#sometimes i wanna put him in a jar and shake it really hard

[thelien-art]

December; the 1st

Maglor

Ahr yes, I´m back on my "all of Maglor´s instruments are teal" and I´m loving it.

[immortal-raine]

I give thee messy doodles as I work on other stuff ft. @liliaceaae’s Rhea

Notable things:

- Finally got comfortable with drawing Izo, I wanna put him in a jar and shake him

- Mylo is a creepy kid sometimes (she’s just making sure he doesn’t die in his sleep smh he can’t appreciate her hard work)

- Rhea and Mylo are the sisters ever, I like drawing them all comfy

From Notes:

(She loved the crunchy potato)

Honestly Mylo is the wrong person to get into trouble with, even if it’s a accident, the only person she really listens to is Izo (or Blamenco since she can be reckless when working)

She’s used to head butting with adults back on W7 especially with Paulie, so when the WBs scolds her and she doesn’t see the problem, ofc she’s gonna challenge it, she ends up getting told on and have to listen to Izo lecture her ears off about what was wrong

[selfspinninglies]

He needs to be socialized so ueah. Idk how helpful he would be at dissecting things bc he is good at it but he gets really sad about it after

Just gonna post what i have of that wip now uh keep in mind this is probably really rough its almost 12:30am when i post this

cws/tws: blood, dissection (not detailed at all), messing with dead bodies, mild body horror, a really breif mention of vomiting, implied kidnapping/murder[?], not technically cannibalism but a part of a person is eaten on accident

Sawyer had always been a meticulous person.

They had always picked up small details. Some insignificant (at least in those moments, they argued that anything could become relevant later), and some more integral parts of people that were hidden deep inside that could be easily prodded out with a bit of observation. People were like a collection of items, splayed across a table and hidden in boxes, locked with the key thrown somewhere in the scatter.

They had always enjoyed picking apart those items. Analyzing the catalogue and dissasembing the bits and pieces, bloody hands tearing away at all of the layers that humanity had to offer with clumsy hands. Digits that did not belong there.

Occasionally, things would break, pried apart too harshly and snapped into small bits that offered more insight. A puzzle piece framed in viscera, prying eyes privy to the secret of something ugly under sheets, akin to a disfigured body in a casket. The illusion of something unproven.

They often envisioned themself as that body, that puzzle piece, the barely concealing sheet over something unseen, something that should never be seen. A sheet that was stitched on, a casket locked tight with the key thrown away. Because there was something underneath that was far too much.

If they were ever scrutinized and dissected in the way that they did to others, if their items were to be ripped apart and studied, nothing would be found, because the items are all artificial, planted there to decieve and mislead. There were no puzzle pieces because the puzzle had been completed with neat, steady, clean hands and smile, presented politely.

An uncanny babble of the correct words would pass their lips, and that would be the end of Sawyer's case file.

If the layers were to be peeled back, locks forcibly removed, threads undone, there would still be nothing. Because underneath that were more layers, locks, and stitches, shoddily thrown together defenses to hide things that they had long forgotten.

Wounds had always bled, had always left trails, and eventually someone would smell the metallic tinge in the air.

When they were younger they had quickly realized that something was wrong with them. Or perhaps it wasn't wrong, just strange and unheard of. But in human society that was essentially the same thing.

Their body had properties that others did not. It melted and cracked like it was poorly constructed, extra eyes sat underneath their larger ones (though always closed and brushed off as a strange birthmark), and in the middle of their neck, an extra mouth streched itself out, containing inanely sharp teeth (that were always covered with something resembling a bandage).

They had also discovered that they could survive far more than regular humans should be able to. Though, they should probably rephrase, as there was no explanation for them being human and having these properties.

Many terrible accidents had peppered their childhood which they realistically would have died from. They didn't remember the details, the only remnants of it were distant feelings of tears and the sound of something desperately human wrenching out of them.

They had been more careful, and after then the shell started growing, clamped around them, a poorly fitted mold to be contorted in the shape of. An odd facsimilie, crafted with nothing but apathy and necessity.

Despite all of their efforts, they had been found out, assumedly.

That was the first conclusion that they reached when they woke up in an abandoned warehouse of some sort.

There was no evidence of anything. The items had been taken, there was no casket to speculate, their eyes had been covered (non literally). Whose hands were over their face this time?

They stood up rather quickly, head aching at the action. Sedative affects? Or just regular head pain?

The first and second realizations came fast and hard, a cruel derail of their current train of thought:

One, the place smelled of blood, to the point where they could taste it if they breathed. It was all over them, too, but it wasn't clear if it was theirs or what the source of it was.

Two, the one that really punched them in the face: they did not remember coming here. Or where here was. Everything before here was muddled, like their head had been drowned in molasses. Everything felt heavy. The world was shown through blurry, tinted glass that they could not yet decipher the colors of.

Both were terrifying revelations, yet they felt slightly calm. There were items to pick at. A puzzle to be solved.

.

.

.

Those items had turned out to be the source of the smell.

There were people, ones who's faces envoked some sort of vague memory in Sawyer, though they didn't remember anything outside of that. They were likely strangers that they'd passed by, nameless, meaningless faces. At least, that's what they hoped for, to justify the inevitable.

At first, they searched their clothes, the three of them all had nothing of value.

They exhaled.

Whoever put them here had seemed to know them all too well, because on an adjacent table, there was a strangely clean knife. They gripped it tightly, ridgid stance and uncomfortable hands

They did what they did best and dissected.

.

.

After the work, they had found two keys and a tag with an address on it embedded. As expected, whoever dumped them here had wanted this.

They sat down, accidently leaning against one of the vessels. They didn't pay it much mind to it, they were already disgusting and the thing was dead anyway, so it didn't matter. A distant thought came. It probably didn't want them to do this.

Slowly, they picked themself up and hugged the thing. Arms loosely draped around the vessel, head resting on its shoulder. A small, uncharacteristically honest whisper worked its way out of their mouth, oddly gentle despite what they had just done.

"Sorry. I had to."

They flinched at their own words. They did not deserve the grace of giving apologies. Their hands had moved with practice, devoid of remorse. It was clear from that action that regret of this strain was not in their nature. They had been given claws to tear and teeth to bite for a reason.

So they did the next logical thing and continued to hurt.

They bit down hard on the shoulder they rested on. It tasted like metal, and felt absolutely horrid going down. They had accidentally taken a chunk off.

Immediatley an intense wave of guilt crashed over them. They didn't know why, it was just deduced that they were not meant for this. Something had nested inside of them that was painfully human and foreign: grief.

Grief for someone they did not know and would never know. Grief for what had been done to its- their body.

Their eyes burned, water pricking at the edges and blurring their vision. Why? The question was repeated in their head so many times, yet there was no answer.

They shuffled closer to the corpse, now leaning directly against the exposed organs, and lay there, sobbing and whispering in the dingy space. Blood and tears mixed into something ugly that stained them on the surface and the inside. Remnants of this incident would ve there in memory.

They peeked over the shoulder after a bit, the same shoulder that they had torn into, with a gaze akin to that of an anxious child peeking over their parent's shoulder, unsure and afraid. So very afraid. Fear had also invaded them, trickling into their veins in an unpleasant manner.

They felt awfully ugly in that moment. Viscerally aware of how their body felt. Cracking and melting. Defective in some odd way. Vomit rose and fell, never actually escaping.

It had taken an uncomfortable amount of time for them to get up and collect themself.

They took the unlabeled key and unlocked the door, stepping out into uncaring winds that made them aware of how blood-sticky they were.

Despite all of their usual planning, after locking the door, they walked, unthinking. Aimless. A part of their mind nagged at them to find out where they were, get new clothes, and go to that address, but most of it was focused on what had transpired in the warehouse.

This would be another layer, a separate casket where three bodies lay, dissected like a high school biology project, another door behind lock and key. This was standard. It was fine.

The only thing that was truly in Sawyer's nature was lying.

They never dared to look those people in the eye.

[watatsumiis]

🎤

The most punchable/character you wanna punch the most GO!

(Mine are probably venti sacramouche childe and just maybe albédo-I��m sorry I love em but some of the shit they do just lights some primal instinct in me to just *SMACK!*)

Sips out

shkhgfdsj now this is a loaded question-- Your answers there are entirely valid honestly.

SO I'd have to put my answers into two categories because sometimes i hit/punch affectionately.

Characters I'd punch (affectionately):

Childe - he sets off some insane wild animal instinct in me and i just want to tear his face off

Dottore - self explanatory. im going to grab him by the lapels and bunny rabbit kick him until he falls apart

Tighnari - same as childe but not quite as violent. he's just a sweetie and i wanna bop him but something about him drives me FERAL

Al Haitham - he seems like he'd bully me i think and i just wanna grab him by the shoulders and shake him

Kaveh - but i just know hed start it first hes very touchy i think

And now onto characters i would hatefully punch (censored since Id rather them not pop up in the main tags) ! = i

Pa!mon - self explanatory. her voice grates on my ears and i wish there were an option to mute only her-- she just comes across as insufferable and her character doesn't really seem to evolve much? She was kinda fine in Inazuma but it's like she stepped back in Sumeru

Ra!den Shogun/E! - idk theres really just something about her and her actions that bother me a lot, i really dislike her and find it hard to empathise with her or her reasoning at all, especially since a lot of it was done through exposition and lengthy chunks of text that i had a lot of difficulty parsing.

also, Scaramouche is in a secret third category that vacillates wildly between hateful and affectionate punching. I cant decide how i feel about this little asshole, i want to put him in a jar and shake him until he makes sense to me?

[stardewtales]

Your shane x reader are some of the first I read when i got into sdv, and they still hold a li special place in my heart <3 I love the way you wrote shane, jas, and the farmer (you kept the farmer rather neutral, but you still gave her moments of personality, rlly great stuff!), anyway, I'd love any shane related stuff you would do, but if your looking for a request, the reader teaching him abt farming/gardening (planting hot peppers together eee) i think would be rlly cute-ok bye lysm!!!

A/N: hey lovely!! If you're still around, thank you so much for this. I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get to your request, but here it is! Hope it lives up to your expectations xx

Shane can feel you hovering behind him.

"What is it," he groans, not bothering to turn around.

"Sorry," he hears you say. "Just, be careful with the roots, please? I don't want all your work to be for nothing."

Well, he can't exactly fault you for that. If anything, he's ashamed because he was distracted while you showed him the whole thing about the roots.

He turns to look at you. "Would you, uh... mind showing me again?"

His stomach twists as you smile at him, thoroughly amused. "Sure thing. Here, let me get in there..."

You kneel beside him, knees firmly planted in the dirt beside his. You proceed to show him how to dig around the roots instead of into them for a second time that afternoon. For a second time, he finds it hard to focus with you so close, but he fights that a little harder this time.

"Here," you hand him back the trowel, "give it another shot."

He can't miss the way the look you give him is so damn encouraging. You've given him plenty of variations on that look by now, with various degrees of concern thrown into the mix. He proceeds to try digging up the pepper plant again, the sun boring down on the back of his neck as he does it.

"Am I getting it right, now?" he asks, glancing up at you quickly.

"Couldn't do it better myself," you nod exaggeratedly, and he fakes throwing dirt at you in retaliation.

It gets a laugh out of you, clear and joyful. It stirs something inside him, the feeling that's been nagging at him sort of often these days. It hits him like a ton of bricks in that moment that this is the feeling he used to chase all the way down the bottles, the sort of rush he used to think would make up for everything else.

He must've made a face when he realized it, because your brows furrow in concern.

"Are you o-" you start, but you're cut off short by a girlish squeal further down the field.

Him and you both shoot up, surveying the surroundings.

"Jas?" you half-shout, concerned.

"I think I need some help," her voice pipes up sheepishly, and the two of you finally spot her, fallen on her butt among the sunflowers.

You huff, relieved, and tell him you've got it with a brief touch on his arm before you leave in Jas's direction. Now that he knows she's not hurt, he can go back to making sense of his thoughts, yet he barely registers the lingering feeling of your fingers on his forearm.

He kneels and gets back to work, distraught. His first instinct is to worry. The therapist Harvey connected him with cautioned him pretty early on about the way some addicts replaced one addiction with another, and that all good things should perhaps be enjoyed in moderation while he was on the road to recovery.

You're the best thing in his life by far, but he failed to keep you at arm's length a long time ago now. He's not dense enough to be unaware that he's developed some pretty strong feelings for you. But this particular feeling is new-ish, and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. As his fingers dig up the pepper plant out of the ground and he gently removes chunks of dirt from the roots, Shane hopes really hard this doesn't mean he's allowed himself to veer all the way of the right path he's been trying so hard to stick to.

He hates to think about it, but maybe he needs to cool off on seeing you so often so he can at least get a grip. He can't even recall the last time he went a day without seeing you. Sometime in the spring, probably? It's the very end of summer now.

After he's transferred the plant to the wheelbarrow, Shane stands up and looks around. You're still helping Jas uproot some sunflowers, even though her initial job was just to collect the stray seeds. Officially, he and her were there to help you wrap up the summer crops so you could transfer some to your greenhouse. In reality, he was helping you; Jas was causing more trouble than she was helping, but you didn't seem to mind at all, more than happy to show her over and over how to handle things properly.

He didn't know how you did it. It's like you had an endless well of patience, and he knew he ought to have reached the pit of it by now. And yet, he had not. There were depths to your kindness that reached far enough that even after dealing with him through his recovery, you still had plenty left for Jas in all her fumblings and ill-advised adventures.

For the rest of the afternoon Shane managed to clear his mind and just keep working somewhat efficiently. Marnie came around just before dinnertime to get Jas, who was too exhausted from running around by then to protest. Marnie had also let him know she'd save him a portion of dinner for when he came home, but to take his time, which he'd made sure to thank her for.

It wasn't long until Jas left before you and him moved on to replanting the uprooted plants into the greenhouse. He liked that part more than the digging up; liked the hazy warmth of the greenhouse more than the blaring heat of the field. The two of you worked mostly in silence, both exhausted, him perhaps more than you.

After you planted the last of yours and he was halfway through his own last plant, he heard you clap your hands together to shake the dirt off your gloves, before you fully shrieked.

"What's wrong?" he quickly turned towards you.

"Your neck!" you replied, walking over to him. "Did you not put on sunscreen like I told you to?"

Shane instinctively reaches for the back of his neck, and while the sunburn doesn't hurt yet, he can feel the tell-tale heat coming off of it.

"Ah, shit. Think I missed a spot."

You tut at him, shooing his hand off so you can take a better look.

"You big idiot," you chastise him affectionately. "You're lucky I have an infinite amount of aloe in the house from last summer."

**************

As Shane steps out of the shower and into your steam-filled bathroom, he can already tell he'll be sore from all this work. He doesn't know how you do this every day. He tries to get a look at himself in the mirror, but it's too fogged up. Probably better that way, he thinks.

He's used your shower plenty of times before, and he's glad that at the very least it doesn't feel as awkward as it used to. While he was still in the pits of getting sober, you'd graciously let him stay over on your couch so Jas didn't have to see him struggle when it got too hard. He still doesn't know why you did that, or how to repay you for it.

After putting on his clothes, he steps out into your living room, where you're waiting for him with a huge tub of the goo you intend to smear on his sunburn. You've showered too, and made him do it after you because otherwise you claimed he'd just wash off the aloe later, which was probably right.

"C'mere," you beckon him over to sit on the arm of your couch.

He chuckles. It's funny to him, how bossy you get when you're trying to take care of him. Nevertheless, he does as he's told and dutifully sits down like you instruct him. And waits.

Nothing happens.

"You okay back there?" he asks, looking over his shoulder.

You raise a brow. "Aren't you gonna take off your shirt? How am I supposed to get this on you otherwise?"

He feels a bubble of panic rush up. He's in better shape than he used to be, but he's still not much to look at, and he doesn't like the idea of you finding that out like this. "Is that really necessary?"

You sigh, and he knows there will be no convincing you. He feels the tips of his ears burn as he lifts his shirt over his head, dropping it at his feet and taking precious care not to look back at you. "Happy?" he mumbles.

"Hmhm," you hum quietly behind him.

You bring your aloe-coated fingers to his burning skin, and instantly he feels consumed by ice-cold flames. He was not prepared for you to touch him quite so gently, to work the gel into his skin in tiny, careful circles. His throat runs dry as he's reminded of his earlier conclusion that he needs to take some time away from you, for both of your sakes. If the way his body is reacting to this isn't proof, he doesn't know what would be.

You let him know you're done, and he promptly puts his shirt back on. He wishes he hadn't when the stickiness gets a hold of the collar.

"So, just a heads up," you start, screwing the jar of aloe vera shut, "I'm gonna be really busy tomorrow I think. So maybe hanging out in the evening when I'm done would be better?"

He's taken aback by the way this is coming up faster than he anticipated. Still, No time like the present I guess, he thinks to himself.

"About that," he clears his throat, "I think it might be better if I spend some alone time for a while."

He watches you still. You look up at him slowly, visibly confused. "Have I done something wrong?" you ask, and it kills him. "I'm sorry if I have, I know I can be a little overbearing sometimes," you start to ramble, but he cuts you off.

"No, no, none of that," he tries to reassure you. "It's just, uh, how do I say this," he scratches at his head, genuinely at a loss. "Remember how I told you my therapist said I should, like, maybe be careful about things I enjoy a lot? And about... strong emotions?"

You nod, but he can tell from your slight frown you're still confused.

"Well, it's kinda like that. I feel really good when I'm with you. Maybe a little too good. Strong stuff. But I don't wanna depend on you to feel... good. I wanna keep this healthy, yeah?"

You ponder his words, and he can tell he hasn't really gotten his point across. "I mean, I think I get where you're coming from, maybe? But Shane, I think it's okay for you to have a support system. Is it really so bad if being with a friend makes you feel good? I think that's how most people feel."

He shakes his head, huffing. "No, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

His eyes meet yours, and he feels weak. "Please don't make me say it," he whispers.

"Shane," you reach out to touch his shoulder, "You're worrying me."

He swallows. Before he knows it, it tumbles out of him. "I have feelings for you. I have for a while. And lately it's gotten a little out of control. So I need some time away from you to get over it, okay? I don't want things to be weird. I need you too much to have things be weird. So I need to figure it out before it gets there."

You stare at him, and he sees so many emotions run across your face that he gets dizzy.

"You... what?" you say quietly after a while.

He feels heat rise from his chest all the way to his ears, like some twisted type of nausea. "Forget it, alright? That's not the point I'm trying to make. I just..." he breathes, "I'll see you in a few days, yeah?"

He doesn't wait for a response. He goes for the door right away, in a real hurry to leave this place where everything is so blatantly yours, down to the smell of your lotion lingering in the air from your bare legs.

But you don't let him leave. He feels your hand on his arm, a real grip this time, and the next thing he knows you're reaching for his neck and bringing his mouth to meet yours. Shane thinks he's forgotten how to make his blood run, how to make his lungs breathe, how to make his limbs move. You're pressing your lips on his with a fervor he didn't even know you had in you. Then, with an instinct of its own, his body kicks back into gear, and he feels himself wrapping his arms around you, bringing you closer yet as he pours all the energy he has left into kissing you back.

It's desperation that compels him, because he never imagined this would ever happen outside of his mind, outside of his daydreams. He's not even convinced he'll ever get to do it again, so he's making this one count.

He genuinely has no idea how much time has passed when you break away from him, panting. You're not saying anything, just searching his eyes with yours.

"Please say something," he eventually breathes.

He watches as you swallow, then exhale loudly. "I don't want to see you in a few days only. I wanna see you now and in the middle of the night and every moment of every day. I don't want you to go and get over me, because I don't think I'll be able to get over you if you do, Shane. So don't leave me. Stay. Please."

Your words fluster him a great deal more than he already is. "Okay," he nods, in a half-daze.

"Yeah?" you make sure, still catching your breath.

"Yeah," he confirms. "Anything for you. Of course."

[krys-loves-otome]

Have been playing Cybirb games for a long time (off and on since about 2016), so naturally, I've had a lot of time to think about my favs. But, as that kind of rambling will be quite long  (as, again, been playing cybird games since 2016) so I think I'll just limit myself to a few lines for my top two to three of each game.

To start, I'll begin with my first Cybird Game:

Midnight Cinderella.

Byron: He's calm, cool, and collected, and interesting as the ruler of the enemy nation. MC is often afraid of him when she first meets him in various routes, but he turns out to be a pretty cool dude willing to work with her and Wysteria despite their troubled past. Plus, I still think about his Sugar route ending sometimes, where MC steps in to save him and ends up injured because of it and he kisses her scars and if that isn't romantic af, I don't know what is.

Nico:  He didn't know MC that long and he's shady af, being a double agent and all, but he falls hard pretty fast and he's willing throw down for MC despite not knowing each other that long.  He loves to tease, a lot.

Alyn: I have a lot of problems with his route (not as many as certain others *cough*) but I love him outside of his route, as I'm a sucker for protective knight types, and he can be really sweet and supportive outside his route. Been loving him in the webtoon version of MidCin lately too (can't read it as it's in Japanese, but I can recognize moments from his route and it makes me smile remembering some of those moments).

IkeSen

Hideyoshi: Might have been my second IkeSen route, but he made me love him in my first route (Nobunaga) unintetionally and I've pretty much been here since. His mothering aspects don't really bother me, esp once you find out why he does it in his route, it gives him a tragic edge that doesn't really pop up anywhere else in game, and that makes me sad. He's loyal to a fault, willing to put everything on the line to make sure Nobunaga's ambitions become a reality, no matter the cost to himself. I played his Eternal route a bit ago and, replaying his route reminded me of his loyalty and dedication to the cause, plus how much it pulled my heart when he was almost forced to choose between saving his love and Nobunaga and how difficult a decision that was. And now with Kicho's route being announced, while I'm curious about him too, from what I know about the JP release route order, Hideyoshi's Act 2 is coming later this year and I'm super stoked about it.

Masamune:  My third route when I first started IkeSen, he's outgoing and fun and lives life in the fast lane. He has an interesting character arc where we learn a lot of his bravado was a front to keep everyone to know how truly afraid he is of losing the loves he had in his life, how he was afraid of getting too attached to anyone that he could potentially lose later on. Just, something about him struck a chord with me and I've been on the Masa hype train ever since.

