.

he thought he could be patient. he thought he could wait for you to see him but watching you with them—watching their hands touch what was his—he couldn’t take it anymore.

so he took you.

your head feels heavy. clouded. wrong. when you try to move, your wrists won’t budge. your vision is blurry, the dim light in the room barely enough to make sense of your surroundings.

and then—you hear it.

soft breathing. close. too close.

“you’re awake.” your stomach drops.

sunoo.

he’s sitting beside you, watching. waiting. loving. his glasses are slightly fogged, his lips parted in quiet relief. he reaches forward, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“you slept for so long, baby.” your blood runs cold.

“let me go.” his smile softens—as if you just said something silly.

“i can’t do that.” he tilts his head, eyes filled with something too dark. too tender. too in love.

“you’re finally where you belong.”

you struggle. scream. beg.

but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t react. he just watches because he knows you’ll break eventually.

one night, you hear it.

soft, shaky breaths.

the quiet sound of frustration and want.

you turn your head—and freeze.

sunoo is sitting in his chair, his back is to you, but you can see the tension in his shoulders.

his head tilts back slightly, a soft, broken sigh slipping past his lips.

“baby…”

his voice is wrecked. desperate. longing.

his fingers tremble against his skin.

you don’t have to see to know.

he’s thinking about you. he’s touching himself to the thought of you.

your stomach twists.

you want to look away but you can’t. not when he breathes your name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. not when you realize—he’s been waiting for you to love him, but he can’t wait any longer.

the room is too quiet.

except for him.

except for his breath hitching, his soft, broken sighs, the quiet sound of frustration and want.

your hands tremble against the restraints. you shouldn't look but your body betrays you.

the way his shoulders rise and fall, his muscles tense as his fingers curl—digging into his own skin, his body tight with something unbearable.

his head tilts back slightly, a breath escaping in a soft, shuddering moan.

your name slips past his lips—raw, wrecked, desperate.

your stomach twists.

he's thinking about you.

no—he's consumed by you.

you move too much.

a soft creak of the mattress beneath you.

his breath catches.

he stills then—he turns his head.

your stomach drops.

his glasses slide down his nose, his wide eyes locking onto yours-lips still parted, pupils blown, face flushed with heat.

the room is too hot. too heavy. too much.

but sunoo? he smiles like he's won.

like you just gave him exactly what he wanted. his breathing is still uneven, his fingers still shaking, but his gaze never wavers.

"you were watching me." his voice is soft. breathless. smug.

you shake your head, your throat too tight to speak but his smile only deepens.

"don't lie, baby." he steps forward.

"you saw, didn't you?" your pulse races. he moves closer, until he's standing at the edge of the bed-so close, too close. his fingers reach out, brushing against your cheek, trailing down your jaw. his touch is warm. lingering. inescapable.

his voice drops to a whisper.

"it's okay."

his forehead presses against yours, his breath fanning against your lips.

"it just means you're finally starting to love me back." but your body betrays you. your breathing hitches. your fingers twitch. you feel trapped in his warmth, drowning in his scent, his touch, his presence.

his lips hover just above yours, teasing, waiting.

"see, baby?" his fingers trace down your throat, pressing just lightly against your racing pulse.

"you can't hide from me." his lips brush against your skin-your temple, your jaw, down to the base of your throat. his hands slide over your wrists, fingers grazing your pulse as if to remind you that he owns it now.

"don't fight it, baby." his breath is warm, intoxicating.

"i'll love you enough for both of us."

natty's notes ༒︎ okayyy i hope you guys like it or something, i appreciate you all for the likes and reblogs, tysmm!! (also if you guys have any request please send them in!)

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[promptedwordsmith]

Poems based on them...

Caleb

The morning breaks with empty sheets, Where once your warmth, your breath, would meet. Gone in silence, like the night’s last breath, A shadow slipped, too soft, too swift.

Your scent lingers, familiar, near— Cherries and home, both sweet and dear. Yet in the air, there’s something new, A weight, a pull, that I can’t undo.

You were my anchor, steady, kind, But somewhere lost, you left behind A version of you I can’t erase— The Colonel, cold, with no embrace.

I trace the silence where you stood, Wondering if you ever could Return to me, the one you knew— Before the walls of distance grew.

You never said goodbye, no word, no sign, Just the quiet of a love that’s mine, And yet not mine—possessed, confined, A love that chokes, but still reminds.

In the stillness, I wait for you, The brother, the friend, the love so true, But in your eyes, I see the change, A heart once open now locked, estranged.