Mitsuhide: You know how I said that I fell for Hideyoshi in Nobunaga's route? Guess who stole the second half of my heart in Hideyoshi's route? Yep, this bastard right here. Not to mention how much I laughed at how hard this bastard fell for MC and how fast (like, Chapter 2, like hot damn fox man). His route has some problems, admittedly, but it has a shit ton of my favorite tropes that makes up for it for me. He's a tease, sure, but the satisfaction to one up him (when the narrative lets us one up him *cough*) it's so deeply satisfying to me. I wanna shake him in a jar sometimes. I wanna hold him when he cries, and hold his hand when he needs support. Must be the Hideyoshi stan in me to be worried about him while simultaneously wanting to strangle him.

IkeRev

Harr: Shy lil wizard guy. He so cute, I want to pinch his cheeks. But he also says fuck you to magical capitalism and I think that's quite sexy of him.

Zero: I mentioned in Alyn's entry that I'm a sucker for the knight/protector type and Zero fits the bill for that. He's one of the few Red Army members that got in on his own merits rather than being born into a powerful/influential family and still tries very hard to prove himself through persistence, despite the prejudice surrounding him for being common born (though he's really like… a magical test tube baby, if I'm remembering correctly)

IkeVamp

Comte: Fancy Time-travelling Frenchman that collects historical figures like Pokémon. Was interesting in him for the longest time. Tried doing Leonardo's route first just so I could get the most of him I could from the info available at the time. Collected as many event stories I could, bought all of his bday stories to date and… idk, just something about him tickled my fancy. In a way, he reminded me of Hideyoshi. Parenting vibes aside, it was that keeping you at a distance for your own happiness that did it, only it was a lil bit of a reversal from Hideyoshi in that he was keeping you at arm's length so you wouldn't be too sad when he died, Comte kept you away because he can't die (being a pureblood vampire) and he didn't want you wasting your precious time with someone that couldn't grow old with you, couldn't experience life in the same way as you could. Yet, despite that, he fell in love bc of MC persistence to keep him in her life despite the differences between them. And his 4th birthday story still lives rent-free in my head bc of how hot it was.

Vincent: He's very soft and sweet and I kind wish he was treated a little more maturely by the narrative, so I've took him into my own hands and extended his story (before he might be getting an Act 2 and ruins my headcanons), and gives him a little more nuance where the narrative didn't. He's an adult too, cybirb, smh.

Jean: A little guy with a sword that doesn't think highly of himself but learns acceptance of who he is as the narrative goes on, along with learning about the beauty of the world, that not everything is all doom and gloom all the time.

IkePri

Nokto: He evokes the same 'shake vigorously in a jar' vibes that Mitsuhide does for me. Like, in route, there's a lot of nuance to his character that both warrants shaking him vigorously in a jar but also feeling sorry for him because of what he has been through. He's a silly man, I like him

Rio: Cybirb shot me dead when the Dev Notes two-shotted me with the comparison to Nico and Hideyoshi, so of course Rio was right up my alley. Loyal and protective to a fault, he knew his time was limited with MC in that once Silvio came back into his picture, his memories started returning and his past was beginning to haunt him again. Still, he didn't want to break MC's heart or their friendship bc it was the best thing he'd had in his life, he didn't want to lose it and that's quite sexy of him.

Licht: His and Nokto's story is tragic and I'm sad whenever I think about it too hard, but I'm also in love with how affectionate he is once he and MC get together. Like, he's constantly back hugging her, esp in front of his faction, refuses to share her or let go sometimes. I think there was also one event where they're sleeping together and he notices her snuggling closer in her sleep for warmth and thinks that's super sweet and I died when he pulls the blankets closer over her and softly kisses her forehead, it was so cute and lovely.

begging Cybird Enjoyers to tell me their favorite suitors and why

[harrysgoldenline]

Can I request a fluffy bucky x tall reader where the reader is shy/introvert and doesn't really get bucky's flirting until bucky kisses her and tells her he wants her to be his.

Crush

You walked alongside Wanda and Natasha as you all walked into the compounds movie room, carrying different blankets and pillows as you all began setting up the room as the boys started gathering the snacks. Making sure each chair and couch each had some of their own blankets and pillows, trying to make the room as comfy as possible before starting the movie.

Once each space was covered, the girls began taking their seats, Wanda sitting in the loveseat and saving a spot for Vision before you and Nat sat on one of the long couches, curing their feet up and each grabbing a blanket, hearing the voices of the boys getting louder the closer they grew closer to the movie room.

Nat smirks at you after hearing the soft sound of a certain super solider and pops up, moving to your other side and sitting on a nearby recliner, “ask Bucky to sit with you” Nat whispers, quickly looking over her shoulder to see if they have entered the room yet.

“What? Are you insane?” You laugh out, face turning red and feeling your heart race at the idea, “no way-“

“Snacks have arrived!” Sam laughed boisterously, Steve and Bucky letting out chuckles behind him as they all carry in a variety of different drinks and snacks.

Wanda pops up, grabbing some snacks from Vision before leading him back to their spot, a smile growing on her face as he pressed a quick kiss on her cheek, both of them cuddling up under the blanket together. Meanwhile, everyone else got up and grabbed some various snacks and drinks before returning to their spots as Peter presses play on the movie.

"Can I sit here?" You hear a voice ask, quickly looking up from your spot on the couch and nodding as you see Bucky standing in front of you, offering you a soft smile, before sitting down next you.

You felt like your body was on fire and it was a struggle to focus on the movie when you were sitting inches apart from him and you wanted nothing more then to just simply move your head slightly to the side, lay your head on his shoulder and take in the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

Suddenly, you felt his shoulder nudge yours, causing you to look up at him quickly giving him a confused look and he let out a soft chuckle, "sorry, what?" you asked, cheeks turning slightly pink.

Your face only grew redder as he scooted closer, an arm coming up around the back of the couch and he leaned in closer, "have you seen this before? I know it's only like 10 minutes in but I'm lost." he softly chuckled in your ear, pulling back and meeting your eyes and you found yourself getting lost in them all over again.

You simply shake your head, a soft giggle leaving your lips as you looked back to the screen and then back at him, "I don't really know what's happening either." you replied, giggling slightly.

You hope you kept your facial expression under control when you felt him pull at your shoulder, body coming closer to his as he replied, "glad I'm not the only one that's lost... maybe we can watch it over again sometime?"

Before you could reply, you both were suddenly hit with a pillow, causing your friends around you all to laugh as Sam sent you both a glare, "You two don't know what's happening because your too busy flirting! Pay attention!"

***

For the rest of the movie, Bucky had his arm resting around your shoulder, yours touching him just slightly from when he pulled you a bit closer to him, repeating the movement whenever he commented on something in the movie, making sure to talk quieter to try to avoid another pillow being hurdled your way.

Now, you were all gathered in the living room, sitting in a circle as you were all chatting together, sharing funny stories from the last mission that some of them went on.

"I'll be right back," You spoke to the group, "I'm going to go get another drink, anybody want anything?"

After a couple more requests, Nat decides to join you and you both make your way to the kitchen, grabbing drinks for yourselves and preparing some for you and your friends.

"You and Bucky looked cozy." Nat began, giving you a teasing glare, "I don't see why you don't ask him out, y/n, you clearly are into each other!"

"You're insane." You laugh in reply, shaking your head, "All he did was sit next to me! You and Thor were talking during the movie too but I don't think you two were flirting."

"Well, we also don't look at each other with heart eyes."

"Okay, now I know you're insane." you reply, laughing again and looking at your friend, "there's no way that he could ever like me back, we're just friends, Nat."

"I don't know, you're the only one other than Steve and Sam that he really talks to! Everyone else just gets the grumpy stare!" She explains, crossing her arms over chest as she tries to convince you, "and he gets you coffee all the time and he always wants to sit by you! All you have to do is make a move!"

"I-I don't know..." you shrugged, "it's just, why me? There's no way I could just walk right up to him and do something... I get way too nervous and I just feel like-"

A sudden knock on the wall causes you both to look over at the sound, seeing Bucky standing there, giving Natasha a nod as she looks over at him and then his eyes met yours, giving you a smile, "just wanted to see you if you two needed any help."

"Oh, we were-"

"Perfect!" Natasha interrupts you, looking at the two of you with a smile before grabbing a couple drinks and already heading out the door, "You wanna help y/n put together the last of the snacks? Thank you!"

The next thing you knew, it was just you and Bucky standing there in the kitchen together and he was standing next to you at the counter. You stood together in silence, preparing another snack platter and getting some drinks on a try to take out to everyone.

"y/n?" Bucky suddenly asked and you could still see his hands moving a few more moments before turning towards you and wiping them clean on a nearby towel and throwing it back on the counter, "I was wondering, I remember you talking to me about that new little antique store and I was thinking maybe would go and stop at the coffee shop nearby? Make a day of it?"

"Y-Yeah!" you squeaked, looking over at him quickly before shyly looking back down at your hands, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before looking back at him, grabbing the now prepared snack trays, "is that what you guys were talking about out there?"

Bucky sighs, looking up at the ceiling before back at you, grabbing the tray from your hands and setting it down on the counter, making a bit of a mess as he moves quickly standing in front of you, one arm on each side as he boxes you in.

His eyes met yours intensely, his eyes trying hard to analyze your face as he furrowed his eyebrows as you stood frozen, standing against the counter as he stood in front of you.

"I like you. I really care about you and I want you to be mine, y/n. I want to spend time with you, just you, not with everybody else." He whispered, "I thought that I was making it clear but... if you don't feel the same way I completely understand and I'll give you space, but I just... I want you to be mine."

You stood slightly frozen, eyes widened as you looked into his eyes, "R-Really?" You whisper back, heart racing as you try to convince yourself that this is real, "you do? I-I... I like too, Bucky."

You watched as he had a huge smile grow on her face, head falling forward a bit and he pulled his right hand back, running it through his hair as he looked at you, a huge smile covering his face and he stepped closer to you, his face growing serious again.

"Can I... Can I kiss you?"

You nodded instantly, biting your bottom lip as your chest rose and fall rapidly in anticipation, "yes." you whispered out, "yes, please.

His right hand comes up to your face in an instant his eyes staring into yours before leaning forward, his lips slotting over yours and you instantly melt into his body. Kissing him back, your hands coming up and rest around his shoulders as his left hand meets your waist.

You both stood kissing under the yellow kitchen lights, the kiss soft yet passionate, the both of you dreaming of this moment for so long and yet somehow, it was better than either of you ever dreamed of.

Pulling back, your eyes meet and you both give each other shy smiles and you cover your hands with your face, trying to hide your blush from him and his hands come around your wrists, pulling them away and he looked down at you.

“You're so beautiful..." He whispered, leaning forward and pressing a long kiss on your forehead before pressing another on your lips, "so... how about that date tomorrow?"

———————————————————————-

PLEASE READ THIS!!!!

I was wondering what people would think about me doing personalized little blurbs/imagines for people who donate to my tip jar? you could give me your name, prompt, pronouns, etc and i will write it just for you!! :) i’m trying to write more and it’s hard bc i’m a broke college student who needs to work but if people who WANT a personalized little fic with bucky or harry or something with their own name and such maybe I could do something like that? of course I will still be doing all normal requests and such but this way it’s kinda like a one time patreon for people who want to do something like that? idk please comment/send me a message/ask and let me know what you think!!!! let’s talk!

[vicious-vixxxen]

Drabble Interest Check #1

So just a quick recap, refer to my previous post for a more in depth explanation- I wanna start sharing some drabbles I write more off of a whim, when idea’s hit me really suddenly, and I just start writing them down, and they never turn into much afterwards.  But, I thought if I shared them with you guy’s, maybe they’d prompt some inspo to request more, to turn them into full fics, with a full story- as most of my drabbles spawn from me thinking of one specific scenario, and building off of it a bit until I get to a drabble length- or more, as this one is nearly 2K lol don’t ask me how, I was super into it as I was writing.  Or urge me to try and and add a real start and finish to them, so put out as full fic’s myself. I also think these drabbles will give you a guys a better idea of what I like to write, what I'm willing to write, and what I'm open to writing. As my drabbles usually hit more angst and nsfw/kink notes. ‘Problematic’ or otherwise. I’ll add some notes to the end of the fic to give an idea of what I had in mind with this drabble, and go more in depth on that. But here it is, I'm actually very proud of this one, and hope to figure out how to finish it at some point.  Established Enji Todoroki X Male!Reader Additionally: Natsuo Todoroki x Male!Reader angst, unrequited love (or is it? ;3))

Shuffling into the kitchen, you grimaced as the carpet turned to cold, hard tile below your feet- wrapping your arms around yourself as you did your best to stay quiet, rummaging around the Todoroki kitchen for some snacks. You’d woken up restless, your stomach growling, and after prying yourself from underneath Enji’s death grip, you’d worked up quite the appetite. The soft sizzle of pork on the stove could be heard soon enough. Not too loud, but that, alongside the soft beeping of the rice cooker, and the delicious scent of your cooking wafting across the lower levels of the house, are what woke Natsuo from a fitful sleep. Rubbing both of his eyes with his fists, Natsuo yawned. Brow lifted in question as he sniffed the air, and checked the clock. Who the hell was cooking at two in the morning?

 Legs swinging off the bed, he stuffed his feet in his house shoes, and set off towards the kitchen. Yawning as he went, lifting up his shirt briefly to rub at his stomach, as he came to a stop in the kitchen doorway. The scents pouring out of it pulling a soft moan from his lips, his stomach twisting with want.

Though not just for food anymore. Not when he saw you moving swiftly around the kitchen, like you’d cooked there your whole life. Trying to be silent, but humming under your breath quietly. Clad in nothing but a pair of sleep shorts...and one of Natsuo’s fathers much larger shirts. The younger Todoroki resisted the urge to roll his eyes, ignoring the steering jealousy that raged within him, in favor of whistling lowly, catching your eye, and offering you a shake of his head, and a soft smile as he moved around the island, towards you. You had enough sense to at least look apologetic, though Natsuo quickly shrugged it off, coming around to inspect your cooking briefly, before allowing himself to be dragged into a hug by you. Something he could vaguely recall being off put by, the first time his father had introduced you to them all. Your affection. Your ability to be so close in so little time. Trusting, caring, sweet, kind. Intimate touch of any kind was something Natsuo had rejected all his life- well, when he could start rejecting it- as his own advances for comfort and touch as a child had been snuffed out quickly. Point being, it had taken him a while for him to come around to you being so...hands on, with him. Seeing you be so hands on with his siblings. It settled something, deep within himself, he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge even existed, but it helped. It helped a lot. Though now, Natsuo rationed quietly in his own mind...now maybe he took things too far. His hands slung around your waist, your arms around Natsuo’s neck- hands in his soft, white hair, face in the boy's neck, where it would usually be pressed to Enji’s chest. You and Natsuo were almost the same height, though Natsuo had you beat on mass- taking after his father already, broad shouldered: muscular. Handsome. He was going to be a fine young man some day...he already was, really. An uncomfortable flip of your stomach followed as Natsuo nuzzled into your neck- and you were quick to pull back slowly after, patting the boys chest with a smile, looking up at him through your lashes briefly, before turning to the stove to flip the cuts of pork in the pan. “Are you hungry?” You whispered, almost conspiratorially, grinning as Natsuo blushed, laughing under his breath, before nodding. “Good. Grab two bowls, it’s almost finished.” You both ate in relative silence, only your contented sighs, and Natsuo’s soft affirmations of how good the food was. As always. You even had Fuyumi beat when it came to certain dishes. Though he’d never tell his sister that. When the food was gone, and all that were left were empty plates, you lead Natsuo back to the large family room, adjacent to the kitchen, both of you taking seats on either side of the love seat/ feet tangled together under a blanket you threw over you both, before dissolving into random, half asleep conversation. Stomachs full, bodies warm, and pliable. Your eyes closed as you recalled something from your childhood- natsuo suddenly wide awake, as his eyes drifted down over your neck, counting your freckles, and blushing as His fathers shirt rode down far enough to see some of your chest hair, and the definition between your pecs. God you were handsome, Natsuo thought, consumed with the need to lean over and press his face info your chest. Rip his fathers shirt off of you, and swaddle you in one of his collegiate sweatshirts instead. It would keep you warm so much better. Plus, Natsuo thought suddenly, heatedly: you’d just look good in something of his. The icy blue of Natsuo’s color palette reflected in your eyes. God... “Natsuo?” You called across to him, snapping the younger man out of his daydreaming- a deep crimson flushing down over his pale cheeks, as the younger Todoroki averted his gaze, and rubbed at his neck. “Sorry, I just...I got...I was somewhere else, for a moment. I apologize.” Natsuo finally stuttered out gruffly, staring off at the corner of the wall, trying to calm his thoughts. But they were swarming now, insistent, /fiery/, burning up his chest, and his mind. “It’s alright, I-“ “why-“ Natsuo caught himself, biting his tongue as he cut you off, feeling embarrassed. You paused, smiling and shaking your head as you motioned for the man to continue. 

“....why are you with my father?” Natsuo finally asked. Voice soft, hesitant. But firm enough that it was clear he was demanding an answer this time. Because he’d asked this very same question just weeks after first meeting you. When you’d fixed the young man with a knowing gaze, rested a hand on his chest, and simply said “because I like him”. Natsuo couldn’t fathom anyone so much as tolerating his father, let alone liking him. So it was a bit jarring, to say the least. “Do we really have to go over this again?” Ah, Natsuo thought. So you remembered that too. “My father could live a thousand lives atoning for what he’s done, and it would never be enough to deserve someone like you,” Natsuo said, voice heavier now, a little louder, breaking the quiet space you’d created there on the sofa together. Gaze directly on you now. Your eyes. Your gorgeous eyes that looked at his father with such admiration, that it made Natsuo ill sometimes to bear witness to it. “You are not the sole keeper of your fathers misgivings, Natsuo. He hasn’t just hurt you. Whether you choose to see and actively acknowledge the man he’s trying to become, is on you, and I won’t force your hand or try and tell you how you should feel. But don’t question my love for your father, because it’s just that: mine.” You matched the young man's tone, voice even, and soft, yet affirmative- leaving no room for argument. Though Natsuo seemed to want to test that. “So you love the old man then, huh? You really love him?” Natsuo urged, sitting up suddenly, much closer now as you stared. “Not that it is any of your business, but yes, Natsuo, yes. I’m in love with your father, and I see myself living a long and happy life with him. Getting married, settling down, having-“ “having what? Kids?!” Natsuo questioned, eyes wide as he stared at you. You paused, wondering if this was a conversation you should be having with Enji at your side. Natsuo was sweet, and soft spoken- when it was with anyone who wasn’t his father, that is, since that usually resulted in a shouting match between the two. Now though, he was feeling combative apparently- questioning your decisions, which you didn’t appreciate in the slightest. “Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to want to have /children/ with that man?” Natsuo urged, half desperate, half pleading, as he sat up on his knees, nearly towering over you now as you looked down on you. “Watch. Your. Tone.” You warned him, sitting up so you were on even level again, noses nearly brushing as you did so. “Your father may put up with your snippy, accusatory remarks because he thinks allowing you to walk over him will somehow bring you two closer together, but I sure as fuck won’t.” Your cursing nearly made Natsuo flinch out of pure guilt, but he stood his ground. “You’re fooling yourself if you think he’d be any different with your kids. Look at how we turned out! Is that what you want for your own children? A childhood of solicitude and abuse, to feel unwanted, and uncared for? To wonder every night when they go to bed why their father doesn’t love them?! Is that what you want!” Natsuo was shouting now, panic rising in his throat, and you suddenly felt wholly unprepared for this conversation. “I’ll be damned if I allow that sorry excuse of a man and a father, to think about bringing up new children. Robbing you of your chance to have a real partner by your side. Someone to help you care for, and love your children. You...you deserve so much better than him, I don’t understand.” Natsuo was holding back tears now, chest heaving as he breathed, and you couldn’t take it. Gathering him up in your arms, you brought the man in for a tight hug. Cradling him in, and rubbing his back as he began to cry, mumbling nonsense into your neck as you just held him, and closed your eyes, willing back your own tears as you bared witness to something for the first time: the result of Enji’s fathering. Or, your brain offered up weakly: the lack thereof. Even more so...his abuse. Here you were, experiencing the aftermath first hand, and it made your heart hurt so deeply, and your mind race. You wanted to beat the shit out of Enji for doing this to Natsuo, but what could be done about it now? Enji was trying, he was trying so hard every day. But Natsuo was clinging to his hate, and his anger, and his fears, and who were you to tell him he should let them go? At least this way, you rationalized, you could be there for him when they became too much. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Im sorry,” you whispered into his hair, raking your fingers through it as Natsuo shuddered through another sob, and shook his head in your chest. “I'm so sorry, Natsuo. I’m so, so sorry.” He mumbled something then, body tense, refusing to be pulled back to see your face, even as you tried. “What?” You asked quietly, tilting your head to hear him better. “Do you love /us/?” ‘Me’. Do you love me he’d asked first, you realized, and your heart beat sped up as you did your best to squeeze Natsuo impossibly tighter- head in his hair as you nodded. “I love you all so much. Fuyumi, Shoto. I have love for your mother, and for Toya. And I love you, Natsuo, I love you so much. I’m honored to be able to call you my family now. I do love you,” you reassured him, shushing him quietly through a new set of sobs, before tensing when Natsuo suddenly sat up, hot breath and humid, tear stains cheeks ghosting across your face as icy grey eyes met yours. He was nearly panting with the effort to stop his crying, clearly looking for something as he stared at you, before he was leaning forward and smashing your lips together in a heated, desperate kiss.

thus concludes the drabble, now on to the end notes lol

So yeah, that’s it lol, lemme know what you guys think? The plan for this originally was to have some sort of double todoroki x male!reader endgame, where he’d end up with both Enji and Natsuo, by some means. Though not without a fair bit more angst thrown in. Arguments, fighting, etc etc. But I did wanna have them all three be endgame someway or another.  Which, yes, would include incest. Whether direct or indirect, cuz one could make the argument they’re sort of just dating the same person, which is also fine- cuz it’s adorable to me, but they’d all be fucking at some point, even if most of the attention is solely on the male reader, it would happen. That’s part of the big reason I wanna do this drabble interest checks, because they give you a glimpse into my problematic mind, and you can decide for yourselves if you wanna stick around and be a part of it, or leave.  Not to say poly relationships are problematic in the slightest, of course- I adore poly ships, and hope to write some in the future- but incest? Boy howdy.  But I love it sksksk >;3  So lemme know what you guy’s think of this fic! If you want to see it continued, if so, how so?  Feel free to ask me anon or otherwise about kink and dynamics, sfw or nsfw, if you’d like too. I’m gonna make an updated kink list with kinks I will be writing about eventually, so you can decide to stick around and see them, or show yourself out so they don’t bother you. My space is mine, so I will not be responding to, or entertaining people who want to be upset about them, or disagree with my tastes. It’ll get you nowhere, telling you right now.  But yeah. Lemme know guys. <3 Vixen

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VIII. (Harry Styles)

i can’t believe we are slowly nearing the end of this story, don’t forget, we only have two more parts left!! please leave a feedback/coment/like/ANYTHING if you liked this part, it means so so soooo much to me!!

word count: 5k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Harry can be such a persistent pain in the ass sometimes. You haven’t decided if you like it about him or not. If he makes up his mind about something it has to be that way, no objection.

He texted you in the morning that he would be coming over to your place after work, because he is looking after Valerie for the night, for the first time ever and he needed you to tell him everything he needs to know about taking good care of her.

“I think Rosa will tell you all about it when they arrive. I got a list from her as well,” you tell him when he calls you during your lunch break.

“I know she will, but I’m a single man, it’s bold of you to think I know anything about babies.”

“What are you talking about? You are always so good with her. I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.” Steven has a business dinner tonight and Rosa was invited as well. You know that because they asked you first if you could look after Valerie, but you had already made plans with Marcus, so you had to turn them down. Guess they found someone who is free, but it seems like Harry is a little panicky about it.

“Is it not the best time to admit that I have no idea how to change a diaper properly?”

You laugh at his question and you can almost picture the worried look on his face, lips pressed together and that little crease showing between his eyebrows.

“Then why did you say that you’d look after her?” you ask giving your salad a shake before you start eating.

“Because Rosa sounded so desperate, and I wanted to help. I thought I would figure it out, even googled it, but I’m not sure I have the right idea about everything.”

“What do you mean you googled it?”

“Well, if you’d look at my search history it would be filled with maternity sites where they describe in detail how to wipe a baby’s ass,” he states, making you laugh once again. 

“You’re nuts,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, I have plans tonight, so I don’t think I can help you.”

“When?”

“Um, Marcus is picking me up at seven.”

“That’s perfect, Rosa and Steven will drop Val off at mine at four, so I’ll have plenty of time to go over to yours so you can show me everything.”

“Harry, I’m working until five.”

“Alright, I’ll be right there at five thirty.”

“Harry... “ you chuckle, shaking your head. 

“Please, Y/N! I’m begging you! This is a kinda life or death situation. You can’t do this to me! You still owe me for the time you were looking over her!”

Closing your eyes you lean onto the table. You already know you’ll say yes, how can you not when he is right about owing him one, but you should really learn how to say no next time, before people start to see you as the loser who just does as she is told all the time. 

“Okay. I’ll be home by five twenty.”

“Fucking perfect. I’ll see you later,” he cheers before ending the call. 

Turns out he is quite punctual, because just as you walk around the corner you see his car parked in front of your building and you just smile. He spots you from the rearview mirror and gets out, unbuckling Valerie from her seat as well.

“They left you the seat as well?” you ask and help him get the huge bag Rosa packed for Valerie.

“I told them I need to do groceries so Steven left it for me.”

Valerie babbles to Harry relentlessly, who occasionally hums a response as the three of you go up to your apartment. 

“So, what exactly do you want me to show you?” you ask, setting the bag down on the couch as Harry puts Valerie down on the plush rug to wander around a bit as the two of you discuss what he needs help with.

“Diaper change, feeding and burping. I think I’ll be alright with the rest.”

“Okay, first of all, she doesn’t need to be burped, she’s old enough to skip that. Only try that if she is fussy after eating,” you tell him and he nods, mentally taking notes. “Alright, let’s see a diaper changing. How many did Rosa leave for you.”

“Oh, she left a bunch but I dropped by the store and bought another pack just to be sure. Let me grab it from the car.”

Harry runs off, in the meanwhile you sit on the floor with Val and get everything you need from the bag to change her. You figured he just bought a smaller pack in case he might mess up the first few times, but when Harry returns he has a huge pack under his arm, written on the side you see that there are 92 pieces in it.

“What the fuck, Harry? Are you trying to supply her for the rest of the year?” you snap with a laugh.

“I panicked, don’t give me shit about it!” he whines joining you on the floor. 

You put an old blanket down and grabbing Valerie you make her lie on her back as Harry opens the mega pack and hands you a clean diaper. You go over the whole process step by step, making sure you cover every detail that might come to you naturally but wouldn’t be that obvious for Harry. He intently watches your every move, at one point you almost expect him to get a notebook and pencil to take notes.

“Okay your turn. Let me see what you learned.”

Scooting over you let Harry take your spot and his hands carefully reach to get rid of the diaper you just put on Valerie, who is still carelessly babbling around, stuffing her fingers into her mouth without a worry in the world. She surely doesn’t give a damn about being experimented on. 

Harry’s fingers work delicately on her, doing everything just as you told him and he even folds the used diaper in a prettier way than you did.

“See? It’s not that hard. Just expect some poop in it the next time,” you tell him and laugh at the grimace that tugs on his face.

“How often do I need to change her?”

“Just… give her bum a sniff now and then, you’ll know when she has left a gift for you.”

“Awesome,” he sighs nodding. “Okay, now onto the feeding.”

It’s been a while since the night you looked after Val, since then Rosa has stopped breastfeeding so she is now fully on baby food from any store and basically anything pureed. Rosa packed a few different kinds of foods and wrote on the list that Valerie has been a fan of smashed apples, banana and peas.

Harry takes her to his arms and sits at your small dining table as you get one of the baby foods with a small spoon and her bib.

“Feeding is nothing special, just make sure to give her small portions and wait until she swallows everything. But she is a calm eater, so she takes her time tasting everything and then swallowing it,” you explain to him and show him what you just said, bringing some food to her mouth on the spoon. Harry watches her take it, some of it ending up on her lips and you wipe it off with the spoon when you pull it out of her mouth.

“See? She is quite chill, you have nothing to worry about,” you tell Harry. Some babies tend to turn feeding into a race and they want to get as much food into their mouth as possible at once. Valerie is a luckier case in this field. “Wanna try?”

Harry nods and you drop the spoon into the jar, putting it to the table before you take Valerie from his lap. Once again, he is doing perfectly fine, feeding her just the right amount and wiping the excess off her lips and cheeks easily. He had nothing to worry about. 

“You’re doing great, as if you were a natural,” you tell him smiling and you swear you see him blush. 

“I’m a little far from that. I’m still in panic that I do something wrong.”

“It was a bold move to say yes to Rosa if you are so worried how you’d do.” Harry keeps feeding her, eyes focused on the spoon and the little girl sitting on your thighs.

“Rosa sounded really desperate, I wanted to help. That’s what godparents are for, right?”

“I guess,” you nod. You watch him treat her so delicately and gentle, before you could even stop yourself, your thoughts wander over to imagining him be just like this with his own baby. 

The thought of Harry being a dad and taking care of his baby has a weird and surprising effect on you. You imagine him doing all these everyday things like feeding her, playing with her, falling asleep on the couch with her curled up on his chest. You’d give an arm to see him like that, the vision of a curly haired little girl playing all too vividly in your mind. You see him having a girl, that’s what feels right for him. He would definitely make her feel like a princess and a total daddy’s girl. 

Your eyes wander over to his arm where his tattoos are showing from under his rolled up sleeves. Surely soon enough Valerie will be coloring the many shapes and maybe one day he’ll do the same with his daughter. There’s no doubt Harry will be an amazing dad.

Realization hits you hard that how badly you want to witness all of these and it gets to your head a little too heavily, feeling your eyes tearing up a little. You need to take a few deep breaths that draws his attention to you.

“You alright?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at you as Valerie finishes up the lasts of her meal. 

“Yeah, I just… I need to start getting ready,” you say clearing your throat as Harry takes Val from you. “Feel free to stick around,” you tell him making your way to the bathroom with the sheer intention of having an ice cold shower before you lose your mind over your wandering thoughts. 

Harry seemingly takes up on the offer and stays, playing with Valerie in your living room while you soak yourself in the freezing water. It helps though, you feel a lot more put together when you walk out, wrapped in your fuzzy bathrobe, your damp hair falling to your shoulders. 

“Feel free to get anything from the fridge, by the way,” you tell Harry as you move into your bedroom to start getting ready.

“Thanks, but I’m alright,” he calls back. “Where are you two heading tonight?”

“Just this new Indian restaurant Marcus has been wanting to try out.”

“Sounds nice.” Harry walks into your bedroom with Valerie in his arms as you sit at your vanity and get started on your makeup. You watch him from the mirror as he slowly walks around your bedroom, just looking around, examining the framed pictures and little memories you keep on your walls, shelves and dresser. 

You catch his smile when he sees the photo you and him got from Rosa and Steven, you put it next to a childhood photo of Rosa and you. 

“You had braces?” he asks looking at that photo.

“For three years.”

“Well, they surely did a great job on your smile,” he teases you. You know you had a quite crooked smile back then, it was actually your idea to get braces. One insecurity off the list once they straightened your teeth, a lot more to deal with that couldn’t be fixed that easily. 

Harry continues to snoop around as you do a quick, natural look, just the bare minimum. You don’t necessarily like wearing much makeup, but you like what just some mascara and blush does to your appearance. You leave the room a little to blowdry your hair and when you return, Harry is sitting on your bed, eyes watching over Valerie, who is playing with one of your pillows that has a fuzzy cover on. 

You catch Harry’s eyes from time to time as you loosely braid your hair, watching yourself in the mirror. He always smiles when your eyes meet. When you’re done with everything at the vanity, you step to your small closet to find something to wear. You narrow down the choices for three dresses, but you can’t quite decide which one would be the best.

“Wear the light blue one,” Harry speaks up, grabbing your attention. 

“I was thinking about that one too.”

“You wore it to dinner once a while ago. It looked great on you.”

“You remember it?” It’s a surprise he remembered since it was quite some time ago, more than a year, to be exact. You weren’t on good terms back then, but it seems like he still had an eye for the small things. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly, his cheeks turning red again as he turns back to Valerie. You grab the dress from the hanger and go to the bathroom to change. 

It’s one of the kind of dresses that just don’t let you wear a bra, but you’re fine with that, because the final look makes up for the discomfort it causes. You try your best to pull the zipper up, but your flexibility didn’t get any better through the years. A heavy sense of deja vu comes over you as you walk back to your room, holding the dress to your chest. Harry looks up at you curiously and you don’t miss how his eyes wander up and down your body.

“Could you please zip me up?”

“Sure,” he breathes out as he gets up from the bed and steps behind you. 

It’s just like the day you met, you suddenly feel like it’s years ago and he is helping you zip up your bridal dress. His fingers brush against your skin the exact same way as he pulls the zipper up, and his fingertips even run over it once it’s all done, like they did back then. You wonder if he thinks the same or it’s just an irrelevant little moment to him, nothing more. 

Stepping to your mirror you take a look at yourself, Harry standing a few steps behind you, his eyes taking in your look as well. For a moment you doubt this is the look you should go for, but as if Harry could feel your hesitation he steps forward and his eyes catches your gaze in the mirror.

“You look amazing. Marcus is a lucky guy.”

Turning around you smile at him breathing out your thank you. 

It’s nearing seven so you quickly pack your bag and choose a coat that goes well with your dress while Harry packs Valerie’s stuff. Just when you put on a pair of white heels your phone starts ringing and Marcus’ smiling face appears on the screen.

“Hi, I’ll be right down in a second.”

“Great, see you in a bit.”

When all three of you are ready to leave you lock the door and you head down. There’s a heavy silence between the two of you in the elevator and you don’t know how to break it, but it’s almost painful. 

“Call me if you are having trouble with anything,” you tell him as you walk through the hall, out of the building.

“I’m not gonna ruin your date night, but don’t worry, I had a great teacher,” he smiles at you. Marcus is parked right behind Harry’s car and he gets out seeing you walk out of the building. “Hi Marcus!” he nods in his way.

“Hey, didn’t know you were here too,” he smiles nicely and as he steps to you he presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Just needed some help with this little Princess, but we are off. Thanks again, Y/N,” he smiles in your way as he buckles Valerie up in her seat.

“No problem.” Stepping to the car you peek inside catching Val’s attention. “Be good and don’t give Harry a hard time, okay?” you tell her and she just stares back at you with those curious eyes of hers. “See you later,” you tell Harry nodding his way before following Marcus to his car.

As you sit in the passenger seat you watch Harry start his car and drive away and suddenly you wish you were sitting in his car. Your heart is aching to spend the rest of the evening with him and Valerie.

The guilt quickly kicks in when Marcus asks about your day. You definitely shouldn’t be thinking about being with Harry instead of your boyfriend who did absolutely nothing to deserve to be thrown away. 

You try your best to forget about Harry and focus on Marcus, because that’s the right thing to do. 

It takes all your energy to stay present and focus on your surroundings and what’s happening to you, because every other minute you find yourself thinking what Harry and Valerie are doing right now and if everything is alright. You try to tell yourself that if something was wrong he would text or call you, but he said it himself he wouldn’t want to bother you during your date.

“Is there a specific reason why you are paying absolutely no attention to what I’m saying?” 

Marcus’ voice snaps you back from your thoughts once again and you feel the heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks.

“Sorry, I just… I’ve had a tiring week.”

“You know, that’s totally fine, but you don’t seem to share it or anything without me asking about it. Is it something I do or you are just… not planning on letting me get closer to you anytime soon?” You can feel the little harshness in his tone and he has all the rights to be annoyed at you, but you still feel the need to defend yourself. 

“That’s not true. I just tend to keep things to myself.”

“It’s fine, but building up a relationship kind of requires a lot of talking. I want to hear about whatever it is that’s on your mind. How else should I help you or be there for you if you keep shutting me out every time?”

“I’m sorry if it’s coming off this way, but I’m just… not used to this.”

“To what?”

“Having to always think about someone else too, not just myself. I know it sounds selfish, but I’ve been on my own for a long time, I need time to adjust to the changes.”

“You know that I wouldn’t push anything on you and that I’m gonna wait for as long as you need, but… sometimes I feel like you’re not even trying.”

“I am trying!” you snap, feeling yourself growing frustrated that he is questioning your efforts even though deep down you know he is right. “I do want to share things, it’s just…”

I don’t want to share them with you, you think to yourself and the thought makes you shudder. The worst thing is that in the back of your mind you know exactly who you want to share things with. 

You shake your head with a defeated sigh. It’s a dead end and you clearly need to make a choice if you want to climb the walls and see what’s on the other side, even if it’s just another dump filled dead end, or you could just turn around and walk away with the possibility that you’ll never get to see what’s on the other side. 

Part of you is struggling with opening up to Marcus because deep down you know he might not be the one for you, but the other part is violently holding onto him because… if it’s not gonna work out with him, who else will it? Marcus is everything any girl would wish for in a guy, nice, funny, good looking and caring. There is nothing you could bring up against him except that you just have this weird feeling in the back of your mind. If you can’t make it work with him, who else could you possibly try with? You constantly feel like you’re running out of time and chances. The music might still be playing and there are plenty of empty seats, but it will eventually stop and you don’t want to be the one without a seat. 

Dinner cuts quite short as your little fight poisons the mood pretty fast. Clearly, Marcus is fed up because of your behavior while there’s nothing you really can or would do about it, so the drive back to your place is quiet and tension filled. He kisses you goodbye when he drops you off, but it’s more like a dry peck on the lips before you basically escape from his car. 

You are quick to get rid of your dress and change into sweatpants and a hoodie, the urge to call Harry and check in on him takes over your thoughts quite fast and you find yourself calling him.

“Y/N, hey!” you hear his voice on the other end.

“Hi, how is everything going?”

“Everything is fine, I just gave her a bath, we’re gonna watch some cartoons and then I’ll try to put her to sleep. Are you already back from your date?” 

In the back you can hear a shriek from Valerie and Harry coos at her, that’s followed by a giggle from her.

“Um, yeah. I…” sighing you close your eyes. You feel like an idiot, but it seems like you just can’t deal with your feelings tonight, so why not completely give up? “Can I come over?”

There’s a short pause before he answers. “Sure, of course. But is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just… I don’t want to be alone.”

“Alright. We’ll be waiting for you right here.”

You call an Uber and in thirty minutes you are walking up Harry’s driveway. The lights are on inside and the nerves you’ve been fighting on the way here feel to dissolve quite fast, as you think that he is still up, even though he told you he’d be waiting for you. 

You ring the bell and just a few seconds later Harry opens the door, Valerie in his arms, now wearing a pink onesie with the hood on her head.

“Hey, come inside,” he invites you in. “Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“So,” he sighs after locking the door and turning to face you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Is it okay if we don’t?” you ask biting into your bottom lip. You know he is probably dying to know what made you want to come over and that you probably should tell him since you are seeking shelter at his place, but you just don’t have the energy to talk about it.

“Totally fine,” Harry smiles and you return it with a quiet thank you. “I was just about to put Val down to sleep, wanna join us?”

“Sure.”

You follow him to his bedroom where the same portable bed is set up that was in your just a few months ago. Harry lays her down bringing a blanket over her as you sit next to the crip while he grabs the book Rosa packed. Harry joins you on the floor, your legs mingling as you sit facing each other and Val can see you through the sheer side of the bed. 

You watch her in awe as Harry starts reading a story, Val listening to his deep voice as if she understood every word that left his lips. A few pages into the story you see her eyelids slowly close and she eventually falls asleep, her little chest rising and falling steadily.

The two of you tiptoe out of the room so you don’t wake her up.

“I’m gonna make a tea, you want one?”

“Yes please.”

You walk into his kitchen and while you sit on a stool at his kitchen island he starts the kettle and digs into his little box that’s filled with filters. 

“Apple and cinnamon?” he asks, holding two filters up and you nod your head. When the water boils he fills up two mugs and throws the filters into them before placing them on the counter in front of you.

“You know, I’m a little mad you had it so easy with her,” you point it out with a smirk, making him laugh.

“I made it up with the panic at the beginning.”

“You really had nothing to worry about. You did great.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles shyly. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but I just need to ask. You’re not feeling down because Marcus did something to you?”

You smile at how careful and protective he is. Shaking your head you turn your gaze to the mug in front of you.

“No. It’s just…” You have to take a deep breath as you feel the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “It’s stupid,” you breathe out shakily. Harry notices what’s going on and sliding off the stool he steps to you enveloping you into his embrace as you curl your arms around his torso and bury your face into the soft fabric of his shirt on his chest.

You really didn’t want to cry, especially not in front of him, but it’s been piling up for a while and tonight has been a little too hard for you.

“Shit, now I’ve cried in your presence twice,” you sigh with a shaky chuckle as you let go of him and wipe your cheeks. 

“Actually, it’s been three times,” Harry huffs with a smirk.

“What?”

“You cried at the wedding too, when we were talking outside.”

“Amazing,” you shake your head with a bitter laugh. “I don’t even remember that.”

“No surprised, you were quite drunk by then,” he chuckles. “But it’s alright, don’t worry about it.” There’s a pause where neither of you really knows what to do or say. You feel like such a cry baby for breaking down at such a simple question, but Harry couldn’t know how deep it was digging.

“Hey,” he speaks up finally. “Wanna watch a movie? I have quite a few movies saved on Netflix that I’ve been trying to watch.”

The small smile on his lips eases your nerves almost instantly and you nod with a thankful smile. The two of you move into the living room and he puts on some kind of romantic comedy as you get comfortable on his huge L shaped couch. The movie is not the best you’ve seen, but it’s good enough to stop your racing thoughts and relax for a while. 

When you know it’s nearing its end you think about if Harry will tell you to leave or let you stay. Because selfishly, you want to stay, and not just sleep on the couch. You want to sleep next to him like at Christmas. You miss what it felt like falling asleep with his arm wrapped around you and that’s exactly what you need today. 

When the movie ends, you glance over at Harry who is examining the carpet, clearly thinking about something really hard, but you make the move he probably wasn’t expecting.

Boldly, you stand up and just simply walk into his bedroom where Valerie is still sleeping in peace. You climb up to his bed and make yourself comfortable under the covers, waiting for his reaction with your heart pounding against your ribcage. 

You hear his tapping footsteps and you wait for him to arrive with your eyes closed. It’s just a soft huff that comes from his way when he stops at the door seeing you all curled up in his bed, but he doesn’t say a word. You hear him shuffle around a little before the mattress moves under you and he lies next to you. When he stops moving you turn around so you are facing him, only making out some of his features in the dark, but you can tell he is looking at you.

“Harry?” you whisper.

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna be a little more selfish now,” you say without any further context.

“Okay,” he breathes out, clearly curious what you meant by that, but he quickly figures it out when you move closer and cuddle to his side, laying your head to his chest. You tell yourself that it’s okay, you can be selfish sometime and just do whatever feels right. This is exactly that, just an act of selfishness because you want to be close to him, feel the warmth of his body and not feel so lost and alone for just one more night.

When you feel his arm weigh down around your shoulders, a wave of relief washes over you. Everything that’s been bothering you quickly fades and it’s just the two of you, lying in his bed in silence, but it has never felt better. 

You think about how you would be okay with feeling like this every night for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ask for more. Nothing would really matter if you could end your days like this.

But then you remember that you might be alone with this thought. That you shouldn’t let yourself get fooled just because he was there for you when you needed him. Maybe you didn’t even need him, just someone and he happened to be the closest. But you figure that’s not true, because you wouldn’t feel the same way with someone else. 

You think back to when he apologized about everything he said after the wedding. He said that he was sorry and he shouldn’t have been such an ass to you, but he didn’t say he would act differently if it was to happen again. He would probably still end it right there, just in a nicer way and it makes you think that it’s all just his friendly side, nothing more.

And the thought that you are alone with this heavy and confusing feeling scares you to death, because you have no idea what you’ll do when you lose control over it.

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[gureishi]

Wow...the prompts? They're all good. Can you write something angst for Jumin and a female MC, with number 11? I don't mind NSFW. Congrats on 100. You deserve them all and more! 💜😌

TruUUEE. You are too good to me as always. Thank you for saying so ♡

And thank you for this wonderful prompt, and giving me an excuse to write about vulnerable Jumin—my favorite Jumin!

This “ficlet” sprawled into an absolute monstrosity because I got carried away with tearful Jumin and then it got sexy and...oh dear.

eleven: i could only be myself with you around

JuminXReader, E (oral sex, fingering), words: 3887

Warning: NSFW (eventually, I swear)~ Don’t proceed if you don’t wanna read smut <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

When he comes home, his eyes are dark.