Rafayel

We were like the moon and tide, You, the pull of my every breath, A force unseen, yet deep inside, Your currents moved me—left, then death.

I, the silent pull of ink and paint, A restless, stubborn art I made, Longing to be still, to bear no weight, Yet to you, the endless waves, I swayed.

You were the storm, the wind, the light, Your fingers tugged at every seam, You shaped my colors, dark to bright, Like fleeting hues within a dream.

I, a canvas left to dry, Chasing the traces of your hands, Though I ached to be a stillened sky, You drew me back into your sands.

We were like the moon and tide, Unseen, unspoken, yet alive— I longed for the calm you couldn't find, And yet, with you, I’d always dive.

Sylus

I cannot say if his path is light, Or if his shadows darken the sky, But by his side, I’d walk through night, With every cost, no question why.

His hands may tremble, though never show, A heart of iron, wrapped in gold, I cannot grasp the depth below, Yet still, I follow, still, I’m bold.

For what he seeks, I cannot name, A thirst unquenched, a fire untamed, But in the chaos, wild and cold, I stand with him, unbent, unchained.

No right, no wrong, no truth or lie, Just fire’s touch beneath his eye, What fate he weaves, I do not know, But in this storm, I’ll let it flow.

For what he is, both fierce and flawed, I take his burden, with no applause. Should all the world fall to ash and bone, I’ll stand by him, though none will know.

Xavier

Meet me where the falling stars live, Where shadows curl beneath the sky, In places where the night is still, And quiet whispers never die.

I’ll wait for you, day and night, Where moonlight tints the silver sea, A world where time itself feels light, And we are just what we choose to be.

In fields where fireflies dance and play, I’ll be the hand you’ll hold so tight, No battle, no darkness, will sway The path we walk beneath the night.

Meet me where the stars descend, Where dreams and silence softly blend, A place where even broken things Are mended by the light they bring.

I’ll wait for you, as shadows fall, In spaces that are ours, and all, For though the world may turn and spin, I’ll wait, I’ll wait, until you’re in.

Meet me where the falling stars live, In peace where we need no disguise, I’ll be here, just as I give, My heart, my soul, beneath your eyes.

Zayne

If only I could, I would take your pain, Fold it in my hands Like delicate gauze, And hold it close, Until the weight of it is mine alone.

I’d wear your hurt like armor, Shielding you from what you cannot bear, Turning each silent wound Into a quiet act of love— A touch that doesn’t ask for thanks, But simply exists, For your peace.

If only I could, I would absorb your sorrow, Turn the sting of it Into something warm, Wrap it in the amber of my care, Until it no longer burns, But rests gently in the space between us.

No words would be needed, No grand gestures— Just a presence that absorbs All you can’t say, And returns it to you, Not as burden, But as something lighter, Wrapped in quiet love.

[tactical-jellyfish]

The Mistakes That Have Been Made

Part 2.5 (bonus for the people. I think you guys need some good soup, from moi <3)

Warnings!: Angst, angst, and more angst. Reader will be MAD sad for most of this. Poorly-practiced, unhealthy polyamory. Reader will experience a LOT of gender and body dysphoria over the course of this (though I will do my best to keep it gender-neutral throughout, bear with me), but there WILL be comfort over that.

The team dynamics of the 141 have always been messy, ugly things, but this is ugly. You wouldn't wish it on anyone, really.

When you'd walked back to your own room, you'd heard Soap railing the daylights out of Gaz, cussing your name beneath his breath as the other sergeant groaned, high and throaty.

As awful as this feels, at least he's not doing that to you.

Johnny's always been a bit of a... rough bed partner, you know that, he's so eager to get into the heat of it that he never gives himself the time to warm up or cool down. Tends to be so enthusiastic that he doesn't offer much aftercare before he falls asleep, either.

Still, walking past Gaz's room brings back memories of that nasty, sick feeling that follows every intimate experience you've ever had.

It's the feeling that your body is somehow wrong, too tight in some parts and too loose in others, like the very existence of your form is a contradiction that just can't stand a second longer.

The way you hold your laptop shifts, pressing the metal into your chest to somehow remedy this ill. How? You're not sure. It doesn't work very well.

You try to shake it off as you open your door and sit on your bed, but the moans still breach your walls.

God, since when did Gaz sound like that? It feels like it's choking the air out of the room.