You look up from your book; you’re incredibly comfortable on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, a cup of tea beside you. There’s a fire in the fireplace and the room is finally just the temperature you like it. You were feeling sleepy.

You’re not feeling so sleepy anymore.

He shuts the door, too hard, and his posture is stiff as crosses the living room with a few purposeful strides. 

“Hi, honey,” you say, and your voice comes out reedy and thin, because you know something is wrong.

He looms over you, and you don’t feel scared—never scared, not of him—but you can’t help but look down, fidgeting with the fringe on the blanket. He kisses your forehead and it feels cursory; you feel a little pang of annoyance. He still hasn’t said anything to you.

Briefly, his hand lingers on the top of your head, and momentarily, you’re comforted—this is a habit. But then he moves away, walking with that same fast, stilted pace. He’s still wearing his shoes.

“Jumin,” you say to his back. He hesitates, and you suppose you’ve taken him by surprise—he’s honey or darling more than he’s Jumin, and you know your voice sounds strange. But he is strange tonight; you’ve waited up for him, and on an ordinary day his eyes would light up, his face splitting into the warm, soft smile he reserves just for you. You feel its absence like a tug behind your ribcage.

“I need a moment,” he says at last, and his voice is oddly high-pitched, like he hasn’t caught his breath.

You kick the blanket off your knees, upsetting your book as you stand.

“What’s…”

He disappears into the bedroom, shuts the door.

“…wrong,” you finish, lamely.

What?

Suddenly, the room doesn’t feel so cozy; the off-white (“winter wood,” Jumin says it’s called) walls feel bare and too far apart and the ceiling feels too high and the perfectly-arranged furniture seems cold and uninviting. You trace his footsteps, silent in your stockinged feet.

You’ve only lived in this new house together a few months, and the excitement hasn’t quite worn off. Most days when you’re home before he is, he arrives in a hurry and sweeps you into his arms, dipping you low and kissing you earnestly. There have been days he’s come home tired, of course, or worried—and on those days, you’ve put on a record and shared a bottle of wine, hands intertwined under one of your many soft white throw blankets.

Today, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Honey…?” You linger at the door, press your ear against it. Nothing. “You’re worrying me,” you say. You hear shuffling, the familiar sound of him removing his jacket, laying it on the pile for the dry cleaner. “I’m coming in,” you tell him, louder—because it is your bedroom, too, and your heart is in your throat. 

Silence. You push open the door.

He hasn’t turned on any lights, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. Your husband is sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket off, his head bent, his face in his hands. He’s still wearing his stupid shoes.

You want to bend over him and kiss the very top of his head, tickle his sensitive sides till he smiles. But everything about him says stay away: the angle of his head and the rigidness of his shoulders. The way his sleeves are still buttoned as if he isn’t in his own home.

You take a hesitant step toward him and at least he doesn’t stop you.

“Darling, will you please talk to me?” you say. He looks so small to you then: vulnerable and afraid.

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you think that he may continue to ignore you. Then you notice that his broad, muscular shoulders are shaking. It’s barely perceptible, but you see it.

“I cannot be with you right now,” he says at last, his voice muffled by his hands. “If I am with you I will cry.”

That does it. Throwing caution to the wind, you leap onto the bed, jarring him a little. He peers up at you out of the corner of his eye and you’re shocked to see that it is, in fact, slightly red-rimmed.

“Then you should cry,” you say. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He hesitates, and you watch him do battle with himself for a moment, torn between instinct and impulse, old habits and new routines. You wait, letting him decide.

At last, the side of him that has been gradually unfurling since the day you met him wins. He raises his head from his hands and reaches for you, holding his arms out like the lonely child you know he once was.

And you are relived, because this is the man you married.

With perhaps slightly too much enthusiasm, you crawl into his lap, draping your legs to one side and wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s taken time for him to adjust to this kind of full-body contact—it’s as alien to him as it natural to you. Still, he rests his head against the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his lips brush your skin, making you squirm. “I would never want to make you worry.”

You play with the back of his collar with your fingertips. “Sometimes I will worry, because I love you,” you say. “Just please don’t hide from me.”

He tilts his head so he can—finally—look at you properly. His steely gray eyes are glazed over and you know this look, though you haven’t seen it in a long time.

“Tell me what you’ve been holding back all day,” you say, as he reaches up with a long finger to brush the hair off your forehead—another familiar gesture, which soothes you.

He adjusts a little so he’s cradling you, one arm over your shoulders, the other under your legs. He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He’s stalling for time, but you don’t mind—his chest is warm and solid through his perfectly-pressed shirt and you take the opportunity to bathe yourself in his warm woody scent. He’s working so much lately, more than usual, and sometimes when you’re home alone in the evening you spritz his cologne in the air so you feel less lonely. You don’t tell him this.

“May I ask you a question, my love?” he says. He still has that closed-off look in his eyes but he sounds more like himself, deep and warm and wonderful.

“Of course.”

“When you met me, was I…” He clears his throat, awkwardly fiddles with his cufflinks. You gently separate his hands, remove the cufflinks. Unbutton the sleeves. “Was I…not a good person?”

You drop the cufflink. It falls to the floor with a jarring clink. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it. You bend over, reaching for the little piece of metal; he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Please tell me what you think.”

No, you almost respond automatically. No, I thought you were wonderful. But the look in his eyes begs a more thoughtful answer than that. With practiced fingers, you roll up one of his shirt sleeves. You run one finger up his forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, tracing the tense muscles there.

“When I met you, I thought you were frighteningly smart and stunningly beautiful,” you say. You roll up his other sleeve, carefully folding the silky smooth fabric. “I’d never met anyone like you before. I was impressed by you, and I also thought you looked like you needed a gentle slap on the face and then a really good, tight hug. Does that…make sense?”

You tug his perfectly-tucked shirt out of his pants. You can’t stand him looking too put-together at home. He can do that everywhere else; home is for comfort.

“It…does,” he says slowly. “But I think perhaps you were the only one with that opinion of me.”

You look into his face and are startled to see tears at the corners of his eyes. You’re not sure you’ve seen him cry since your wedding day.

“Will you tell me what happened today?” you ask, wiping away the tears with your fingertips. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath—he is breathing in your scent just as you did his, you think.

“In truth, it was nothing of note.” He goes for his sleeves again, realizes you’ve rolled them up. Instead, he settles his hands at your waist, threading his fingers through your belt loops. “I had lunch with a…former colleague. He is the president of a Chinese company, and I haven’t spoken to him in several years.”

Ah. “And you felt like the version of you he was expecting to see and the person you are now aren’t the same?”

Jumin actually laughs at that, his eyes growing wide. There’s a little of his usual ardor behind them now.

“You, my dear, know me far better than I know myself.”

“I know I do.”

You kiss his eyebrow and he covers both your hips with his big hands. You trail kisses down the side of his face, kiss away the last of the tears that have formed at the inner corners of his eyes.

“I felt as though he was speaking to a man who no longer exists,” Jumin says, closing his eyes; you kiss his eyelashes. “I felt the urge to tell him so. I felt angry. And then I felt…” He trails off.

“Grief?” you offer. You continue your trajectory, feathering kisses down the bridge of his nose. You kiss his cupid’s bow and he groans, low in his throat, barely audible.

“How strange,” he says. “Why should I feel grief for myself?”

“It’s normal to grieve the ways in which parts of you disappear over time,” you say. You lift a hand to his neck, undo his tie. It slips easily through your fingers; you’ve done this so many times before.

He exhales heavily, and it’s sad and relieved and needy all at once.

“And then I felt afraid,” he says. “Because I knew I would come home to you and feel the things I had been trying not to feel all day. Because that, my darling, is what you do to me.”

“Sounds like your feelings scared us both a little bit today,” you say. His tie is off; you toss it aside. It joins the stray cufflink on the floor.

“Feelings can be very frightening,” he says. He’s been still this whole time; suddenly, he springs to action as if he’s been waiting for his moment to pounce. His hands skim over your sides, grasp your shoulders, turning you firmly so you’re twisted in his lap—nose-to-nose with him.

“I would like to take a warm shower,” he says. His gaze is unwavering and you melt a little. “I would like you to join me,” he adds.

He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but you know it is. It always is, with him—his eyes ask for your acquiesce and his hands on your shoulders are tentative, waiting for your answer.

“Take me there,” you say. He lifts you easily, carries you in his arms as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. His knitted eyebrows say otherwise—he’s holding himself back, his hand clenching at your shirt as if it’s taking all his patience not to tear it off.

He sets you down gently on your feet on the cool, clear tiles of the master bathroom. He’s gone in an instant: dimming the light, turning on the shower. It’s such a huge shower—you were shocked the first time you saw the designs. It has three faucets and a marble bench for sitting, or shaving your legs, or…other activities.

“Do you want to undress me or do you want to watch?” you ask him, playfully striking a pose—knowing he loves the choice, loves to feel he has you in the palm of his hand.

He looks you up and down, pupils huge, hair delightfully disheveled—for Jumin, anyway—one stray lock hanging over his eyes.

“I want to watch,” he says, and there’s none of the coldness in his voice now, only chocolatey depth and unbidden desire.

So you undress for him, to the rainforest rushing sound of the shower’s many faucets, turning as you lift your shirt over your head, wriggling out of your pants slowly, revealing just a strip of skin at a time. You give him a cheeky glance of the lacy strap of your underwear, of your hips, of your ass, which (you know because you check in the massive mirror hanging over the door) is framed adorably by your gauzy thong.

“I am running out of patience,” he says—growls—and you feel a hot, wonderful flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Then come get me,” you say.

So he does, crossing the large bathroom and unhooking your bra in one smooth motion. He tears it from you and throws it to the ground. He spins you to face him and his dark eyes are simmering, his grip on your shoulders tight—but still restrained, not painful. Never painful.

“Do you want to know what image I couldn’t get out of my mind on the drive to work this morning?” he whispers, and you shiver.

“I do.”

He slides your thong down your legs, planting searing kisses over your hips, your thighs, your calves, your ankles. He’s kneeling at your feet now and the sight of him there, his beautiful head bent, almost drives you mad.

“I’ll show you,” he says. Then he’s on his feet again and he’s unbuttoning his shirt—with much more patience than he claims to have—slowly, scrupulously, as if to torture you both.

“Now I’m impatient,” you say, and you go for his belt. He laughs as you struggle to unhook it and the laugh turns to a low moan as your hands graze his erection, straining against his fitted vicuña pants. You deal with the buckle and make quick work of the pants, draping them over the sink—you don’t care what Jumin says, these pants are much too expensive to throw in a heap on the bathroom floor.

Now you’re the one kneeling before him, and he does a double-take as he sees the position you’re in. Even now, after all this time, after getting married, after moving into your custom-built home, he blushes. It’s this—his unexpected innocence, his charming traditionalism—that never fails to bewitch you.

“I will if you want me to,” you say, slipping his Swiss cotton underwear over his hipbones with adoring hands. He stands absolutely still, but you feel his hips trembling.

“I want you to,” he whispers. So you take him in your mouth—just the tip at first, moving your tongue in a circle, running a hand down his length. He moans again, low, breathy. You feel his muscles stretch as he reaches up, grabs onto the top of the glass shower door.

You slide his cock further into your mouth, one hand still at the base, and he mutters something you don’t understand. You breathe in and out slowly, creating suction as you pull away and then take him deeper. It stirs something in you—the cold tiles on your bare knees, the power you feel in having him at your mercy. He exhales, low and slow, and you feel stimulated and little and somehow totally in control.

With one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging. Your eyelids flutter shut and you feel your hips and pelvis moving along with your lips as you slide him in and out—your own body already feeling hot and tingly, craving friction.

He mutters again and you can’t quite hear him. You run your tongue along his length, and his body shudders. He tries again. “I-if you continue like this, I won’t be able to…”

You let him slip from your lips.

“Do you want to come right now?” you ask and he groans.

“Yes, but I—” You slide your tongue all the way around his tip and he stumbles over his words. “Of course, but you…I want—”

You take him all the way into your mouth again and he stops speaking, letting out a low growl, tensing as he grips the door. He’s close, and you want to make him come, want to do it like this, him a twitching, shaking mess looming above you—you at his feet with the power to break him.

You round your lips, suction harder, pull him deeper, and his hips give a telltale jerk. Ah-ha. Your own body feels floaty and loose—you can barely feel the floor under your knees now. He tries to warn you in a throaty voice and you ignore him, raking your fingernails over his ass. He comes, rocking into your mouth, and you open your eyes to take him in—he looks ravished, all restraint dissolved, all presence of patience demolished as he shuts his eyes and unabashedly shakes against you. You swallow everything, so hopelessly turned on by his unbridled pleasure.

He pulls himself out of your mouth with a groan and reaches for you, tousling your hair with a shaky hand.

“You look so beautiful right now,” you tell him, and he does—perfect hair unkempt, muscular shoulders glimmering with sweat.

“I still haven’t shown you my fantasy,” he pants, and then his arm is around your waist and he’s scooped you up again. You squeal as he slings you over his shoulder, and you feel warm water hit your back as he lifts you into the shower. He sets you down tenderly on the marble bench, and it’s slick and just the perfect temperature, already warmed by the water and steam.

“Open your legs,” he murmurs, and you do, feeling a clenching inside, your swollen clit demanding attention.

Jumin turns away from you and you whine in dissatisfaction. He laughs, low and wonderful; the water runs in rivulets over his toned back. He’s back in an instant, the detachable shower head in his hand, and you cannot help the little whimper that tears from your throat.

“I wonder what will happen if I use this to stimulate you…” he says, his deep voice trailing off seductively. Your thighs twitch in anticipation.

“I–I would also—” He runs a finger over your already-sensitive clit and you hiss. “—l-like to know that,” you manage to choke out.

He twists the knob on the shower head so the water flows gently, tapering toward the middle. He runs it over you from a distance and it’s warm and lovely; he moves it closer and closer until you yelp, feeling the water pressure at your core. It shakes you.

“Good?” he murmurs and you nod, shutting your eyes against the glaze of heat you feel building from within. “More?” You nod again and the water changes; it’s more tapered, stronger. You squirm, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth bench beneath you. He sees what you need and suddenly his warm, slick fingers meet yours, entwining with them. He moves the faucet in a dainty circle and you feel like your eyes are going to roll back in your head. “More?”

You gasp a “yes” and the pressure ramps up again and you writhe, feeling like you will explode. You feel another, new sensation and your eyes shoot open—it’s his finger, slipping over your clit and then inside you. You cry out.

“Too much?”

“N-no, I…no…please…” You’re babbling, but he knows what to do. He moves the faucet closer, the pressure on your clit intensifying and the heat you feel nearly blinding you. Then his finger moves inside you and your back arches and you’re slipping, slipping, and you feel him move closer and you throw out your other arm and brace yourself on his chest.

“How does that feel?” he whispers, and you know he’s doing this on purpose, know he’s trying to make you talk to hear the sweet sounds you’ll make, know he’s aware how the multitasking makes your head spin.

“I—I…it…ummm…Jumin!” you manage, gasping as he curls his finger inside of you, flicking the thin, hard stream from the faucet over you again and again and…

“Tell me how it makes you feel,” he commands, and you stammer, gasping for air, and he curls his finger again, hitting your g-spot as the stream of water stills, focused directly on your tender, throbbing clit.

“Ah—!” is all you manage before you fall apart, your back hitting the shower wall as you come hard and fast, the ice cold heat at your core tearing you to pieces. Through the haze, you think you cry out again, and his finger moves incessantly within you and the water makes you see bright shards of white through your closed eyelids.

You gasp, coming down slowly, trembling all over. You squint your eyes open and his face is so close to yours, his eyes full of awe and lust and adoration. He slips his finger out and diverts the faucet away from you. You catch your breath, head swimming.

“So,” you say finally, when you have enough breath to speak. “You fantasied about making me come with the shower faucet?”

“Yes, of course,” he responds, tilting his head quizzically, the water from the main faucet cascading over his shoulders as he stands up straight. “Is that so strange?”

You laugh. “It’s not,” you say. He offers you a hand and you stand too, slipping and sliding until you find purchase on the grippy strips lining the bottom of the tub.

“Now,” he says in a businesslike tone. “Would you like to wash off, get dry, and then have sex in the bed?”

Your face breaks into a grin because that’s so very Jumin and god, you love him for it.

“Yes,” you say, and you reach for the soap, pouring a fragrant stream of it onto your hand. “But can I ask you a question first?”

“Anything, my love.” He adjusts the second faucet so it’s more accessible for you.

“Earlier, when you said you couldn’t be around me…”

“Ah,” he says—and his serious expression is somewhat offset by the way the water glues his hair to the sides of his head, somehow silly and sexy at the same time. “I meant that I’m able to keep up a façade as long as I’m not around you. As soon as you’re by my side, I feel.” 

You press up against his back, letting the soap spill through your fingers. You kiss the smooth, warm skin there and he sighs contentedly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you almost can’t hear him over the rushing water. “Thank you for allowing me to feel.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Tiny baby first attempt at a taglist~ Please let me know if you’d like to be added! DM me and I’ll add you so you’ll be tagged in any mysme writings. ♡

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06

[sithsecrets]

bruises like your fingerprints | din djarin x reader

din leaves a mark on you by accident, and it nearly kills him.

---

2k words

mentions: allusions to rough sex, din gives reader a bruise but it’s done completely by accident and without malice, inner turmoil, regret, self-loathing on din’s part, fear of rejection on readers part, it’s all fine in the end

---

Din catches sight of the bruise as you’re putting away a freshly cleaned dish, arms stretched over your head to reach the cabinet. It’s a pretty ugly mark, the purple-red splotch spanning over the width of your upper arm and curving around where he can’t quite see. Din wonders where you got it, wonders why it looks almost like a… like a hand. Like his hand.

The world spins and then falls away. For one brief, fleeting moment, the bruise on your arm and the knowledge that he put it there is all that exists in this world. Din has no idea how he makes it up to the cockpit without hurting himself, but he does, and when he finally comes to in the pilot’s chair, he prays he wasn’t rude as he left. Shame and horror wash over him like a tide of lava, burning his insides, crawling up his throat like bile. He can picture it now, how it all happened. You were on top of him in his bunk last night, face scrunched up in blissful agony as you came on his cock, and Din grabbed you… He grabbed you hard, apparently, harder than he knew, and now you have a mark on you. You let him have you like that, you put your body and your heart and your safety in his hands, and what does Din do? He batters you like a fucking animal, hurts you like you don’t mean a fucking thing to him. You must hate him, you have to, because he sure does hate himself. Maker, how can he ever—

“Din?”

Your voice is like a cup of ice water down his back.

“Yeah?” he coughs, jarred from his thoughts. You’re there at the door when he turns around, a plate of food in one hand, a cup in the other.

Right, dinner. That’s what the two of you had been doing before he lost his mind.

Din must have had his wits about him when he darted off, because you offer him his food like nothing’s wrong. He wants to say he’s sorry, wants to fall at your feet and beg your forgiveness, but you’re just standing there talking to him with your pretty face and sweet voice, fiddling with the fastening of his cloak… Din just doesn’t have the heart to do it, not now. And so he lets you go away, deciding then and there that you’re too precious to be so mistreated by him.

---

Mercy of mercies, Din’s next hunt comes soon, taking him away from you and away from his thoughts. The quarry’s an easy catch, but he’s grateful for the break, grateful for the distance from what he’s done…

You and the baby are waiting for him when he comes back with the man he was looking for, all smiles after the carbonite system’s been engaged. Din couldn’t be happier to see the two of you, heart heavy after days apart. The Child’s laugh and your bright eyes cheer him in no time, though, and you even make all of Din’s favorites for dinner, talking with the baby as you cook. Maker, he loves you…

In all honesty, the existence of your bruise slips his mind for a while there, the thought pushed down the joy of a good evening. It’s not until after the baby’s in bed that he thinks of it again, not until you come up into the cockpit barefoot and dressed for bed, a vision in a tattered shirt and damp hair.

“Hey,” you say softly, coming over where Din’s positioned himself in the pilot’s seat. He finds himself reaching for you immediately, drawing you in with one outstretched hand.

“Hey,” he says back, giving you a squeeze. You look at him for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, and Din already knows what you’re after.

“I’m going to go get in bed,” you tell him, shy like you always are when you ask him to lie down with you. “You wanna come relax for a while? Tell me about the hunt?”

Din takes a look at your bare thighs, at the way your shirt stretches over your chest, and he wants to say yes on impulse. But then his eyes graze that awful, purple-pink bruise on your arm, and it’s like there’s a rock in his stomach.

“I’m tired, mesh’la,” he tells you, reading between the lines of your words, “but I’ll come sit with you until you fall asleep, if you want.”

You say you understand without a second’s hesitation, smiling prettily and saying that you hope he gets some sleep two. The both of you go down the ladder together, and Din’s heart clenches when he sees that you’ve already made up your bed on the floor. To think that you were going to let him fuck you again, and all after he hurt you so badly…

It’s like this for three or four more days. You’ll come to Din all shy and soft, saying that you really did miss him while he was gone, asking if he wants to try and get some rest, words thick with subtext. Din turns you down every time, offering up some flimsy excuse, and it pains him to watch your face fall. The third time, he’s pretty sure you went down to the hull and cried. Still, he just… can’t. Not when he knows what happened the last time the two of you had sex.

Another night’s come, and, like clockwork, you’re climbing up the cockpit. Din can hear your feet on the bars, he tracks how many steps you take until you get to the door…

“Baby’s asleep,” is the first thing you say to him, coming to settle at his side. You seem tense, arms crossed over your chest, face pinched. Din finds himself possessed with the urge to kiss the crease in between your eyebrows until it’s gone.

“Good,” he says, “that’s good.”

Conversation lapses between the both of you, dread heavy in Din’s stomach. You’re upset, that much is obvious, but he has no idea how to ask you about how you’re feeling, can’t make his mouth form the right words. Thankfully, you seem intent on forcing his hand.

“Din,” you say, breaking the silence, “can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“Did I… Did I do something? To upset you, I mean.”

You’re trying to be casual, trying to downplay the pain you’re feeling, but Din can see it. He can see it in the way you shy away from him, how you won’t come close or look him right in the eye. Any other time, you’d be in his lap or in the jump seat, carefree as you ask him about what he’s been up to or tell him about what happened while he was away. More than anything, Din would like to put the whole thing behind him, just tell you that he was having a rough couple of days and make it all up to you in every way he knows how, but he can’t just get over it. The idea of touching you again makes his stomach drop because if he touches you, he runs the risk of hurting you again, and Din’s not sure he could bear that sort of thing a second time.

“No,” he says to you, falling all over himself to reassure you, “not at all. You’ve been great, really.”

You nod at that, unmoved. “Okay, but did you meet someone, or something? I don’t— You’ve just been distant lately, and I don’t understand. I thought everything was good. Between me and you, I mean.”

“No,” Din declares, “I didn’t— There’s no one, I promise. And things are good between me us. I would tell you if they weren’t.”

This earns him another nod, but still, the look on your face never changes. If anything, you look even more hurt and insecure than you did when you first came into the cockpit.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me anymore,” you murmur, eyes cast downward. Something about the slump of your shoulders and the thickness of your voice tells Din that you’re trying not to cry. He’s overwhelmed with the sudden, intense urge to impale himself. “I know you don’t belong to me or whatever, and I get it if you’re tired of always having the same person—”

Din doesn’t mean to interrupt you, but he can’t take this anymore. “I hurt you, mesh’la, the last time we had sex. I put my hands on you and left a mark, and I hate myself for it, and that’s why I haven’t taken you up on any of your offers these past few days.”

You look stricken. “Din, what—? Do you mean my arm?”

Din’s heart sinks— of course you’d noticed. How could you have not noticed something as ugly as what he did to you?

“I’m so sorry, cyar’ika. I can’t believe I lost control like that. I have no idea what came over me, but when I saw the bruise on you—”

Now it’s your turn to interrupt Din, though your voice is gentle and insistent as you do so. “It didn’t hurt, Din, not when you did it and not after. I knew you were holding on to me, but I didn’t notice anything on me until the next day. And it’s not like I haven’t left marks on you either, so seriously, it’s alright.”

You’re speaking of the hickeys you leave on Din’s next and chest sometimes, bitemarks that stain him purple and red for days. He likes them in the moment and after, especially when he’s alone and wants to be reminded of you. But that’s all—

“Different,” Din says, shaking his head, “that’s way different. I let you do that to me, and I like it. I manhandled you like a fucking animal, and I don’t deserve to touch you ever again because of that. You should be treated with respect, especially when you’re having sex.”

“Din,” you press, stepping closer to him now, “please. Believe me when I say that I don’t care about the bruise. It doesn’t hurt, it never did hurt, and it’s not going to ever hurt. You didn’t do it on purpose, and I don’t feel disrespected or mistreated, or whatever else you’re picturing in your head. What really hurt was having you reject me. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

The way your voice becomes small and quiet makes Din’s heart clench, and it’s then that he decides that he can’t do this anymore.

“You forgive me?” he asks, desperate. “For everything, I mean.”

The tension in your body ebbs, posture relaxing, and the quirk of your smile seems almost tired.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” you say slowly, fingers resting on the side of his neck, “but if it’ll make you stop hating yourself, then yes, Din, I forgive you.”

Just to hear you say it is a relief, but nothing soothes his anxiety more than the way you drop right in his lap like you’ve been doing it all your life.

“Now please,” you groan, arms threaded around his neck, “come lie down with me while the baby’s asleep. I’ve missed you, and I’m ready to quit missing you before you have to go away again.”

You really are beautiful, Din decides, and he really is lucky to have you.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but only because you’re asking so nicely.”

It’s a tease and you know it, grumbling about how insufferable he is even as you fiddle with his cape. You’re thinking about how you’re going to undress him, Din’s sure, familiar with the look in your eyes after all these days together. He’s more than fine with being objectified once in a while.

“If you really hated me, you wouldn’t have come up here begging for me to come crawl in bed with you, cyar’ika.”

“I’ll take my forgiveness back, Djarin,” you warn, mock-offended, “mark my words.”

“Let me kiss you first,” Din says, knowing you can’t resist that, “and then you can decide if you’re still angry with me.”

[fandomsonrequests]

dad!ateez: your instincts kick in this time

reader is female. kind of a second part to this but not really..? it could be read as a second part requested by an anon, i hope you enjoy it!

taglist: @ddeonghwva​

Hongjoong: 

You wake up to an empty bed and a loud clang in the kitchen. You reach over to the lamp beside you, blearily blinking away the sleep in your eyes as your ears pick up various giggling in the hallway. The digital clock beside the lamp read 2:30 am. It took you a couple of seconds to realize what was happening before you were jumping out of bed and storming towards the kitchen.

“Kim Hongjoong and Kim Junseo,” You grumble as you appear in the kitchen doorway. 

The two loves of your life stopped what they were doing- which was currently mixing some espresso with a shot of some energy drink. You knew what this meant- your husband had no plan of sleeping yet and your son thought it would be a good idea to go along. But you, of course, weren’t having it.

“It was daddy’s idea,” The little boy said and pointed to his father the minute he saw your unamused expression.

“Yah, don’t sell me out like that-” 

“It’s two-thirty in the morning. Go to sleep,” You lifted your finger before they could protest. “You need sleep, you’re still growing.” You tell your son before facing your husband. “And you, have been working overtime. Come on now misters- off to bed.”

The father and son pair decided to follow before you push them into bed. But as Junseo hops off the counter, he knocks the glass of espresso-energy drink cocktail down to the ground. Your body moved on its own accord before you could realize what happened, and grabbed the glass, spilling some of the content on the floor.

“Go to bed, I’ll clean this up.” You say when you come to your senses. “And please for the love of God, no more staying up.”

Seonghwa: 

It was a sunny day in the amusement park. You, Seonghwa, and Hyojin were by the large slides. And of course, Seonghwa was taking pictures of his two beautiful models, whether candid or planned. 

“Again, again!” Hyonjin cheered when she reached the end of the slide, standing up and clapping her hands. “But let’s do the big ones!”

“Are you sure you can handle that sweetie?” Your husband asks her as he helps her off the slide, fixing her little dress and the bow in her hair. He smiles when she nods and tugs on his and your hands to lead you to the slide she wanted. 

She had definitely gotten this enthusiasm from you. She was always so ready to jump into things and try them, even if it seemed scary. He always called her his brave little princess for that. Sometimes he feels like he’d get a heart attack from what she does but as long as he or you was there, it was fine. 

You and Seonghwa stay at the end of the slide and wave up to her when she reaches the top. She waves back energetically before sitting on the small mat that was given to her to help go down the rather enormous slide. As Hyonjin scoots forward, she lets out an excited holler, her long tresses flowing behind her as she zooms down towards you. 

Unfortunately, she tried to slow down her descent by sticking her feet to the sides. And of course, by the law of inertia, the sudden stop makes her fly forward. Her face could have planted into the ground if you hadn’t jumped forward and caught her in your arms. 

You both tumbled to the ground and Seonghwa immediately rushes over to you, ushering his two princesses to the side. “Are you two okay?” He says as he looks over the both of you. 

Hyonjin, oblivious as ever, only nodded. “Mommy caught me so I’m okay.” 

“I’m a little shaken,” You admit but the smile never leaves your face. “Maybe a kiss from my prince and my baby would help me feel better.”

Hyonjin only giggled and placed a big, wet kiss on your cheek. You chuckled at the ticklish feeling before Seonghwa cups your chin, gently turning your head to face him. He lovingly strokes your cheek before leaning in to press a short but sweet peck to your lips. 

Yunho:

“Daddy look, it’s uncle Mingi!” Eun-jung, now nine years old, said from her spot on her father’s shoulder. 

Yunho laughs as she indicates the giraffe in front of them. “Oh yeah, it does look like him.” He mused and handed her a short branch of leaves for her to feed to the creature.

Yunho turns to you while you were busy entertaining your son, Eun-sang. He was now three years old and can hold a conversation with people. It felt like only yesterday when his son was just born and his sister was begging to hold him. 

“You enjoying the giraffes buddy?” Yunho asks his son.

“Mhmm! I wanna see something ewls too.” Eun-sang says. 

“I’ll take him to see the koalas,” You tell Yunho. “Don’t give daddy a hard time, Eun-jung!” 

“I won’t mommy,” She promises and waves goodbye to you.

You adjusted your hold on your son, lifting him up further, and started to walk to where the koala enclosure was. The two of you were so wrapped up in your conversation that you didn’t notice a couple of children running in your direction. Yunho’s eyes widened, realizing that the kids could barrel into you, making you fall.

“______, watch out!”

You turn at his voice, seeing the kids rushing at you. You jump to the side but you lose your footing, making you tumble to the ground. Your son grasps onto you but you swerve and fall onto your knees so that you don’t crush him under you. He looks up at you, wondering what had happened. “You okay mommy?” He asks and puts his small hand on your cheek

Your husband rushes to you, your daughter following alongside him and checking up on the both of you. Eun-jung, being the hands on older sister she was, took her brother from you while Yunho helped you up. “God, that was terrifying.” He admits and helps you brush off the dirt on your clothes. “But that was quick of you babe.” 

“Mommy has Spider-Man refwekses.” Eun-sang giggles and you smirk up at your husband. 

“HAH, I told you I had them too.”

Yeosang:

You cooed down to your daughter, Haneul, as she lay on her back on the changing table. She smiles up at you, hands outstretched as you cleaned her up and started changing her diaper. You handed her the chicken stick rattle that Yeosang gave her the month she could start holding things to distract her.

“Oh, that’s stinky!” Ji-ho complains as he passes by his little sister’s room, dragging his toy behind him. 

“You’ll be on diaper changing duty one day, mister!” You call out to your son in amusement as you finish up. 

You only chuckle to yourself when he protests, making you shake your head. You hum to yourself as you throw away all the used materials. “Where’s her shorts?” You ask yourself and momentarily turn away to get it.

But what you didn’t realize was that Haneul grew bored of her rattle and became impatient of just laying there. She cooed as she started to roll over, thinking that it was just another flat surface to crawl all over. The second she fell off the edge of the changing table was the second you turned back around to put it on her.

Your eyes widened and it felt like the whole world slowed down. You lunged forward and caught your baby in time before she could hit the ground. The force of the impact made her cry, causing you to snap out of your stupor. You cradle her to you, gently hushing her and leaning her head against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay baby, mommy’s here,” You coo to her and pull away to kiss her head. “You’re such a little troublemaker aren’t you?”

San:

The sounds of giggles floated around the kitchen along with the clanging of cupboards. It was currently eight-thirty in the evening in the Choi household. Nari and Sooyun, both four and nine years old respectively, were in the kitchen, sneaking cookies from the cookie jar after managing to slip past their babysitter who was watching tv in the living room. 

They were supposed to be asleep in their shared room and for a while they were. That was until the coast was clear and their babysitter returned to the living room. That meant to wake up from their fake sleep, grab some goodies from the kitchen, and head back into the room to snack on it. 

Nari and Sooyun were now in their room, mouth, and teeth covered in chocolate while their little plastic cups were filled with strawberry milk. They giggled to themselves, high on success after sneaking past their babysitter. But that joy was short-lived when they heard the familiar rumble of the car’s engine in the driveway. 

“Quick Nari!” Sooyun urges her sister and the two girls quickly cleaned up and disposed of their trash. They hastily taped the plastic bag full of Kisses Chocolates, thinking their parents wouldn’t find out, threw it in the fridge, and jumped into bed. The oldest girl turned off the lights and made sure things were in order before sleeping. 

You and San come to check on your two angels after your little date night. But as soon you walked into the room, you knew something was off. You spot the little crumbs by the foot of Sooyun’s bed and the pink plastic cup that she had hastily shoved under it. You shake your head in amusement, walking over to pick it up as your husband kissed the two girls’ foreheads.

“Why do you have that?” San asks when he sees you with the cup. You say nothing, but nod your head towards your daughters. It took him a couple of seconds before he realized what had happened and he nodded in understanding. 

“Oh well, I guess we won’t be going to the ice cream parlor tomorrow,” San sighs loudly, seeing the girls tense under their blankets. “I guess you and I will be the only ones to go. What do you say _____-”

“We’re sorry mommy!” Nari said, the first to cave in. She was sniffling as tears threatened to fall down her round cheeks. “Please take us to ice cream!”

Mingi:

You chuckle as Young-soo bounces on the mattress, cupping his dad’s cheeks when his father leans over him. Mingi settles his son in the middle of the mattress again while you stay on the other side, ready to catch him in the next few seconds. Your husband flops down onto the edge of the mattress, making the two-year-old boy fly up in the air and squeal in delight. 

“Hold on, I have to head to the bathroom,” You say as you get up. 

“Don’t take too long babe,” Mingi says as he pulls his son towards him and tickles his stomach.

You assure him and jog to the bathroom, leaving the two boys alone. For a while, Mingi entertains Young-soo by blowing raspberries into his stomach or cheeks and by tickling his sides. Joyous giggles fill the air but the boy soon grows bored of just being tickled. 

“Up, up!” He tells his dad, shaking the man’s much larger hand. 

“Let’s wait for mommy bud, it’s not safe.” He tells his son. The boy, sensing that he didn’t get what he wanted, started to burst into tears. Mingi cringes at the sound, trying his best to hush him. Eventually, he caves in when none of his attempts seem to work. 

“Alright, alright. Just this once. But don’t tell your mom.” He says as he settles his son on the center of the mattress again. 

Once more, he launches his son into the air but the little boy twists, making him go off course. And he would’ve fallen to the floor if you didn’t enter in time to catch him. You grab Young-soo by the arm and leg and pull him to you. “Oh my God- Song Mingi.”

“Baby he wanted it!” He tried to protest, only to see his son make a funny face at him. 

Wooyoung:

“Good job kiddo,” Wooyoung says as he pats his son’s head.

Minjoon beams proudly up at his father, continuing with mixing the batter for their little cake meant for you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he took after his father’s cooking skills- in fact he always made sure to mention it to his friends. And because he wanted to level up his skills to be on par with his dad’s he always made sure to practice whenever he could. 

Minjoon hums as he rocks back and forth on the bar stool behind the counter. Wooyoung hears the creaking noise of the chair’s wood and reaches out to still his son’s actions. He didn’t want to have the high chair incident repeat again. 

“You can’t sit still, now can you buddy?” The man teases his son, only to receive a pout. 

“I’m not going to fall dad,” Minjoon argues but follows nonetheless. He only pouted more when his dad ruffled his hair and went back to what he was doing. 

Eventually the two fell into routine again, exchanging some father-son banter and helping each other around the kitchen. The two grew focused on what they were doing that Wooyoung didn’t notice that his son started to rock back and forth on the seat again.

You walk into the kitchen a little later, a gentle smile on your face. You were about to ask what the two were doing when Minjoon tilts a little too backward, making the chair tip over in that direction. You drop whatever you were holding at that moment and rush to catch him. 

Your son falls with a choked yell, landing into your arms as you both topple to the floor from the impact. Wooyoung ran from his spot by the stove, turning it to low heat first- you didn’t want a fire to start, and over to you. “What happened??”

You look up from your spot on the floor, your arms protectively wrapped around Minjoon. “The little rascal fell,” You breathed. You look down to your son and kiss his hair, letting out a relieved chuckle. “You have got to stop doing that, buddy.” 

Jongho: 

One of the perks of being an active family is that the kids are always entertained and you get to have fun at the same time. Exercise is just a bonus. Right now, you were in this bouncy house/parkour gym for people of all ages- a treat for your kids who managed to get high grades in class. 

As of now, your twins were by a small area where some short wire-lines were set up for the zipline. It was the type of zipline where you hang by your hands, allowing you to jump into the pit filled with soft blue blocks. Jongho was on top with your son, Young-min, while you and your daughter, Young-soon, were at the foot of the zipline, cheering him on. 

“Come on Young-min! You got this!” She encourages as she bounced around. She was always the more daring one between the two of them. 

Jongho knelt by his son, cupping the back of his head. “You ready bud?” He asks gently.

The boy only nodded, both excitement and nerves filling his system. He brushes his sweaty palms against his pants and releases a curt sigh. His fingers then curled around the bars that the gym worker handed him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared-”

“No, dad-” Young-min answers firmly. “I got this.”

He exhales and pushes off, feeling the wind whip against his face as he zipped down. He could faintly hear his sister’s cheers as he raced to the bottom. Unfortunately, he doesn't let go on time. So when he hits the metal stopper at the bottom of the zipline, the force of the impact causes him to launch forward, throwing him out of his hold on the zipline and away from the safety pit below. 

You instinctively reached out, your body reacting before you could register what was happening, and pulled him towards you; you’ve practically saved him from potentially face planting into the ground. He looks shaken up when you help him to the ground, eyes wide with adrenaline. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, a bit worriedly, as you look over him for any pulled muscles. 

All anxiety melts away when he beams widley and throws his hand up in the air. “AGAIN!” 

[twistedtummies2]

Descending From the Sky - Part 1 (500 Followers Special)

IN CELEBRATION OF 500 FOLLOWERS...! (freezes as someone whispers in my ear) ...Eh? You...say I have 509 now? ...Frick. WELL, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER! Something a lot of people have wanted me to write - on this site as well as an alternate site I frequent - is a “rampage story.” You know the type: macro-sized predator goes stomping around eating people and causing destruction in their wake. I have several ideas for such tales, though most of them are still in the “pre-production” stages.  I decided to go with the one that could offer me the clearest possible plot, and which I know a few people were hoping to see: this is the third chapter in my Giant AU for My Hero Academia, based on Jack and the Beanstalk. In the past two sections, Midoriya and Kaminari went up to see the Giants. THIS time, however, one of the giants comes down to Earth themselves.  I mustn’t say more though, or I shall spoil the fun. This is a two-parter; part two will be up tomorrow. As is typical, this first section is mostly just expository stuff and...well...actual STORY than anything else. Most of the “fun stuff” will be in tomorrow’s second half. Keeping this in mind, I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for the support!

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Three months had passed since Izuku Midoriya and Denki Kaminari had descended from the beanstalk with the Golden Eggs.

The result of their fortunate adventures were plainly visible: the farm where they both lived had become far more prosperous. The fields had been able to widen, as their master, Aizawa, had been able to hire new farmhands, buy new equipment, and even purchase a new cow for milking! (Although Izuku couldn’t help but notice how much whiter Milky White’s output had always been.) The farmhouse had been repaired, and plans were in motion to construct a larger building, all while a second barn was being built to house all the new supplies. Over all of this rising splendor towered the magnificent beanstalk...and on the unusually hot morning where our story begins, the boys were very glad about that. Kaminari sighed as he paused in his work, wiping his brow with a spotted handkerchief before stuffing it back into his pocket. Though the boys could afford nice clothes, they usually wore their old peasant garb while working After all, there was no point in ruining the good stuff. “Y’know something, Midoriya?” he mumbled out, looking up. Midoriya paused, putting down his hammer and looking down at Kaminari. His expression was wide-eyed and attentive. Kaminari huffed, leaning against the side of the shed the two were in the process of building. “Life doesn’t make sense sometimes.” “Yeah, that’s a fact,” Midoriya said, with a small smile, and chuckled, turning his freckled face back towards his work. He was standing on a ladder and tapping nails into place to hold the roof boards. Kaminari was holding the nails in a jar, and passing them up, and was supposed to be holding the ladder. In that moment, however, the distracted blonde was more focused on the jar, biting his lip as he stirred the nails boredly. The pair had been alternating positions every couple of boards, since, obviously, it was a lot more work to hammer than to hold. Not that the heat made either of the stations particularly fun. Kaminari tried to get a bit of shade from the side of the shed, but as the Sun was facing in the wrong direction, there was no shade to be had. “What I mean is,” Denki went on, “I thought all this extra stuff would make our lives easier: a little less of a workload on us. Instead, it feels like we haven’t a chance to just...you know...breathe.” “I know,” Midoriya murmured, pausing in his work and dipping his head. “Nor a chance to visit our friends ‘upstairs.’” “Friend. Singular,” Kaminari corrected. “Unless you count that mean man-eater as a friend…” Both of the teens shuddered, and Kaminari even crossed himself. Midoriya shook his head and refocused on hammering as Kaminari passed up another nail, and made sure to grab hold of the ladder with one hand. He didn’t want Midoriya to fall over. For one thing, it would be kind of embarrassing if either of them broke an arm falling from a ladder after managing to climb up and down a mammoth beanstalk and never tumble once.

“Mr. Aizawa says that after this is built, we should be able to rest a bit,” Midoriya said, with a bright-eyed smile that made his green irises look like emeralds. “Maybe we’ll get to go back up there in a couple weeks.”