You put your best effort toward minding your own business, but you felt like you were losing your mind a half-hour into that endeavor, and instead thumped your fist on the wall, loud enough to send the message. Learning how to sign and trying to ignore... that was simply not a feasible task.

The moaning and creaking stops shortly after, and the sigh you heave is like no others, though you know damn well those two will definitely be pissy with you tomorrow.

Finally.

Plastic buzzing against the "wood" of your nightstand (shitty plywood painted white, as is standard issue) draws your focus away from that, if only for a second.

Heyhey! Do u wanna train together tmrw?? I think you'd do good if you took it easy w/me 😊 <33

The rubber and plastic of your case isn't all that comfortable in your hands, but you hold the magical little glass box in your hands anyway, peering down at the screen before chuckling to yourself.

Why should I?

Is your reply. It doesn't strike you that it might have been a bit on the nose, or that Gary might have read it differently, until the text bubble appears and disappears several times in a row, and you re-read it.

Oh no, you sound like an absolute asshole.

Sorry. I do want to, I just wanted to tease.

He's typing for another few seconds, before the bubble disappears one more time, and it starts to make you panic. More than you want to be panicking over him.

Don't be mad please, I'm sorry. I want to train with you.

How the mighty have fallen.

Look at you, desperately prostrating yourself before a rookie because you're absolutely moronic, praying that he'll offer you a reply. Whatever happened to four times the love?

Fuck. Don't think about that.

im not mad, ur fine just thought you might be a little grouchy from the meds or smth, wasnt sure if i should ask

You breathe a real sigh of relief at the returned messages, already more than tired by the day, but slightly soothed as you look down at the blue light of the screen, and send your last message of the day.

I'll see you at 0630. Goodnight.

A little red heart appears over your message, in the top left corner of the rounded bubble.

You plug in your phone and try to ignore how something in your chest squeezes at being deemed worthy of making plans more than two hours in advance.

It's a shockingly new thing, but goodness does it feel good, even if it brings on a sting of a more somber feeling.

Gaz and Soap sure as fuck didn't do this. Ghost either. You never expected Price to do that for you in the first place. Did they just... not think you were enough to make plans for? Was this pity?

You try to shake off the feeling as you bunch your blankets around your body, allowing your tired form to sink into the mattress and rest. The morning will clear your thoughts.

First | Previous | Next

[kathlare]

decode

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a routine rehearsal, Amelie is unexpectedly confronted by the weight of a song she can no longer bear to sing.

Wordcount: 1.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

August 12th, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

The studio was buzzing with energy, the sharp twang of an electric guitar reverberating through the air as the band warmed up. Amelie stood in the middle of the room, her fingers wrapped tightly around the microphone, trying to steady herself.

It was just a rehearsal. Just another song in the setlist. She had sung it a hundred times before. It shouldn’t feel this hard.

But it did.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat as the familiar chords of Decode filled the space around her. The opening melody rang out, and suddenly, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

—"You're good at the falling, not the staying there..."—

Her grip on the microphone tightened.

—"You're good at the giving too much, then getting scared..."—

Her stomach twisted.

Lando.

She didn’t even need to close her eyes for the memories to hit her like a tidal wave.

Late-night calls when neither of them could sleep. His voice, groggy and teasing through the phone, telling her about some ridiculous thing Max did that day. Her laughing, telling him he was an idiot, and him calling her mi amor in that British accent that somehow made it sound even more like a joke.

Racing through the empty streets of Monaco at night, her heart pounding as he sped past red lights, his McLaren roaring against the silence. The way he’d glance at her from the driver’s seat, that cocky smirk on his lips, fingers drumming against the wheel. "Scared, princesa?"

Inside jokes only they understood. The way he’d call her brat when she annoyed him, the way she’d roll her eyes and call him pretty boy in retaliation. The way he’d wrap his arms around her after a long day, whispering in her ear, "I missed you."

But then there was the way it ended.

The nights he stopped calling. The way he started pulling away. The text she had sent that he never answered.

The moment she had seen the first blurry photo of him with her.

Luisinha.

Amelie’s hands trembled.

—"Now I wonder why... I let your confusion keep me up at night..."—

She couldn’t fucking do this.

Her voice wavered. It was slight—maybe no one noticed, maybe they thought it was just a crack in her voice, a choice she made for the song. But Amelie knew better.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and kept going, forcing herself to sing through the words that felt like open wounds. But the more she sang, the harder it became. Her head was filled with his voice, his laughter, the fucking way he used to look at her when he thought she wasn’t watching.