“Maybe,” murmured Kaminari, and frowned. “Hey, do you think he’s giving us extra work to keep us from going up there?” Midoriya frowned and turned carefully on the ladder, looking to the beanstalk, then looking over the farmland...and shook his head again, this time in disagreement. “No,” he answered, and continued hammering; the boards were hard and the nails long. “With everything going on, I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt there. There’s just...so much expansion, with all the buying and selling we’ve been doing…” “I’m glad he let us keep those Golden Eggs!” grinned Kaminari. “They look cool in the bedroom.” Midoriya nodded wordlessly in agreement, and began to descend the ladder. It was Kaminari’s turn to take care of the next few boards-and-nails. “We’ll get back there soon,” he said. “Things just have to get harder before they get easier.” “That’s one way of looking at it,” shrugged Kaminari, giving Midoriya the nail jar as he took the hammer. He bit his lip and looked off to the side. Midoriya tilted his head, concerned by the unhappy expression on his friend’s face. “Hey...something else wrong?” he asked. “Just...when I went up there last time…” Kaminari trailed off...took a breath...and shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, and smiled. “Let’s just get back to work. The faster we finish, the faster we can get inside where it’s cool.” Midoriya looked skeptical, but before he could answer, a voice interrupted the pair… “It’s going to take a little longer than expected to do that.” The boys looked up. The baggy-eyed figure of Aizawa was approaching the pair. The teens stiffened, almost as if standing at attention. “Good morning, Master!” they chorused, as if speaking to a drill sergeant. Aizawa rolled his eyes and made a grumpy sound. He made a lot of those. “Relax, you’re not in trouble. Yet,” he mumbled, then went on a bit more clearly: “I need you two to stop work on the shed today. There’s another job for you both now.” The teens looked at each other, then back to the head farmer. “Um...no offense, sir,” Midoriya spoke up, and sounded sincerely polite and curious as he spoke, “But why not get one of the others to do it?” “Or do it yourself?” suggested Kaminari, in the same tone. Neither sounded defiant, just a little confused. Aizawa crossed his arms and sighed through his nose, looking out over the farmland, watching the new helpers hoe and shovel and rake away… “I have to stay,” he said, simply and strictly. “And as for the rest of the farmhands…” He looked back to the pair somewhat earnestly. “...I trust you both more than most of them.” The two boys practically had stars in their eyes. “You...you trust us?” peeped Midoriya. “Really?” Kaminari gasped. Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he droned, drably. “I trust Mineta more than you both, and he’s a donkey. And I trust my dog more than I trust him.” The pair ducked their heads with nervous, bashful smiles. Kaminari scratched the back of his head, kicking an imaginary pebble, while Midoriya rubbed one arm, trying to look anywhere but into Aizawa’s face. Aizawa rolled his eyes and then cleared his throat. “Ahem...the new help has loaded the wagon with produce to take to market,” he informed the pair. “Change clothes and hitch the horse up, then take it all. And this time, PLEASE don’t try to trade anything on the way for Magic Beans. One big green liability is enough.” He looked to Midoriya pointedly with those words. Midoriya gulped guiltily. “We’ll do our best, Master,” Kaminari promised, and slung an arm around Midoriya as he gave a cocky grin. “Just leave it to us! We’ll come back with more money than you can shake a stick at! Although I don’t know why you’d want to…” Aizawa just made another grumpy sort of sound and paused before going on… “Mind your way through the forest. Don’t stray from the path. Keep the cart moving on its course: some of the new boys have said they’ve encountered robbers in the woods, ever since…” He pointed up towards the clouds indicatively. “We’ll be careful, Mr. Aizawa,” vowed Midoriya, then looked to Kaminari. “C’mon, let’s get moving!” The duo folded up the ladder, and darted off to put away their tools before getting ready for the journey to market. Aizawa watched them go, then looked back to the partially finished shed, then turned his gaze heavenward. He glared as he looked at the top of the beanstalk...or, at least, the furthest point he could see, as it disappeared beyond the blue sky’s crest. He shook his head and pinched his brow as he walked off to see about feeding the chickens. “This place has never been the same,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I could decide if that was good or bad…”

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Meanwhile, in the Land of the Giants… “Sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” The red-haired, fang-toothed giant known as Kirishima looked with concern to his friend. His fellow titan, Bakugou, narrowed his own crimson eyes, a sour expression on his face as he lounged on a sofa in their living room. “Hell’s that s’posed to mean?” he sneered. “What do you think’s gonna happen while I’m here?” Kirishima opened his mouth to answer...then closed it again. “...Never mind,” he shrugged, and gave a cheerful smile as he slung the leather backpack over his back. “Anyway, I better get going. Tamaki’s probably gonna get all anxious if I’m late; start thinking if I still wanna be his friend, and so on…” “Tch,” Bakugou scoffed, and took a sip of the coffee he held in his hand. “How come you hang out with that wuss anyway? He’s softer than you are!” “Hey, you can’t pick your friends!” “Yes, you can,” droned Bakugou, boredly. “It’s family. You can’t pick your family.” “That, too.” Bakugou blinked slowly, his expression tremendously dull as he took another drink. “Whatever. It’ll be nice to not have your dumb hair poisoning my vision,” he grumbled. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too,” Kirishima chuckled. Bakugou just grunted, taking yet another drink. He licked his lips thinly as Kirishima tilted his head. “Hey...you certain you’re alright?” “What makes you think I’m not?” “I dunno...just...you’ve been a lot quieter lately. And you haven’t gone down to mess with the little guys in a couple of months. Not that I mind that at all…” He grinned. “Am I rubbing off on you a little, maybe?” “Dream on. I just haven’t had an appetite for ‘em.” “Uh-huh. Sure,” Kirishima mumbled, sounded unconvinced, and gave a smile. “Well...anyway, I’ll be back by tomorrow. Guard the house well!” “The fuck do you mean ‘guard the house well’?!” snapped Bakugou, barking out his annoyance. “DO I LOOK LIKE A DAMN GUARD DOG TO YOU?!” Kirishima sniggered, and responded with a jaunty mock-salute. Whistling merrily, the friendly giant thus left the house. Bakugou growled (ironically sounding VERY much like an angry guard dog), his fingers twitching around his coffee cup as he finished his drink. He stifled a burp in his ballooning cheeks - “HHHMMMRRRLLLRRRPH...grm…” - and swallowed the excess gas back down, thumping his bare chest with a beefy fist before rising to his feet. The Barbarian-garbed colossus then tromped back to the kitchen, cleaning his cup and putting it aside to drain and dry. In truth, there was something on Bakugou’s mind. Something that had been buzzing around in his brain for months, and had become increasingly more annoying. I climbed a beanstalk to the top of the sky...I befriended a giant, was able to hide from another...and I was able to make my whole village happy, and even the king...do you think anyone who’s ‘just meat’ could even think of all that? The giant ground his teeth together, fingers twitching again. “Worthless little runt,” he growled to himself. “What does he know?” The little one Kirishima called “Midoriya” wouldn’t leave his mind. He kept trying to force the small one’s words aside, but the pathetic rat wouldn’t get out of his head. It was starting to drive the titan insane. He’d spent his whole life eating humans. He was bigger, stronger, faster, and all around better than they were. It was the law of the jungle: they were SUPPOSED to fill his belly. It was just their fault they were so small and tasty! That’s how he’d always justified it. That’s how he’d always felt about it. And it wasn’t as if he ate indiscriminately. But now… Someones gotta knock some sense into you, Bakugou! You can’t just eat people, it’s...it’s not right! And if one of my friends is in danger...I’ve got to do whatever I can to help them! No matter what! Bakugou snarled, clenching his fists at his sides. The little vermin had guts. What he wouldn’t give to introduce them to HIS guts... Still...he hadn’t been down to eat in months now...and the truth was, what he’d told Kirishima was true. He just...hadn’t been in the mood to eat little people in a while. It was really starting to piss him off, because this had never happened before. They were his FAVORITE food...so what was holding him back? GRRROOORRRLLLB… Bakugou winced and hissed through his teeth, clapping a hand to his belly. His fingers rubbed over his bare, strong, well-sculpted abs as his stomach gurgled and “brumbled” noisily. So far, all he he’d had that morning was coffee. It seemed his gut was demanding something more substantial. For a moment, the thought of dozens of squirming little morsels flashed in his mind...but he shook that thought away with a toss of his messy blonde locks, and instead relaxed slightly as he stomped towards the icebox. “Something light oughta kill those damn noises,” he muttered coarsely. “Where’d I put those cold cuts…?”

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The wagon full of pumpkins, apples, cucumbers, potatoes, corn, and all sorts of other home-grown delights rattled along the semi-level road that twisted and twined its way through the forest. Kaminari sat beside Midoriya, who held the reins, while an old gray mare hauled the cart along at a steady trot. “Easy there, Chiyo,” Midoriya smiled gently, as the horse huffed softly, ears flicking at a noise from somewhere in the underbrush. “Just a jackrabbit.” “Hopefully,” mumbled Kaminari, then cocked his head to the left. “Say, Midoriya? Do you think we’ll run into that Yagi guy who gave you the Magic Beans?” “I doubt it,” Izuku said wistfully. “I get the feeling that was a one-time deal, or something.” “Hm. Got it,” Kaminari grunted, looking away again, a somewhat pensive, pondering look on his face. Midoriya’s smile faded. “Kaminari...seriously, what’s been bothering you?” “What do you mean?” “You’re thinking. A lot. That’s...very unusual for you.” “Hey. Thinking is dangerous. It can lead to headaches.” Midoriya smirked and chuckled, then paused, pulling the horse to a stop. “Come on,” he said, gently, placing the reins at his side nad putting a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” Kaminari squirmed a bit uncomfortably. “We should keep going,” he said, quietly. “Aizawa said there were-” “We’ll be fine. Talk to me. We’re friends, right?” “Right...well, um...it’s just…” Kaminari took a deep breath, and let it out before speaking. “...I’ve felt...really bad ever since I went up the beanstalk.” “Bad as in sick?” “No, just...bad. Emotionally. I really messed things up, and I almost got killed for it. I was being greedy and stubborn and selfish, and...look, I still love money-” “And girls.” “Well, duh, girls are what make life worth living, and money helps there.” Midoriya sighed and rolled his eyes, still smiling. “But seriously,” Kaminari went on, shifting his position so he could look Midoriya in the face, “What I did was wrong and...well...kinda stupid, even for me. I wanna make up for it somehow, just...I don’t really know what to do. And with all the time that’s gone by-” “I forgive you.” Kaminari stopped short. “I forgive you,” Midoriya said, his smile gentle and friendly. “And I know Kirishima forgives you, too. If it makes you feel so bad, we’ll find a way to go up there and see if you can do something more. I wanna go back up there just as much as you do. But work’s gotta come first.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Kaminari sighed...then smirked, and adopted a dramatic pose, pointing forward. “Well...drive on, my good man!” Midoriya snickered at Kaminari’s over-the-top impression of a pompous nobleman. “Yes, My Lord,” he winked, and whipped the reins, clicking and calling out Chiyo’s name. Chiyo let out a soft whinny and began to move forward again. Kaminari paused to adjust his clothes: both he and Midoriya were dressed in sharp-looking coats and breeches, so they could look more presentable at the market. “Yellow and black are good colors,” smirked Kaminari, admiring the golden lining of his jacket. He grinned somewhat sneakily. “Hey, think I’ll impress a few ladies while we’re out?” Midoriya was about to respond...but before he could - and after the pair had only traveled about twenty or thirty yards - Chiyo suddenly let out a sharp cry and came to an equally sharp stop. “Whoa, whoa, girl!” called out Midoriya, and as the horse settled, he and Kaminari frowned and stood up in the wagon to see what was the matter. The pair were surprised by what they saw: a small girl, dressed in a somewhat ratty-looking white dress. She had metallic-colored hair, almost the color of steel, and red eyes that looked like a couple of fresh, ripe cherries. The girl was trembling slightly. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared up at the pair. She didn’t move off the path, even as she stood. The two teens looked to each other, then back to the girl, and smiled. “Hello there!” Midoriya said kindly, and stepped down from the cart, while Kaminari stayed aboard and took the reins, just in case the old mare got a bit fidgety. The girl didn’t answer. She stayed still as Midoriya approached. His smile remained gentle and good-natured as he got down on one knee, bringing himself to the little girl’s height. “What is your name, little girl?” he asked, sweetly. The girl paused, blinking just once, before answering in a plaintive, soft voice: “Eri.” “Eri,” repeated Midoriya. “That’s a nice name.” He looked back to the wagon. “Don’t you think so, Kaminari?” “Oh, yeah. Short but pretty,” Denki nodded. Midoriya smiled a little wider, and looked back to Eri. “What are you doing out here, Eri?” he asked, carefully, and looked about with some small amount of worry. “Are your parents around?” Eri bit her lip and squirmed where she stood, looking away and hugging herself. “My...my papa needs help,” she admitted quietly, sounding almost ashamed of the words. “I...I heard your cart coming, and...c-could you...could you help me?” Midoriya frowned with concern. “Of course we’ll help,” he promised sincerely, and looked back to Kaminari. “Stay here with Chiyo and the market goods. I’m gonna see what’s going on, then we can figure out what to do.” “Gotcha,” Kaminari nodded. “Be quick though.” “I’ll try,” Midoriya said, then looked back to Eri with another kind, sweet smile. “C’mon, Eri...let’s go, okay?” He extended a hand...and to his surprised, Eri stepped back, letting out a tiny, timid whimper, as if she expected to be hit. Midoriya looked at his palm, then up at the little girl. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. Just...take my hand, and tell me where to go. Alright?” Eri blinked a few times, looking between Midoriya’s face and his hand...then, her own tiny, trembling fingers clasped about his. Midoriya smiled and stood up, holding firmly but carefully onto the young lady as she led him off the path into the forest. Kaminari, for his part, watched them go. Once they were out of sight, he reached into the cart and picked out a juicy yellow apple. No reason he couldn’t have a snack while he waited: there was plenty in the cart to sell at market, anyway. He checked the surrounding trees as he took a crunching bite from the fruit. He made sure to be alert; he didn’t want to make any mistakes. After all, if Aizawa was right, it wouldn’t be a good idea to let their guard down in the forest… While Kaminari dutifully and calmly guarded the wagon, Eri led Midoriya deeper and deeper into the untouched woods, away from the road. Midoriya looked back and frowned; the cart disappeared from sight behind him. “How far away is your father, Eri?” he asked. “And what happened to him?” Eri bit her lip, and paused, keeping her head down. As they stopped, Midoriya looked to her with concern. “Eri?” he checked, quietly. “Please answer me.” Eri let out a whimper...and, without warning, pulled her hand away from Midoriya’s, as if his touch burned her. He stepped back with some alarm as her tiny, frail shoulders began to shake. He could hear her starting to cry. “...You’re nice,” she said very, very softly. “No one...no one has been nice to me...in such a long time…” She gulped and looked up to the teen with misty eyes. “I’m so sorry.” No sooner had Eri uttered the words...then suddenly, someone leapt out from the bushes behind Midoriya and grabbed hold of him. Midoriya gasped and whirled to try and fight back...but another figure lunged from behind a tree and grabbed hold of his other arm. Izuku’s eyes widened: both of his attackers were strapping, masculine figures, dressed in long black robes, with plague doctor’s masks upon their faces. “Wh-What is this?!” he shouted, and struggled to break free. “Let...LET GO OF ME!” “Good work, Eri.” Midoriya froze as he heard the words...and his eyes widened as a third figure stepped out from behind another tree, moving over to Eri’s side. They placed a dark-gloved hand on the girl’s shoulder; she whined like a kicked puppy and shuddered, clearly repulsed but unwilling to move away from the figure’s touch. This figure wore a long green coat, lined with unusual violet fur. He, too, wore a plague doctor’s mask...but this one was not the plain ivory visage the two strikers wore. His was decorated in red and gold, and covered only everything below his eyes. The golden eyes in question narrowed, a supercilious gleam in them. “Very good work, my daughter,” the voice behind the mask intoned. “Thank you for helping us, Izuku Midoriya. We have much to discuss.” The figure then pointed off in another direction, and uttered one command to the two cloaked men: “Take him!” “KAMINARI!” Midoriya yelled at the top of his lungs, struggling harder as one of the two attackers pulled a short club out of their robes. “KAMINARI! KAMINAR-!” WHACK! The world became fuzzy and filled with plain. Midoriya’s voice slurred unhealthily. “...K-Kamin-ar-i…” WHACK! Izuku knew no more. However, his cries had not gone unheard. Kaminari jolted as he heard Midoriya call to him with what sounded like real panic, the apple dropping from his hands and rolling across the dirt. It stopped right in front of the gray mare, who, thinking it was a treat, nibbled it happily. It was a lucky thing the apple distracted the horse, because the moment Kaminari heard the calls stop just as suddenly as they had come, he was on the move. He bounced off the wagon and bounded into the woods, calling back as he ran in the direction he’d seen Eri taking Midoriya. “MIDORIYA! MIDORIYA, I’M COMING!” Naturally, he was too late. Kaminari skidded to a halt, his expression horror struck, as he saw a second wagon not so far ahead...but this was no produce cart drawn by a farmer’s horse. Instead, it was a prison wagon, a cage-cart drawn by two black horses. He saw the driver’s plague doctor mask glint in the sunlight, and heard them laugh jeeringly as they whipped the horses up...then, the wagon rolled out of sight. Just before it disappeared, he caught sight of Midoriya, slumped over in the prisoner’s cage...alongside Eri and another figure he couldn’t rightly make out. Once it was gone, Kaminari stood stock still for several seconds, processing with dread what he had just witnessed...then, cursing under his breath, he dashed back through the woods to his own cart. Chiyo had just finished her apple, and let out a startled sound as the blonde-haired, yellow-eyed youth leapt back into the driver’s seat, tugging and cracking the reins. “C’mon, old girl!” he shouted. “We have to get back to the farm! This is an emergency!” The horse neighed, and the cart was soon turned around. Then, with another crack and a click, Kaminari rode the rattling wagon back down the road towards Aizawa’s farm as fast as he could…

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“Kidnapped?!” “Yeah!” Kaminari confirmed, emphatically. “I saw it happen, Mr. Aizawa! They were riding off with him; I couldn’t hope to catch up in time!” Aizawa grinded his teeth; a look of intense worry burned in his eyes. “Which way were they going?” he demanded, standing up from his desk in the room Kaminari had found him in. “South? West?” “East,” Kaminari replied. “Due East, no doubt of it.” “And you said the driver of the cart wore a plague doctor’s mask?” “Yes, sir!” Aizawa sighed. “There’s no doubt of it then,” he murmured, in an ominous tone of mortal dread. “He’s being taken to Yakuza.” Kaminari gulped nervously. Everyone in the Kingdom of Ua knew about Yakuza: it was one of two neighboring kingdoms, which had been feuding with the land for years on end. It was ruled by the evil King Kai; its armies were ruthless, and its defenses plentiful. While outright war had not been done in many years, relations between the kingdoms were still intensely...well...tense, to say the least. No one in Ua ever went to Yakuza...and lived to tell about it. “Wh-why would they take Midoriya?” Kaminari almost whimpered. “I can make a few guesses,” growled Aizawa curtly, as he dressed himself in his best hat and coat and looked to Kaminari. “I’m going to to take the new stallion to the castle. I have friends among the King’s Knights, they might be able to help us.” “I’ll go with you!” “No,” ordered Aizawa. “You stay here. I already have one of you in danger. I’m not getting you into any more trouble, and I don’t want you causing it, either.” “But I want to help!” “I know,” sighed Aizawa. “But this is no time for rash action!” “This is the PERFECT time for rash action!” Kaminari almost screamed out. “They took Izuku, and who knows what they’re gonna-?!” He stopped short at a burning, searing glare from Aizawa. He ducked his head and looked away. “...I’m...I’m sorry…” “Stay. Here,” Aizawa commanded, then added more softly, “Please.” Kaminari said nothing, but remained where he was. Aizawa looked the blonde haired boy over a time or two...then sighed again and shook his head, before hustling out of the house. There wasn’t a moment to lose. For a time, Kaminari stayed perfectly still where he stood. He listened. He waited. And the instant he heard the sound of Aizawa whistling to his horse, and the sound of the horse hooves galloping off into the distance...his eyes lifted. He looked to the beanstalk outside...and then moved to Aizawa’s desk. He hastily pulled out a small piece of parchment, and scribbled a message onto it. You said to leave you a note next time, the message read. I’m sorry, Master. I have to help my friend. I have to make up for my mistakes. Signed, Kaminari. With this managed, Kaminari clambered out of the open window, and crept towards the mighty beanstalk. He glanced from side to side, to make sure no one was looking...then, without another thought, he latched onto its based, grabbed hold of its stems and leaves...and began, once more, the long climb up...Up...UP…

“I’ll save you, Midoriya,” he promised, as he soon climbed up past the roof of the house, and kept right on climbing. “I’ll save you...one way or another…”

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“UUUURRRRRRRROOOORRRRRPH...mph...weak…” Bakugou snorted as he lounged back on the couch in the den of his and Kirishima’s home. His stomach was ever so slightly distended; just enough to make the strong, deep crevices between his six-pack muscles a little less well-defined, a clear but very small curve of fullness along his middle. One of his hands was resting upon his gut, covering his deep, black navel. He didn’t rub his stomach, didn’t scratch it...simply let his hand rest there, the limb rising and falling as his gut moved with his breathing. The ogre’s other arm was slung behind his messy-haired head as he glared with his usual, grouchy scowl at the ceiling, red eyes smoldering as he seemed to look through the ceiling itself...thinking and thinking. The (relatively) light meal he’d enjoyed left a pleasant warmth in his belly...but was not truly full yet. It barely made the slightest dent in his gut, and he knew he could fit more. But nothing around the house seemed to his satisfaction...and he had a feeling he knew what he wanted. What was stopping him? He knew what his stomach desired. He’d never denied it before. So why was he purposefully avoiding it now? He couldn’t even blame his appetite: he clearly wanted it, so what was holding him back? He didn’t know. This was...annoying. “Pissing me off,” he all but hissed to himself, fingers curling over his bare belly and twitching slightly with his ever-present anger. “Damn that little snack-rat...how’d that little fucker get inside my head anyhow…” He growled and shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts and the ever-repeating words. But they wouldn’t go away. He covered his ears, snarling and pulling at his hair. “Die, you stupid thoughts!” he snapped, trying to think of a way to force them out of his mind. He couldn’t take this much more…! He froze in the middle of his thoughts. His eyes widened as his ears pricked up. The giant listened closely. He could have sworn...he’d heard the scampering of tiny feet. He sniffed the air...and growled again, almost like a wild bear. “Fee, Fi, Fo-Fuck it. I don’t have time for this shit…” The giant swung himself out of his seat and onto the floor...but he didn’t stomp his way towards the source of the sound and scent. Instead, he cautiously began to prowl towards it, moving almost like a giant cat. He was fairly certain the little rat hadn’t realized he was around, and he wanted to keep it that way… The giant tip-toed out of the living room and towards the main hall. He peered around the corner, and his red eyes widened at what he saw. He looked both surprised and angry at the same time. Creeping across the floor was a familiar little fellow - no bigger than a mouse, compared to the man-eating man-mountain - with yellow hair and matching eyes. He nervously moved across the floor, peering from side to side and looking all around. “Kirishima?” he called out. “Hello? Is anybody home?” “Yeah. Someone’s home, little snack.” Kaminari jumped...then squealed with fright as he saw Bakugou step out from hiding. The giant’s teeth were bared in a vicious snarl, his fists clenched and visibly shaking. With a comical holler, Kaminari flailed and turned around, trying to make a mad dash back the way he had come… “COME BACK HERE, RAT!” Katsuki roared. “I’LL KILL YOU!” “That’s not a good incentive for me to come back!” Kaminari called back. Bakugou just let out a wordless shout of anger, and lumbered forward. In three long, strong strides, he moved in front of Kaminari. Kaminari skidded to a halt as the Giant glared and lifted one massive boot over him... “DIE, RUNT!” “YIPE!” Kaminari barely had time to scramble out of the way before the giant’s foot slammed into the floor. THOOM! Denki stumbled as the floor shook with the force of the stomp. He hit the floor was was briefly winded...and barely had time to lift a hand in a pleading gesture, a futile attempt to stop the inevitable, as Bakugou’s own giant fingers came swooping down towards him and snatched him. Kaminari cried out as he was hoisted into the air; vertigo hit him in an instant, and he felt woozy...but only for a second or two. He had much worse things to worry about as he was soon held up to the giant’s face. “What are you doin’ back here?” sneered Bakugou. “I...I was lookin’ for-GACK!” Kaminari choked and gasped as Bakuguou gave him a squeeze. His ribs felt nearly ready to cave in, and his spine creaked forebodingly. “I don’t give a damn,” Katsuki snorted, then smirked. “Guess it’s my luck you decided to try and rob us again. This time...you’re not goin’ home, runt.” Kaminari let out a terrified moan as Bakugou licked his lips. “I haven’t had a human to eat in months,” the ogre rumbled, his free hand rubbing his belly up and down. “Now, I’ll finally get a small taste again...thanks for comin’ to me, meat.” So saying, Bakugou closed his eyes and opened his jaws. Kaminari cried out as he was brought closer to the stinking hot maw of the man-eating monster, the tongue twitching as the teeth parted to reveal the slimy chasm of pink, soft flesh that would consume him. “W-Wait...WAIT, JUST A MINUTE! WAIT, PLEASE!” Kaminari yowled as the mouth loomed closer and closer, and he struggled in the giant’s grip. “I DIDN’T COME HERE TO STEAL, I PROMISE! PLEASE!” Bakugou stopped. His eyes opened...and he pulled Kaminari away from his jaws, closing them and glaring at the small morsel. “You’re...not here to steal?” he repeated, skeptically. Kaminari - relieved to be away from that mouth and the odor of digesting meat that came from it - sighed and nodded in confirmation. Bakugou glared darkly. “Why should I believe you?” “Um...b-because it’s true?” Kaminari eeped out. Bakugou’s glare did not soften. “Listen,” Kaminari said, and took a breath to steady himself before going on, still wiggling to try and find some semblance of comfort between the boa constrictors that were Bakugou’s mighty digits. “L-Listen, I...I’m sorry. For what I did last time. I know it was wrong, a-and I won’t do it again.” “Apology not accepted,” sneered Bakugou. “And if that’s all you’ve got, I’m eating you.” “It’s not, it’s not!” exclaimed Kaminari, desperately. “Please...wh-where’s Kirishima? I need his help!” “Stupid hair’s not here. He won’t be back till tomorrow,” shrugged Bakugou, carelessly. Kaminari looked mortified. “But...but...oh, no...now what do I do?” the human worried, speaking more to himself than the giant. “By tomorrow...b-by tomorrow, he could be dead…” Bakugou looked the tiny morsel up and down, and tilted his huge head curiously. “What do you need that extra’s help for, anyway?” he groused. “Midoriya. My friend. He’s been kidnapped.” Bakugou’s eyes widened anew. “Kidnapped?” he repeated, voice soft and somewhat shaky. “Yeah,” Kaminari nodded, his expression dour. “He...he was tricked…a-and a bunch of creeps from a rival kingdom took him away. I...I was too late to stop them. I though...maybe Kirishima could...you know...help me rescue him. Being a giant and all. But...without his help…” “Without his help, you’ll be better off,” snorted Bakugou. “Where is this kingdom?” Kaminari looked up, seemingly stunned. “Wait...you mean...YOU’LL help me?” “Psh. Don’t think of it as me helping you. I’m just helping myself,” Bakugou snorted, and smirked cruelly as he jabbed his free thumb to his chest, head held high. “No one’s gonna kill that green-haired, worthless idiot except ME. Besides, I’ve been on a ‘diet’ recently, you might say…” He licked his teeth as his stomach let out an excited burbling noise. “...I think it’s time I broke it. So...where do I need to go to eat?” Kaminari gulped nervously. “Um...uh...y-you need to go due east, f-from our home. I...I can point the way if you...um...maybe...p-promise not to eat me?” Kaminari smiled hopefully. Bakugou glared. “I don’t make promises to snacks,” he growled...then paused before going on, slowly: “Still...it’ll be hard to find the place without a guide...I guess I can let you live a little longer.” Kaminari sighed with even greater relief. “Thanks,” he breathed...then squeaked like a rodent as the giant quickly tucked him into his vest pocket. “Stay right there, and if you do anything stupid, I’ll squash you flat,” Bakugou grunted. “Now come on, snack. You’ve got another annoying bug to save…” He grinned viciously as he began to march out of the house. “...And I’ve got dinner waiting for me now. Heh heh heh…” Kaminari shuddered as he heard the giant smack his chops hungrily, and looked out over the white and blue landscape of the Kingdom Above the Clouds as his “ride” stepped out into the daylight and went on his way. “I hope I don’t live to regret this,” Denki murmured to himself. “Hang on tight, Midoriya...I’m coming…” “Ahem!” “Uh...oh, uh...w-we’re coming.” “Hmph. Better. Don’t make me regret not eating you…” “I’ll try...h-heh…”

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Izuku Midoriya groaned; a splitting headache greeted him as he opened his eyes. Breathing, itself, required great focus, which only made the throbbing, stinging pain in his cranium worse. Something prickled like nettles inside his nostrils - it smelled like ammonia - rousing him from the bleary, black haze he’d been in for some time. He could still feel the weight of the club against his skull, and hoped he didn’t have any lasting damage to worry about. Midoriya sneezed as the odor became stronger, and shook his head with a louder groan, trying to clear it and focus on the fuzzy, faded-out world around him. “That’s enough,” a voice grunted. “He’s coming to.” The scent went away, and that’s when Midoriya became aware of a few things. One, his hands and ankles were both bound with what felt like rough hemp cord. Two, a large wooden post or pole was against his back, his arms wrapped around it behind him. Three, as he shifted his bound feet he realized they brushed against splintery wood. Finally, vision and total awareness returned to him...and Midoriya felt a chill go up his spine. The location appeared to be a city square, a huge black castle not so far in the distance, and various buildings all around him. This, however, was no city square he’d encountered before...and the people around him were the most unsettling part of all. There were hundreds gathered all around him, and while many of them looked perfectly ordinary in dress and appearance...at least a third of them were wearing dark robes and bone-white plague doctor’s masks, thee black lenses blankly staring at Izuku upon the pyre he was stationed on. At the base of the pyre, Midoriya became aware of a flicker of flame. He looked down and gulped nervously: one of the Plague Doctors carried a torch. Beside him stood King Kai: his purple eyes peering over the crest of his ruby-and-gold mask, dressed still in his expensive-looking green and purple coat. Half-hidden behind the King was Eri, who was visibly shaking, eyes darting about to look anywhere except at Midoriya. Midoriya blinked at Eri...then looked up with a glare at King Kai. “Where am I?” he asked, bluntly. “Wh-What’s going on?” “Welcome to Shie, the capital city of Yakuza,” King Kai answered, and Midoriya could sense the smirk behind the mask. “I am-” “I know who you are,” Midoriya said, trying to sound as brave as he could, but unable to stop shaking. “What do you want with me?” Kai blinked slowly. “Why don’t you guess, filthy Uan?” he responded, his voice cold and cutting. Midoriya bit his lip. “In the past few months, the Beanstalk you grew has helped make your kingdom’s capital all the more prosperous,” Kai decided to explain, his voice business-like. “I would like to know how you were able to create such a thing, and where all the wealth came from.” “And why should I tell you that?” Kai narrowed his eyes, and with a slight motion of his head, the robed figure holding a torch stepped forward. Midoriya shuddered, but held up his head, straightening against the post as he glared defiantly. “Y-You can do what you want to me,” he said softly. “I’ll never tell you anything. If someone like you figured it out, who knows what you could do!” “I can already think of a few possibilities,” Kai said, coolly. “But I would recommend reconsidering. Burning to death is a TERRIBLE way to go. Trust me.” Midoriya’s defiant expression did not shift. “Please don’t hurt him…” Both Kai and Midoriya looked down at the furtive little voice that spoke. Kai’s eyes widened as he found Eri tugging on his pant leg. “Please...j-just let him go,” she pleaded. “H-He’s nice, he didn’t-AH!” Kai sneered as one of his minions struck the girl across the face, knocking her back. Kai checked his leg and sighed with relief when he saw nothing wrong. “Never touch me,” he said, in a soft, warning tone. “How often do I have to tell you, Eri? You. Do. Not. TOUCH ME.” Eri sniffled and whimpered, holding her cheek; a bright red mark was visible upon it. “Leave her alone!” snapped Midoriya. “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?” “She’s useful on occasion,” Kai answered, in the same icy tone as before. “But she’s very undisciplined. A father is supposed to discipline his child when they misbehave, yes?” Midoriya looked ill. He looked to Eri with sympathy. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently. Eri blinked, clearly not sure how to respond to the question under the circumstances. “She is far from your concern,” Kai intruded. “I’ll ask again: will you tell us where you got those so-called Magic Beans that brought that stalk to fruition? This is your last chance.” Midoriya struggled against his bonds for a moment, but the knots were strong and taut. He heard several in the crowd snicker. Sighing in defeat, he glared at Kai, who stared up patiently. “Even if I knew where you could find them,” he said, firmly, “I would never tell you.” “Very well,” shrugged King Kai. “In that case, you are of no use to me.” He held out a hand, twitching his fingers in a beckoning gesture. The minion holding the torch handed it over. Kai then turned to address the crowd. “Citizens of Yakuza!” he thundered. “The enemy agent has refused to tell us the secret of the Magic Beanstalk. Today, we burn him, and purge his sorry existence from our clean and well-ordered society. Tomorrow, we shall treat those who live on his farm the same way...and then cut down the mighty beanstalk itself!” The crowd cheered, lifting their fists and shouting jeers at Midoriya. Kai smiled darkly behind his mask, amethyst eyes glittering maliciously as he turned back to Izuku. “Any last words?” Kai hissed. Midoriya blinked once...and gave his reply quickly. PHUT! Kai stumbled back...and his expression became one of livid horror as he felt the slimy substance on his cheek...felt his face burning, felt the hives itch and puff up… He glared with psychotic, feral fury at Midoriya, who smirked back with undying defiance after spitting in the evil king’s face. Kai snarled, and without further hesitation, hurled the torch onto the pyre. The kindling at the base of the pyre began to crackle and burn in an instant. Midoriya’s smile faded, and he began to struggle again. The crowd cheered louder than before, laughing and mocking Midoriya’s struggles as he fought for dear life. Smoke was wisping up, and growing rapidly in density...the fire would be burning fiercely in a very short while. If smoke inhalation didn’t kill him, the flames themselves would. Either way, it would be a lingering, painful demise. “HELP! HELP ME!” he called out, struggling to loosen the knots. Kai glared with triumphant anger as his robed minions taunted Midoriya by mockingly screaming for help, and the crowd pointed and hollered. “NO! NO, LET HIM GO! STOP!” Eri cried out, as two of the masked men held her back. “Perhaps you’ll scream out the answer while you burn, you diseased piece of trash,” sneered Kai. “If not...at least tomorrow we’ll make sure your family suffers the same fate.” Midoriya struggled harder in response, which made Kai chuckle. He crossed his arms, the dark king patiently watching the fire rise and the smoke billow, quickly growing into thicker and thicker curls of vapor...it wouldn’t be long before Midoriya began coughing and wheezing. He was going to enjoy every last second of this he thought, shuddering with revulsion as he touched the stinging portion of his face the boy had spat on. “Bring me my balm,” he muttered, looking towards one of his minions. “I need to-” THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP… Kai froze...and the crowd soon went silent...as a huge, pounding sound echoed through the air. The ground began to tremble, and all across the city went very quiet, confused and frightened as the noise grew steadily louder, and the vibrations more intense… Midoriya blinked, and looked upwards, as did Eri and Kai and nearly everyone else gathered in the city square. Midoriya saw a huge, towering silhouette - at least as large as the castle itself - approaching the area… “Kirishima?” he whispered to himself hopefully, with an optimistic smile.

“A Giant!” exclaimed King Kai, and barked orders to some of his soldiers as he moved a few steps away from the pyre, the people of the city clutching each other, their chatter turning into frightened noises as the King shouted and cried out: “Get to the edges of the city! Fan out! Do everything in your power, but don’t let that...that THING pollute my capital!” The soldiers hurried to move, forgetting all about Midoriya, whose pyre still burned. Midoriya himself had almost forgotten, himself, given the circumstances.: the adventurous lad’s smile quickly faded into a look of confusion and fear as he realized the hair didn’t look like Kirishima’s...and as the giant moved closer and closer, and people in the city began to fretfully murmur, he soon saw the glare of two glowing red eyes. So like Kirishima’s, yet so unlike them. A flash of green and orange caught his eye...and that’s when Midoriya knew. “B-Bakugou?!”

To Be Continued...

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Did You Know?

Prompt: the merlin fic you wrote with a crying arthur who didn't realize he had a hand in normalizing merlin to physical pain/punishment is HEARTBREAKING and i couldn't help but think while reading it that merlin may have just assumed that the knights and arthur //knew// visting knights were handsy w him and just didnt care, like he just thought it was normal and they would expect nothing less. anyway if u wanna write something that has that kind of idea/vibe i'd be delighted to read it! love u <3

Ahh yes more h/c here we go

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: visiting nobles and knights are dicks. implied/referenced rape/non-con and abuse NOTHING EXPLICIT

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic I don’t care

Word Count: 3031

 Merlin is…confused.

 He’s doing his job as a servant—not that he’s begrudging his position that much, destiny is destiny, after all—and putting up with all the things that servants are supposed to put up with.

The learning curve was very steep, don’t get him wrong. Coming from Ealdor, where the only authority figure he absolutely had to listen to was his mum, and straight into Camelot’s complex authority structure with rules and consequences and all the messy trappings of those horrid make-believes he and Will used to do when they were little boys. Hell, he ended his first full day in Camelot arrested, relying only on Gaius’s social powers in court to get him released. He’s not exactly a beacon of well-mannerisms.

 So if it took him a while to get used to the type of work Arthur was going to have him do, that’s fine! He’s never had to put armor on anyone before, let alone the Crown Prince, who expected him to do all that and then some. He’s never known how to clean shiny pieces of metal that just serve to attract more attention than they’re worth, they never had shiny pieces of metal other than coin. And he’s certainly never known how to dodge swords being swung at his head. Never.

 It wasn’t expected—no, it wasn’t, you prat—for him to be able to shrug on all these new responsibilities, even if he had been trained as a servant, because he’s never done them before. Thank the gods for Gwen, honestly, who was more than happy to make sure he at least knew how to hold a sword without cutting himself.

 “Here’s the next one,” she’d called, handing him the next training sword from the batch, “now, try again.”

 “This is the rag, this is the polish, and we just—ow!”

 “Try not to polish the edge of the blade, Merlin.”

 “I knew that,” he had muttered sheepishly, rubbing the cloth over the flat of the blade this time, “but thank you.”

 Gwen had rolled her eyes fondly. “Just keep trying, you’re doing great.”

 So he had just…done his best to learn what to do. Which would’ve been easier had he also not been learning how to act.

 ‘Yes, sire.’

 ‘No, sire.’

 ‘As you wish, sire.’

 ‘Sire’ this and ‘sire’ that and bloody hell, why is he not allowed to say anyone’s bloody name?

 Formalities have never really been Merlin’s strong suit, not that he’s ever really needed them. And now that he has to use them, he’s starting to regret not paying attention to his mum’s scoldings. Just a little bit. Not that much. It’s not entirely his fault, is it, that those lectures were so boring and there were things he could’ve been doing.

 But here…

 Here, if he doesn’t address someone the right way, he gets cuffed around the head. The first time it happened, his hand flew to his head in shock. It wasn’t a particularly hard slap—he’s had worse walking into the door by himself—but the fact that someone was allowed to hit him, was expected to hit him, and it was his own fault was…jarring.

 He learns his lesson about trying to hit back much quicker.

 He still slips up from time to time, even now, after so many years, but his reflexes have gotten a lot better. Goblets, combs, hunks of bread, boots, staffs, just about every object he can think of, he’s had thrown at his head. With Arthur, it’s fine, he can snipe back perfectly well on his own, and it’s not like he’s going anywhere. He just bites back enough to make it a little more bearable. And besides, Arthur hasn’t ever seriously hurt him, maybe because he’s always lauding about how strong he is and how weak Merlin. Doesn’t want to break him.

 And he can get away with it with some of the knights. The close ones, sure. Leon—well, he doesn’t try that much shite with Leon. Leon’s terrifying, not just because he’s one of the oldest knights and the longest-serving of Arthur’s inner circle, but because he knows things. Leon’s perception scares the hell out of Merlin, not in the least because he’s got so much to hide.

 Does he ever think Leon would seriously hurt him? No, but he might tell people who would.

 Percival is a big man. His arms are about the size of Merlin’s skull. He doesn’t want to get near that man’s bad side, even if he hasn’t found it yet.

 Elyan is sneaky. He’s got just enough say to be dangerous, not enough to be an obvious suspect. And he’s got Gwen on his side—or more specifically, Gwen’s got him on her side. Gwen would never hurt him, he knows, he trusts her too much.

 Lancelot is the only one he’s not afraid of, him and Gwaine. Mainly because he knows that they know.

 …look, you do what Merlin’s been doing for as long as he’s been doing it, you slip up. It happens.

 But Lancelot never looked at him differently. Never raised a hand to him to hurt him, always touched him gently, spoke softly, sparred with him in good faith. Even when he swings a spear at him in jest, it’s never too fast to actually bruise him if it connects.

 Gwaine slaps him on the shoulder, claps him on the back, hard enough to bruise sometimes, but he cares. He hides it well��well, sort of—and looks out for Merlin when Lancelot can’t. But he knows Gwaine has a breaking point, and he’s not super keen on looking for it.

 He can get away with it. A little. Not a lot.

 But only with them.

 With the other knights…

 One of the hardest things he had to learn was that no one cared.

 When a knight smacks him over the head with the flat of a dulled blade, it doesn’t matter that the sight of a blade swinging at his freezes terror in his throat, nor that the ring of the blade won’t go away for three hours. The others will just laugh and tell him to move his arse.

 When a knight knocks the equipment out of his hands and snarls at him to get moving, it doesn’t matter that it’s often accompanied by a boot to his ribs. He’ll always get elbowed in the exact same place later and they won’t care about his wince.

 When a knight decides that he’s had enough of Merlin just looking at him, he—

 The other thing that Merlin’s had to learn very, very quickly, is that it’s better him than the other servants.

 He has Gaius. Gaius will patch him up, no questions asked. And when he can’t go to Gaius, it’s not like he’ll be caught lurking suspiciously in his own quarters. And when he can’t do that, he has his magic.

 None of the others do.

 So he learns. He picks up the things he needs to know, puts his head down, and bears it.

 That’s what servants are supposed to do.

 So you can imagine that when the others look absolutely horrified as he explains to them that he knows how this works, he’s learned, he’s confused.

 “Come on, guys, it’s not like the other servants don’t know this.”

 “It’s funny,” Gwaine growls, his fist tightening on the table, “how you think that makes this any better.”

 Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m not a gossip, Gwaine—“

 “That,” Elyan says, “is not true.”

 “—okay fine, I enjoy a bit of the servant’s gossip as well as anyone, but not about this!” He shakes his head. “It’s fine, they know about it, it’s not like anyone cares.”

 “See, Merlin,” Lancelot says quietly, “that’s where you’re wrong.”

 Merlin frowns. What are they talking about? Who’s noticed? Is he doing it wrong? What does he need to fix?

 See, his confusion only grows when he voices those concerns and the knights only seem to grow more upset.

 “I can’t believe this,” Gwaine mutters, turning away, “how long has this been happening, Merlin?”

 “Which part?”

 Gwaine is doing a remarkable impersonation of someone who is extremely constipated. “…all of it.”

 “I mean, it began as soon as I set foot in Camelot, if you want to go from the very beginning.”

 Leon swallows. “And if we asked for you to be…more specific?”

 Merlin huffs, throwing his arms up. “Why are you so concerned about this? It’s nothing to worry about!”

 “You’re being abused, Merlin,” Arthur—since when has Arthur been this quiet?—says finally, looking at Merlin the same way he looked at Morgana when Uther strangled her against the back of the throne—see? It’s just something that happens here— “that’s definitely something to worry about.”

 Merlin scoffs. “I’m not being abused, I’m just being treated like a servant.”

 “If that’s what you think being treated like a servant means,” Gwaine says, standing, “then this conversation is going to take a lot longer than we thought.”

 In response, Percival moves to stand in front of the door. Merlin sighs.

 “You don’t have to block the exit, Percival, I know I’m not allowed to leave.”

 A choked-off sound comes from Merlin’s left, followed by a muffled curse. Percival shakes his head.

 “I’m over here to make sure no one else comes in to hurt you,” the knight says calmly, “not to make sure you don’t leave.”

 “But if you want to,” Elyan says quickly, “you can.”

 “No, no, I know a trap when I see one, no thank you.”

 “It’s not a trap, Merlin,” Lancelot says, even as he looks to be about two seconds from crying for some reason, “if you truly wish to leave, you can. We won’t stop you.”

 Merlin raises an eyebrow. “…sure.”

 Arthur lowers his head. Merlin frowns, watching his shoulders tense.

 “Are you alright?”

 He gets his answer in the form of many unshed tears welling up in Arthur’s eyes as he raises his head.

 “No, Merlin,” he says in a remarkably steady voice, “I’m not. But don’t worry about me.”

 “That’s my job,” Merlin insists, striding forward, “let me help.”

 Arthur catches him gently—gently?—gently by the elbows as he reaches for him, smiling sadly.

 “Can I give you another way to help me?”

 Merlin swallows heavily. “…what does it entail, exactly?”

 “For starters, explaining why that question has you shaking in your boots.”

 “I’m not—“ Merlin looks down to see Arthur’s hands are just about the only thing holding him up— “oh.”

 “Sit,” Leon encourages, bringing a chair over and crouching in front of it. Around him, the knights lower themselves to the ground, with the exception of Percival, still by the door.

 “Merlin,” Leon calls again, “can I ask you some questions? If you don’t want to answer any of them, that’s alright, but may I ask?”

 Merlin blinks. “Sure?”

 He gets a nod of thanks. “What do you understand your duties as a servant to be?”

 “To help with the running of the castle and take care of Arthur’s needs.”

 “Which are?”

 “What—“

 “Please,” Arthur says softly, “please, Merlin, I know it sounds silly, but…please?”

 Well, he’s never been very good at saying no to upset Arthur. He sighs.

 “Keeping his chambers clean, keeping track of his laundry, dressing him in the mornings, polishing his armor, bringing him food, escorting him to court affairs, and any other odd jobs he asks me to do.”

 Leon nods. “And what about the knights? Do you have duties with us, too?”

 “I’m supposed to help you train and see to your immediate needs with those, too.”

 “Such as?”