—"Done looking for signs in the gaps and the silence..."—

The words lodged themselves in her throat.

Because she had spent months doing exactly that. Looking for signs. Overanalyzing every moment, every word left unsaid. She had torn herself apart trying to understand how he could go from making her feel like she was the only person in the world to acting like she had never even existed.

And then, just like that, he was with her.

Like Amelie had been a placeholder. Like she had been a temporary thing to pass the time until someone else showed up.

Her breath hitched, and suddenly, the walls of the studio felt like they were closing in.

—"Where else can we go? There's nothing left here to decode..."—

Her voice cracked.

She heard it. The band heard it. The entire fucking room heard it.

She ripped the headphones off and let them dangle around her neck, shaking her head as she stepped away from the mic.

—Let’s take five,— she muttered, voice tight.

Her bandmates exchanged glances, unsure whether to press her on it or not. They had been playing with her long enough to know when something was wrong. But no one said anything.

Amelie walked away from the mic stand, running a hand through her hair, frustration burning under her skin.

What the fuck was wrong with her? It had been over a year. She had moved on. She was happy.

So why the hell was she standing in the middle of a rehearsal studio, falling apart over someone who wasn’t even thinking about her?

—Amelie?— one of the producers called after her. She exhaled sharply, trying to push past the emotions clawing at her throat before turning around.

—We’re cutting the song,— she said firmly.

The producer blinked. —Cutting?—

—Yeah,— she nodded, voice more confident this time. —Take it out of the setlist.—

The band looked at each other again, but no one questioned her.

—Are you sure?— her guitarist asked carefully.

Amelie forced a smile, as if this wasn’t fucking killing her. —Yeah. Just... I don’t think it fits the show anymore.—

That was a lie. It fit too well.

But she wasn’t going to stand on a stage in front of thousands of people and sing a song that made her feel like this. Like she was back in Monaco, waiting for a text that would never come.

Like she was still nineteen, still stupid enough to believe that he wasn’t going to break her heart.

[hearts4johnwick]

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 you, mingi & san have a song together and it’s very suggestive. when it’s time to perform it at a concert, a jealous mingi doesn’t want san to perform with the two of you, when you say to let it go, he pulls a stunt that you don’t know if you love or hate.

CW. 𝜗𝜚 jealousy, possessiveness, yearning, allusions to sex, but no smut.

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 this is my first time writing about a k-pop idol so take it easy on me 😖😖 the song i have for inspiration that they’ll sing is desire by meg myers, but one part in specific, if you want to listen to it, go ahead, if not, just listen to the part i talk about specifically which is at 3:30. i do not own the song, all rights go to meg myers.

as the hairstylist plays around with your hair, you admire yourself in the mirror and do some vocal exercises, when the hairstylist steps aside, you swallow the lump in your throat, the nerves you have right now are through the roof, and you feel as if your heart is going to come out of your throat. right now you were getting ready to perform your song with mingi and san, they had invited you to open their show, but now you’re fully performing with the two of them.

you and mingi have history, the two of you were an on-and-off couple, nothing was wrong with him or you, it was just a mutual decision to focus on your jobs. but whenever you saw him at your concerts, or when he saw you at his, that would all be blown to hell. one message led to a few drinks, a few drinks led to something else, and when you, mingi and san collaborated for an r-rated song, this changed everything. it was sort of a scandal, but none of the three of you cleared up what was going on.

the lyrics of your song had gotten to you—while recording, a few nights you and mingi were the only people in the studio, and you always took your chances, as soon as your manager stepped out of the studio for the night, you’d find yourself pinning mingi against the wall and letting your hands explore every inch of him, or when san left the studio to grab some food, mingi would prop you over the counter, bathing your body in kisses.

your staff isn’t dumb, they knew that the reason why the two of you stayed longer than usual wasn’t to “check the beat” or “change some lyrics” otherwise, how would those pants and moans make it into the song?

it was mingi’s flushed reaction and the way you got goosebumps when listening to the finished product and hearing your sounds, and mingi’s breathless pants that made you and him feel embarrassed—as if it wasn’t his idea.

san was taken aback, it was a song consisting of the three of you, and it was about how ‘paris is nice this time of year’ but those sinful sounds between his friend and a colleague were betraying the song—he should’ve been in between, then, really, the song would have been true to its lyrics.

“thank you.” you say to the people who styled you, giving them a soft smile “all of this is amazing, the outfit, the makeup, the hair.” you pull them into a group hug and pull away when you hear some footsteps enter the room. you look toward the door and it’s san and mingi—my God they look good. you press your lips into a thin line and bite your bottom lip discreetly.

“seonghwa is almost done, then, we’re up next.” san says and you nod, placing your hands on your hips. you feel a pair of eyes staring at you, since the moment he stepped inside the room, his gaze never left you.

your eyes narrow to mingi and you physically have to hold back a sinful noise, the outfit he’s wearing is telling you, begging you to take it off. you see a certain look in his eyes and it worries you, you tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows, then, shake it off “okay…i’m so nervous, what about you guys?” you hold clammy hands together and stand on your tip-toes for a second.

“i’m kind of nervous, it’s because we’ve never performed anything like this before, especially with this song, you knew all the rumors that came out when we released it, imagine the rumors that’ll come out after our performance…our choreography.” you nod, you admit, your choreography is… something, and right now you’re hoping that nobody brought their parents.

“me neither, and yes, I’m scared for the rumors to come out, but, if it gets too much, can we agree that we’ll say something?” you look between san and mingi, san nods, but mingi doesn’t respond. “but, it’s just like we practiced, okay?? as soon as the guitar starts playing, we’re on our own, nothing more, nothing less, we cannot change anything now.”

“y/n.” mingi calls out, you look at him. “can i talk to you for a second?” his tone catches you off guard, it’s like he’s mad, or upset. you look at san once again and you nod.

the two of you walk away from the rest, mingi pulls you into a hallway, and your back presses against the wall as he leans forward, towering over you.

“mingi, what’s wrong?” he rests his eyes, you place your hand on his abdomen, and look at him, his dark eyes look back into yours.

“i don’t think san should perform with us.” your head cocks back, your eyebrows knitted.

“what?”

“i don’t think san should perform, baby, it’s our song and i don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” you shake your head and remove your hand from his body, and place it on your forehead.

“first of all, it’s not our song, it’s my song featuring you and san, second, what could possibly be the wrong idea?” he licks his lips, swallowing his answer, when he looks away, you follow his head, demanding him to look at you. “huh?” you exclaim.

“i don’t want people to think you’re san’s. i want them to know you’re mine. and that it’s me making you sound like that in the song, not him.” your eyebrows raise, his words and his possessiveness turn you on, but you can’t let him know that makes you mad, and you let him know with a push. you scoff and look at him up and down.

“this is what this is all about? your jealousy? you better not pull off anything stupid on stage.” mingi licks his lips and rolls his eyes, he begins to walk away and you shake your head. “song.” you call him out, the way you mention his first name as if it’s forbidden makes a chill run down his spine. he turns around to look at you, your mad expression makes him find you adorable. “whatever this is… stop it. i don’t like you like this.” mingi gives no response at all, not a sound, not a movement, he just continues to walk away. you let out one last breath and walk right after him.

the lights are off, and the three of you walk on stage. as the song starts, the lights fade in, and you’re on the ground, san and mingi are on the left and right side of you. you begin to sing your verse, and as the song continues, so do the boys. leading to the bridge of the song, you rise to your feet, and here, san kneels in front of you, while mingi steps in from behind. san’s hand travels from your thighs to your torso as he makes his way to your neck, his breath feeling warm against your skin, and his hand holds the side of your neck. mingi doesn’t follow the practice choreography, he stands by what he said backstage, he wants the people to know you’re his. his lips creep up to your ear, and he softly nibbles it, this makes your heart skip a beat, and your voice quivers while you sing your verse, you want to curse him for causing you to do that.

his hand goes below san’s and gets a hold of your neck, the roar of the crowd gets louder and louder with each movement the two of them make. forced to move away, san’s hand now rests on your stomach, but his lips now move to your cheek. your head turns toward mingi, and his lustful eyes are a warning, you can’t step away now, but man, why is he like this?

your lips are calling his name. your expression, one he normally sees while you’re under him, and the way his other hand is gripping your hair takes him back to those nights back in the studio. his eyes are begging for a response, a response in your eyes. “i want it all…” the lyrics you say right before the guitar begins are all he needs to hear, his lips were placed above yours, and you can swear you don’t hear the guitar anymore, only the screams and claps of everyone in the stadium, you shut your eyes, hoping this moment would be over, you don’t feel san’s hand or breath anymore, because he actually followed the choreography, unlike mingi, who is devouring you. and though you are against what is happening, you feel the need to kiss him back—so you do, but push him away as soon as you do.

you continue with the choreography while you can, the guitar was still going, but the song was ending, so, you could continue it like nothing. like nothing, yeah right. you can already see the millions of tweets and posts the atiny and your fandom are going to be posting, maybe not much from your fandom, but definitely from the atiny. when the song first came out, they made twitter break down, making it unusable for 15 hours. they might have to take down the app now after the stunt mingi pulled.

the song concludes, and you rush off stage, you're panicking, you're mad, you’re frustrated, you’re going through a roller coaster of emotions, and you feel like it’s going to crash any second now. you can hear some hurried footsteps behind you, and you already know who it is, not because of the way his tobacco and wood-scented perfume engulfs the place, but by his voice, and how in Korean he’s telling you to get back here—you don’t, of course, you ignore him.

but the adrenaline he has is too much, and he catches up to you. he opens the door to a room and pulls you in there, slamming the door just like he slammed his lips into yours once again. you grab his hands and tear them away from your face, then push him, which doesn’t do much, but your reaction makes him step back.

“what the hell was that?! i told you not to pull a crazy stunt!” mingi shakes his head, you feel your voice break, and tears pool in your eyes, only because of the frustration you’re feeling. you can’t even look at him.

“i said what i said. i told you i wanted to make them know you’re mine.” you shake your head, taking in a deep breath.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask, his expression changes, from mad, to angry. he takes a step toward you and towers over you once again, he hits the wall behind you and your eyes widen.

“you! you’re what’s wrong with me!” your mouth stays agape, you want to say something, but you know he won’t let you. “the way you haunt my every thought, the way i can’t breathe without you, the way i can’t stand to have san anywhere near you. you are what’s wrong with me! everything about you, your voice, your eyes, your lips.” his shaky hands come near your face as if he wants to grab it and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow. “loving you is torture.” he sneers for a second, leaning closer to you by the second, every word that comes out of him, is one word closer for you to be his once again. “i love it. just like i love the way your lips feel against mine…” his finger brushes over your lips and your breath hitches. “and how your voice can compose such sounds.” he takes your face between his hands and makes you look at him. “i love you.” he wipes your tears away and you stay still, you let out a sigh, right before you wrap your arms around his neck, your lips tangling with his.

he picks you up with ease, and your legs wrap around his torso, your fingers find his locks and you slightly pull on them, mingi’s hand cradles the back of your head and deepens the kiss, earning a muffled moan from you. you pull away, only to adjust your head, but the kiss continues, you’re feeling the heat he always made you feel all over your body once again. he nibbles on your bottom lip softly, then you both pull away to catch your breaths, you rest your forehead against his, and place a soft peck on his lips once again. “you’re mine. you know that?”

you let out a breathy laugh and lick your lips. “do you?” you ask him, and this turns him on reassures him, he smiles and lets out a soft chuckle.

“want to find out?” you smile and nod.

mingi wasn’t able to perform the remaining songs. he fell asleep, and it wasn’t because of how tired he was of the concert. everybody knew why. Twitter knew why, and instagram knew why. the ateez group chat knew why, you even sent them a message with a picture confirming that it’s entirely your fault.

you were exhausted too, and it sure as hell wasn’t because of the concert either. the view you have of mingi next to you, with the sheets below his abdomen and his arms hugging the pillow was so good, you had to take a picture, you wanted to post it so bad, just so everybody could shut up, but you didn’t, you just put your phone down and leaned toward him. your touch wakes him up, and he turns around.

you smile at him and lay down on his chest while his arm wraps around you. “now do you know I’m yours?” you ask him and he scoffs.

“i always knew.” you tilt your head and hum. “i just wanted to make sure.” you both share a laugh, minutes before you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

❛ but you already got me feeling some type of way,

if i could figure it out, I’d take you back to

my house so we can meddle about. ❜

[goldenlionprince]

How to make your romantic intentions known

Part two to How to stop a know-it-all from showing off (which is now part of the How-to Guides for Inter-house Relationships series) thanks to @eastwindmlk and her comment that brought Ravenclaw Sirius back on my radar xD It's February so the perfect time to bring teenage love and disaster back into the world ;) Enjoy!

[AO3]

.

He's infuriating.

That's nothing new, really. Sirius Black has been infuriating ever since James had become aware of his existence. But he's even more infuriating now. Not that James had thought that would be possible, but Black just loves to prove him wrong, even now when he's not even saying a contradicting word to James. He's sitting over there at the Ravenclaw table, writing on his overlong piece of parchment – because of course it has to be much longer than required – concentrating fully on his work instead of his breakfast and ignoring everyone around.

Everyone, including James. Which means his brain is not entirely preoccupied with the little kiss they shared after Charms a few days ago, unlike James'. Which only shows again how infuriating he is.

James huffs and takes another piece of toast out of the basket on the table in front of him. He bites into it, his eyes still on Black bent over his essay as he chews. Does Black ever even eat at all? Or is something like eating too mundane for someone so brainy?

“Are you okay, James?” Remus asks, bringing James back to the Gryffindor table.

“Fine,” James grumbles around his mouthful of toast. It's not fine, really, because Sirius Black seems not as affected by their kiss as James is.

He doesn't seem affected at all.

Which is exactly why James can't stop watching him, waiting for even a tiny give away, a small slip up, that reveals what Black is thinking other than total indifference. Because it can't be indifference. It simply can't.

If the boy you drive up the wall with your know-it-all comments kisses you in an empty corridor it just can't leave you feeling absolutely nothing about it.

Not that James has kissed him willingly. It had just happened. Somehow.

Maybe Black had cursed him and that's why James did it. Or he had coated his lips in a love potion so that's why James can't stop thinking about it. That would make so much sense.

Only that it doesn't. Because – as much as it pains James to admit it – Black wouldn't do things like that.

Which just means James is affected by that stupid kiss more than he should be and he has no idea why.

Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe that's why Black can sit over there, focused on his essay, because he already figured out it was a fluke with that big brain of his.

But to make sure it was just a fluke, nothing else, James would have to do it again. To gather more data. Proper research. Just making sure the theory he's come up with is sound.

Which is why he's making his way to the library that very same afternoon without Remus or Peter. He would be surprised if Black would be anywhere else in the castle at this time of day, with no other classes to be in.

James has checked.

Locating the git in the library turns out to be a little more complicated. The library is big, which James already knew, but Black has to be in the most obscure corner of it. Of course. He's flipping through an absolute brick of a book, his hip leaning against the bookcase, looking all cool and casual.

How does he do that?

“This is starting to become a problem, Potter,” Black says and looks up from the book. His grey eyes meet James' with no glimmer of surprise in them, as if he already knew James would show up eventually. “First you're watching me, now we're at stalking. Will I have to be concerned about you suddenly standing in front of my bed in the middle of the night?”

“No,” James says dumbly.

Black sighs and closes the heavy tome with a thud. “What do you want?”

“I was hoping you could help me with some research,” James says, finding his tongue again along with the courage to step closer.

Black frowns and sets the book down on a nearby study table. “What kind of resea-”

James doesn't let him finish. He pushes Black up against the shelf and kisses him, shutting him up before that infuriating mouth can say another word.

It's a second or two of bliss, of James realizing his fluke theory might be utter nonsense, that he actually is interested in Sirius Black, before Black is pushing him back, two fingers staying on James’ chest as if he wants to make sure James stays where he is.

“When I said this is motivation,” he says, his grey eyes pinning James better in place than his fingers do. “I didn't mean it in the way that you can just grab me whenever you feel like it and glare at me from across the hall for the rest of the time in between.”

“I don't glare!” James protests. Black just gives him another look. James gives him a sheepish smile in return and cards a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I do. But it's just because I thought you might have cursed me into kissing you the first time.”

Black’s eyes somehow turn cold as he crosses his arms over his chest. James feels the absence of his fingers on his chest like a stab of cold air. “Charming.”

“No, no it's fine,” James reassures him. “I know you didn't.”

“I'm so glad, Potter.”

James sighs and drops his hand. “That came out all wrong.”

Black raises one eyebrow in a perfect judgemental arch. “You don't say.”

“Look,” James says, frustration creeping into his voice. Why does Black feel the need to make everything a lot more complicated? “I kind of like you, I think.”

“Wow,” Black says, shaking his head. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”

Somehow that comment is what makes James pause. Because yes, he can see how that’s making him sound kind of shitty.

Black seems to take pity on the crestfallen look on his face. He sighs and drops his arms. “I’ll tell you what, Potter. Sort out whatever this is that’s going on in that head of yours and when you’ve figured out what it is you want you can come find me again. You just want to make out? Fine, I’m interested, but not in a way where only you get to decide when and where it’s happening and I have to wait around until you remember my existence again. You want to be more than just a casual snog?” Black casually shrugs his shoulders. “We’ll see about that. But one thing I want to make very clear.” He taps two of his fingers on James’ chest. “Next time you'll ask first before you just grab and kiss me or I will jinx you in a way that will make it very hard for you to find your ball again, are we clear?”

James swallows hard and nods. He’s not sure if he should feel as turned on as he is.

“Good.” Black says and then turns away to grab his bag and the brick of a book he was looking at earlier. He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and gives James one final nod. “See you around, Potter. And tell Lupin he can have my Runes notes when he’s sick again next week.”

And with that he’s gone.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. When Remus is sick again, not if.

Next week will be another full moon.

Which means Sirius Black – Ravenclaw know-it-all extraordinaire – knows about Remus' furry little secret. Or at least suspects it.

Somehow that doesn’t surprise James at all. A stupidly sappy grin spreads on his lips. If anyone else would have implied Remus' condition, James would have felt threatened on Remus' behalf. But somehow coming from Black, all James feels is pride in Black's stupidly big brain. They have shared N.E.W.T.s classes for less than six months and he's already onto them.

It also means he keeps an eye on James and his friends.

Adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, James leaves the library with a skip in his steps.

[kaiartx]

thank you @winds-of-zephyr416 and @melkor-did-nothing-wrong for tagging me!! i haven't really written anything in a long time, so I just decided to write something i was thinking about last night, hope you like it!

He didn't know how long he had been standing there - it didn't seem right to say sitting, he no longer had a physical body, nor had he had one for a long time; but he wasn't exactly standing either. The landscape around him was deserted, dark rocks and dry earth surrounded everything, and there was no other living being nearby. It was just him in a vast desert land, so he was surprised when he heard a voice behind him. "Mairon?" said a voice he thought he would never hear again. It seemed like he no longer deserved that name, after everything that had happened; but it awakened something inside him. He turned around; and before him was the one who had once been Melkor. His hair had turned completely white, his eyebrows drooped, huge dark circles under his eyes, and he barely smiled; but tears began to run down his face as soon as he saw him, and Mairon began to cry too when he saw his husband again after so many ages.

I sadly don't have anyone I can tag, but if any of my followers wants to share, feel free to do it under this rb, i'd love to read it <3

Seven Sentence Wednesday Friday

<333 Thank you so much for the tag @teine-mallaichte 💜💕 I just love getting tagged x3

💜

It was like a game, a secret between us, known only to the other. It loomed, locking up the entrance like a shadow hiding in the darkness, like a single sound concealing itself in a symphony of notes. For me, and me alone. Once, it took three days for me to unravel the spell he had so intricately woven around the entrance to his hall like a shimmering thread of liquid light. I could have shattered the space it was binding to pieces, of course, but in doing so I would have razed his forge and everthing about it, too. And I did not wish so. You see, this was the one kingdom I never wished to see crumbling.

(7 sentences taken from Goldbound, a little Angbang WIP)

✨Tagging @saintstars @gracefallingart @gauntletgirlie @sauron-kraut @althanair @admirably-abhorred @just-an-elf-with-the-socks @trash-ainu @winds-of-zephyr416 @barbex @midnightprelude @aidanthecryptid @pinkfadespirit @spicywarl0ck @kaerwrites and @glowing-blue-feathermage and anyone who feels like playing!✨

If you'd like to be tagged, don't hesitate to tell me 🥰 also, should I have tagged you even though you're not a writer, feel free to ignore me OR don't be shy and tell me how stupid me tagging you is! xP

💜

[depresseddepot]

I'm trying to find ways to slowly ease my way into taking walks (debilitating social anxiety) so I was going to download pokemon go again but my phone is too old :(

[elizabeth-mitchells]

literally not my fault that i dont have a journal or therapy so you all have to see me oversharing on tumblr dot com

[suckcockanddie]

The way my ankles are so so very weak and feeble and fr feel like they're gonna disintegrate after standing for like a few hours

[modpoppy]

idk what the thing is called where no matter what you do people act like youre insane and weird and incompetent and annoying but it s the worst!!!!

me asking for input on a decision bc i know i will get made fun of for asking but its better that than making the wrong decision and getting made fun of

dont get an actual answer

me making a decision, specifically trying to leave myself open for multiple options later, and getting made fun of for not making The Obvious Decision

me getting upset bc i specifically asked for advice so i WOULDNT get made fun of

me being accused of deflecting blame and not taking responsibility for my (ill informed) decision that isnt even the Bad decision, just not the simplest

[fnvbennygecko]

clutching head in hands.