 “Equipment, water, food, chambers—“

 “Chambers?” Lancelot frowns. “Why would you need to see to our chambers?”

 “Not yours, but the visiting knights.” Merlin frowns as Arthur’s hand twitches on his elbow. “What?”

 “Do they presume that you are their servant,” Leon asks in a low voice, “when you do so?”

 “I am, aren’t I?” He looks to Arthur. “You assign me to them.”

 “No, Merlin,” Arthur corrects gently, still looking like he’s about two seconds from crying and still taking Merlin by surprise at how soft he’s being, “I ask you to get them settled, that’s all.”

 Merlin blinks. “Oh. Uh…”

 “What do they ask you to do,” Leon asks, “as their servant?”

 He furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Uh, change their sheets, see to their armor, start a fire, bring them dinner…”

 Leon raises an eyebrow when he trails off. “Anything else?”

 “They, um—“

 Hands. Hands on his skin. Voices in his ear.

 “Merlin.” Arthur gives him a shake. “Merlin.”

 “Sorry,” he says instantly, “I just…”

 He trails off again when he sees the absolutely heartbroken look on Arthur’s face.

 “…Arthur?”

 “Why,” Arthur whispers, “why do you let them…do that?”

 Merlin frowns. “It’s fine.”

 “It’s most certainly not fine.”

 “It is,” Merlin argues, “it’s what servants are supposed to do, anyway, and it’s better me than the others.”

 Gwaine muffles a curse again, and to his surprise, so does Lancelot.

 “Merlin,” Leon says, calling his attention with how hoarse he sounds, “Merlin, why is it better you than the others if there’s nothing wrong with what’s happening to you?”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 Oh, no.

 Merlin’s hands start to shake.

 Something in his throat wells up and pushes against his jaw. It hurts. The bruises on his back start to smart.

 “Why do you care,” he says instead, “why now?”

 “We didn’t know,” Leon whispers, sounding every bit the man confessing his worst sin, “and we are so, so sorry that we didn’t.”

 “And if you’re asking why we care,” Lancelot says, equally heartfelt, “then we are more sorry than you could ever know.”

 Merlin frowns. “But you lot do it too.”

 The room freezes.

 Arthur yanks his hands away from Merlin like he’s been burned. Leon stifles a noise of his own as Elyan’s mouth drops open.

 “What,” Gwaine manages after a few moments, “the fuck does that mean?”

 “You—you hit me, you order me around, you—“ Merlin swings his head back and forth, looking at their shell-shocked faces— “why are you all looking at me like that?”

 “Because you’ve just told us we’ve been abusing you since the moment you set foot in Camelot, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, tears finally starting to roll down his cheeks.

 “But you knew!” Merlin’s hands fly to his hair as he cries out. “You knew this was happening, you could see it happening and you didn’t care!”

 “I’m sorry, Merlin—“

 “If we knew it was like this—“

 “If you think we’d ever hurt you like that—“

 “No, gods no, Merlin—“

 “Of course we care—“

 “Merlin,” Arthur whispers, holding out a shaking hand, “Merlin, please, please believe us that we would never be okay with you being mistreated like that. Like this.”

 And godsdamnit all, the amount of sheer heartbreak in the room is enough to coax a lump into Merlin’s throat and spring tears down his cheeks. Arthur lets out a wounded noise as he sees them, reaching forward to gently, still gently, wipe them away. The naked concern on not just his face, but the others’ faces as well, only encourages more.

 “I’m so sorry, Merlin,” he keeps saying, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

 “Arthur, I—“ He’s cut off by a gasping sob— “Arthur—“

 “Shh, shh, shh,” Arthur hushes frantically, cupping Merlin’s face in both hands, “shh, shh, Merlin, it’s alright, no one’s ever going to hurt you again, I swear it—“

 “You’re damn right,” he hears Gwaine mutter as the other knights agree.

 “—and I’m so sorry that you thought I’d be okay with it, that I was helping—“ Arthur’s voice cracks— “no, no, you’re—you’re my Merlin—I never want to see you hurt like that—I never mean to hurt you—“

 “I know,” Merlin murmurs, “I—I know you don’t.”

 Arthur, gentle Arthur, pulls him into the softest hug he’s ever had, cradling him like he’s something precious, something fragile, something to be savored and oh, oh, gods—

 “Easy,” he hears Leon soothe, “easy does it now, come sit—come sit with us.”

 He can’t quite manage to pry himself out of Arthur’s grip as he feels the knights come closer, huddling around the two of them in a protective circle. He even hears Percival’s heavy steps coming closer, a silent guardian, keeping watch.

 “I don’t—“ he gasps— “I don’t understand.”

 “We’ll help you,” Arthur promises in his ear, “we’ll help you figure it out.”

 “But if anyone ever,” Gwaine growls, “and I mean ever does anything like that to you again, you tell us.”

 Merlin nods frantically. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.”

 “Thank you, Merlin,” Leon murmurs, “may I…?”

 Merlin nods and Leon’s hand cards tenderly through his hair.

 “Oh, Merlin,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “you came into our lives blustering about how servants were people too…and we never noticed this?”

 The knight shudders and steels himself.

 “We will do better.” He gives Merlin’s head one last pat. “We all will.”

 “I can—“ Merlin swallows— “I can…ask for help?”

 “Yes, Merlin,” Arthur promises instantly, “you can ask me for help, and if you think I’m letting another one of those knights near you ever again—“

 Oh. Oh, wow.

 The wave of protective fury that hits Merlin’s chest is—

 Wow.

 He’s still confused. Confused and more than a little scared.

 But as he curls up in Arthur’s arms, held and kept with Camelot’s strongest knights curled around him too, protecting him, shielding him, he thinks he may finally start to feel safe.

[tuanyiems]

Cookies and Cream

Yugyeom x Reader (f) fluff x smut words: 4k plot: annoyed by some (really just one) of your gratuitous “self-care” rituals, he decides to teach you a little lesson about indulgence, established relationship!au warnings – dom!gyeom, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, overstimulation, praise kink, squirting a/n – sorry for the delay, coincidentally I also had to work overtime for work this week lol now if only I had Gyeom too…but in other news, got7 is coming back in 3.5 more hours!!!!!!!!! I’m so excited y’all!!! // part of Le Chocolatier drabble series, which you can find the masterlist for in my blog. feel free to read this as a one-shot or part of the series, in any order you want <3

It’s 9PM on a Friday when you decide to turn off your work computer and call it quits. When you blink, the blue shadow of your screen still flickers behind your eyes and for the past two hours your right lid has been twitching every few minutes. When you stand up from your office chair, the world spins and you are briefly nauseated. You swallow down the feeling with a huff, throwing on your jacket and purse.

It’s quiet on your floor, everyone else having left already. It’s been like this the entire week ever since your project manager proposed a new venture and put you in charge of actually making it happen. Yugyeom tells you to just quit, but you figure it’s partially your fault too. You don’t know how to say no. 

So instead, you stop by the convenience store next door and buy yourself a couple of bath bombs. As an afterthought you throw in a box of Ferrero Rocher at checkout.

It’s another thirty minutes when you finally get home. Your whole body aches from being crouched at your desk. As you kick off your flats, Yugyeom greets you with a much too eager smile.

“Babe!” he exclaims, his black hair practically bouncing with every step towards you. “The boys are having game night tonight!”

You let out a yawn as you put your things down. “Sounds great, Gyeom, you go have fun.”

He let out a pout, “You don’t want to come with me?”

You answer with a tired smile and only grow even more weary when you see his infamous puppy dog eyes. “Gyeom,” you plead softly.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I missed you baby!” You pull him into your arms, nestling your face in his chest. You take a deep breath, his distinct warm bergamot tones filling your senses. You truly have missed him. Two years in and coming home to him every night still isn’t enough. Boy, are you in deep, huh?

“Then come with. Someone needs to put Bambam in his place. He bought a PC and suddenly thinks he’s a gamer,” you feel the rumble of his chest as he squeezes you closer.

And you feel your own resolve breaking the longer you stay in his arms, but when you blink, your eyes still sting from the strain of overuse and fatigue.

“But…I bought bath bombs.”

Yugyeom pulls away slightly and you offer up a weak smile. He knows you’ve been working hard this week. He assumed you would enjoy letting go and playing games for the rest of the night, so your rejection blindsides him. He was really looking forward to spending time with you and the guys. From above, he can see the bags under your eyes more clearly and you do look tired.

“Are you sure?” he offers up one final plea and you answer with a firm nod.

“Go and have fun for the both of us,” you assure, pulling away and heading towards your shared bedroom.

“Are you sure?” Yugyeom repeats, following after you like a shadow. “Want me to stay in with you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you pull out a pair of mismatched pajamas from your drawers. “Please, I don’t think I can handle all your energy right now.”

“Hey!”

“You are the love of my life,” You press a kiss to his frown and watch how easily the corner of his lips lift. “I love you, I love you, I love you, but please Gyeom, go out and have fun and I’ll enjoy myself at home and when you come back, I will welcome you into my arms and we can have the whole weekend together, just us. Okay?”

Seeing your exasperation, Yugyeom puckers his lips before breaking out into a boyish grin. “Oh alright! Go have fun with your bubble bath, I guess.”

“I will,” you press one last kiss to his lips before shooing him away.

It’s not long before you finally have the apartment to yourself. Humming, you slowly disrobe as you make your way to the minibar, breaking out a glass of wine. And just as you are about to sashay over to the bathroom, you pause and decide to take the whole bottle with you.

Impeccably timed, the water you left running is filled to the perfect level as you enter. Taking in a deep breath, you smile as you sip at your wine. The bath bomb you bought fizzes in the water, dispersing in the hot liquid in pastel purple and pinks, and fills the small room with the aroma of vanilla and lavender. For a convenience store bath bomb, it does its job perfectly, which is great because you honestly needed this one win for the week.

When you finally sink into the water, it feels like heaven on your aching muscles. For the first time in what feels like this entire week, you feel your shoulders untensing from the heat of the water.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. 

And you almost fall asleep right there before you remember the chocolates sitting at the edge of the tub. Picking up one of the golden orbs, you bite at the curve of your lips and admire the crinkled foil before your eyes shift furtively to the bathroom door like a thief. Despite being alone in the apartment, you can’t help feeling like a child up to no good.

Yugyeom has a, well, disliking towards convenience store chocolates. He believes they dishonor the art of chocolate making with their “sick capitalist greed” (even though he happens to own a chocolate store). As a result, you very rarely ever ate chocolates that were not made by Yugyeom, himself, which was great because who doesn’t love free, expensive chocolates? But sometimes, you missed the taste of other chocolates.

Especially, Ferrero Rocher. Back in high school, these were your “expensive” desserts. Almost every month, they were your go-to treat whenever you were nursing your period pains and hormonal mood swings. When you entered adulthood and your self-care treatments became more expensive, so did your taste in chocolates.

But now, here you are, savoring the chocolatey, nutty flavor of convenience store goodness on your tongue while your lover is away like a wife with a dirty secret. Your life has come full circle.

You giggle, hand already tearing the wrapper off another piece before the taste of the first is even fully gone. Man, did you miss this flavor. If you could have it your way, you’d put Nutella in everything! The hazelnut spread was like crack! You make a mental note to buy yourself a jar on your next grocery run. 

With the delicious taste of hazelnut glazed over your tongue, you sink back into the tub and watch mindlessly as the pastel water swirls around you. 

Suddenly, the door creaks open and a hand pops through with your pink bra hanging by the strap on a finger. Yugyeom pushes open the door, revealing his amused face.

“So eager to kick me out that you left a whole trail of your clothes on the floor?” 

You smile up at him before sinking your lips into the water.

“And here I was thinking you’d be so lonely by yourself,” he pouts, setting your bra on the sink counter and approaching you.

You sit up straighter, lifting your head fully out of the water, as he gets closer. “I left a trail so you could find me.”

“Too late for your lame excuses,” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of the tub. His eyes follow your movements as you hug your legs closer to your chest. Most of your makeup has washed off, though the ghost of your eyeliner still tints the ends of your eyes, and though your lipstick has rubbed off, the inside of your lip is awkwardly wine stained. The ends of your hair are wet by the water and the strands stick to your skin in clumps.

And you are so beautiful. Not because you look particularly different in this moment, but because you look so real. It makes him think back to when the two of you first started dating. You had been so nervous, waking up early to put on makeup before he could see you and wearing lingerie every time he slept over. Back then, you’d even refrained from your regular self-care routines because you had been so worried he would think you were too high maintenance. 

But now, he is blessed to have you here, completely bare to him, literally and figuratively. All curled up in the tub, smiling up at him without an ounce of fear—it makes his insides all gooey. You do that to him.

The guys had given him a hard time about leaving game night early, but now that he’s here, he’s sure he made the right choice. 

“Babe,” your soft whisper breaks him out of his reverie. Your eyes brighten when he meets your gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Yugyeom closes his eyes, tilting his head up, and lets out a loud exhale. “You are perfect.”

You giggle, nose scrunching, until you hear the sound of crunching plastic. You watch, in slow motion, as Yugyeom’s gaze drops to the floor and the both of you freeze.

You blink up, swallowing. The residue of chocolate suddenly tastes sour in your mouth.

“Is that…” The words get caught in Yugyeom’s throat. But his silence feels worse when he’s staring at you with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Gyeom, I-I can explain!” the words come jumbling out of you in a rush, your mouth suddenly dry.

“You…You…In our house, babe?” 

“All the stores were closed by the time I left work. I just-I just wanted a quick snack!”

You feel like drowning in your own guilt when Yugyeom looks at you so sadly.

“You could’ve asked me to bring you home chocolates. Unless,” he pauses and a frown forms on his face, “you didn’t want to?”

You hurry to stand in the tub, water splashing from the sudden movement, but you don’t care. You twine your wet, raisined fingers between his.

“Baby, I love your chocolates! They’re my favorite, you know that,” you squeeze his fingers, ignoring the cold air around your bare skin. 

“Do I?” he sulks, looking back at the half-eaten tray of Ferrero Rocher.

You sway to the side, angling your body so your eyes meet his again. “I went into the convenience store to buy bath bombs and grabbed these chocolates at checkout as an afterthought. If I knew I was going to crave chocolates when I saw it, I really would have called you. But it was already late at night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yugyeom sighs. “You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to eat and love whatever you want…but just so you know, you’re never bothering me. I will make you chocolates even if it’s the middle of the night and you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Gyeom,” you pout, endeared by his words even as he’s saying it with a frown on his face. You press your palm to his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. “I love your chocolates, and I love you.”

Finally, Yugyeom smiles and you meet his with your own. It’s not long before he’s edging his tongue through the seam of your lips, tangling in your mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to taste him on your lips like this. The quick morning kiss goodbye could only keep you going for so long.

You’ve missed this so much. You’ve missed him. How long has it been since the two of you had sex? A week? No, ten days? For the both of you, that was like an eternity.

You can feel your hunger stirring against the pliant muscle of Yugyeom’s tongue. You forget to breathe as he sucks at the bottom of your lip until it is red and swollen. It’s not until your lungs feel like they are burning that the both of you break away with heaving breaths.

Yugyeom makes a face of disgust despite the shine of your saliva on his lips. “You taste like that stupid generic crap.”

He kicks at the tray of chocolates on the floor and you giggle.

“I don’t know, Gyeom, it seemed like you were enjoying the taste,” you tease, tongue poking slyly out the corner of your lips.

It’s then that he realizes your bare state and a smirk replaces his frown.

“You wanna have a self-care night, right? Let me teach you something about self-care.” Without another word, Yugyeom taps twice at your thigh and like a trained puppy, you jump for him. Clinging to his neck, you wrap your wet legs around his waist and let him carry you into your bedroom.

You let out a squeak of surprise when he tosses you roughly onto the mattress.

“If you want to indulge, I’ll give you something to indulge in,” Yugyeom grabs at the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head before flinging it across the room. You watch with hungry eyes as his hands move down to his jeans, veins protruding up his arms as he undoes his button. You can’t help the disappointment that fills you when he stops there.

His brows arch at your expression. “Only good girls get rewarded, baby.”

“I’ll be good for you,” you plead, crawling to the edge of the bed to meet him. He cups your face in his large hands sweetly.

“You promise?” You nod eagerly, making him scoff at your desperation. “Good girls don’t break their promises, so keep that in mind.”

“I promise,” you breathe out as Yugyeom trails his fingers down your cheek before grabbing you sharply by the chin.

“I don’t know, kitten, it seemed like earlier you didn’t even want me in the house. Feels like you didn’t miss me at all.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze, brows arching with concern. He points his nose in the air haughtily, but if experience has taught you anything, there was definitely a hint of hurt in his words.

You touch your fingers to his wrist softly. “I missed you so much,” you utter softly. And contrary to the gentleness of your voice, your gaze is strong and sure. It’s only when Yugyeom’s lips twitch into the slightest of smiles that you relax into his touch again.

He pinches your chin between his thumb, forcing your head to tilt back further. His eyes returning to their dark, demanding gaze. “What exactly did you miss so much, kitten?”

“Everything—your touch, your taste, the way you make me feel wanted and loved and safe and warm,” your eyes glaze over, conflicted between giving into your lust or your love, and feeling it all jumbling inside your gut. Both your chest and your core aches for him and it’s so apparent in the way your body seems to melt into the grip of his hand. “I miss feeling you inside me. No one else can make me feel that good.”

“Oh, I’ll make you feel good tonight, kitten,” he smirks, releasing your chin. “Spread out for me baby.”

As soon as he utters the command, you are rushing to the pillows. With your head sinking into the silk pillowcase, you open your legs wide for Yugyeom to admire. And he admires, taking his sweet time to follow you onto the bed, eyes glued to the heavenly sight of your cunt just absolutely glistening with lust for him.

His mouth waters just looking at you spread out for him. “Pretty pussy, so wet for me already.”

He trails his hands slowly up your inner thighs and you are practically vibrating, careening for more of his touch. Yugyeom smirks as he stares at your pussy. Even in his peripheral vision, he can already tell you’re on edge. Brushing two fingers up your wet pussy lips, he spreads your folds apart with the V of his fingers.

Your shaky inhale is audible, much to Yugyeom’s satisfaction.

“So impatient, kitten,” he chuckles darkly, enjoying the way your cunt clenches around nothing. He lifts his fingers off of you and raises it to his mouth. He watches you closely before releasing a low moan at your taste on his tongue. When you bite your bottom lip and watch him quietly, Yugyeom releases his fingers with a pop and lifts his brow. “You’re really trying to keep your promise, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, making him laugh.

“Then as I promised, good girls get rewarded,” he smiles, a shine in his eyes that promises mischief.

With that, Yugyeom presses his two fingers back between your legs and you release a loud sigh at the feeling of his fingers stretching your walls. The ache is delicious and you find yourself whining a little too loudly at just his two fingers alone. You’ve been so wound up this entire week, the sudden stretch of his two fingers is almost overwhelming. Already, your walls are quivering around his digits.

You feel your cheeks heat, eyes diverting from Yugyeom’s gaze to the ceiling. When you hear his dark chuckles, you know he’s noticed too. You’re already so close, it’s embarrassing. When Yugyeom curls his fingers into your soft, velvety flesh, a moan releases from your throat as you feel a fluttering straight in your core.

It feels too good too fast and soon you are whining, palms flying to cover your face as the knot in your core tightens.

“Gyeom, wait, I-”

“Aw, is kitten going to cum already?” Yugyeom coos sadistically, fingers curling faster against your walls. “What’s the rush baby? I haven’t even tasted you properly.”

“Please,” you whine, tensing at your abdomen in a sorry attempt to fight off your orgasm. 

“Missed me that much, baby?” he laughs, feeling your walls squeeze against his digits.

“Yes!” you admit, feeling the telltale signs of your cunt contracting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits you, making your body quiver with pleasure. Heat spreads across your limbs as you ride out your high. 

Yugyeom’s fingers continue to stroke against your pulsing walls as he watches you cum on his fingers. His smirk grows when you open your eyes again, looking at him with surprise. Your hands come to his wrist.

“B-babe,” you stutter, body shaking from his continued ministrations. “It’s too much.”

“Shh,” he strokes his fingers softly against the swell of your walls while his other hand gently lifts your hand from his wrist. “You can do this, kitten. Be a good girl for me.”

You swallow, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as a thrill runs down your spine. Finally, you give a small nod, and he smiles at you with crescent eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers encouragingly. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, baby. Show me how you cum, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand as he presses a third finger into your sopping hole. As soon as you’re stretched by his third finger, you can already feel your core tightening. Your heart races in your chest as Yugyeom curls his fingers into you faster, chasing the delicious high that is just tipping you at the very edge.

You let out a whimper, eyes squeezing as your walls tighten around him for the second time. His fingers dig into the perfect spot inside of you over and over until you are exploding with pleasure. All thoughts leave you as your mind fills with hot white pleasure.

As you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm, the fog slowly lifts from your mind and you are relieved to find Yugyeom’s fingers have stopped moving inside you.

“You did so great, baby,” he praises you and you feel yourself glowing from his words.

And then you feel his fingers move again.

“Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you. He smiles, coming up to press a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re amazing, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “I love seeing you cum around my fingers.”

You pout, running your fingers through his hair. “Only for you.”

You feel him smile against you before he moves to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You can do one more for me, kitten,” he murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver, and he can already feel you arching into him. “I missed your taste, baby.”

At those words, you groan. God, you missed his tongue on you.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” he chuckles, brushing his wet fingers between your folds. You whine, nodding. “Such a good girl. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“I know,” you exhale, already shivering from his touch. You watch him with hooded eyes as he smiles from your admittance.

Slowly, he makes his way back down your body, tickling your skin with butterfly kisses down your neck and sucking red bruises down the valley of your chest. Planting a sweet kiss to your mound, Yugyeom pulls away to blow air at your glistening folds, admiring the way you shiver at the sensation.

Finally, with eyes on you, he dips down and licks a stripe up your pussy. He smirks with satisfaction as your eyes flutter close. He taps your thigh, bringing your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

You whimper, nodding, and you rise on your elbows, gaze fixed on him. Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, Yugyeom gives you one last smile before pressing his lips around your clit. You suck in a breath as he laps at the bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue in intoxicating circles. His mouth feels so warm and soft around you, you can’t help the sigh of pleasure that escapes you.

“God,” you moan, feeling the tightening of your core once again.

Yugyeom answers you with the press of his fingers at your entrance again. You let out a loud moan, feeling your walls quiver at the familiar intrusion. Despite yourself, you find your body clenching around his digits. 

The room fills with your heavy panting and the loud squelch of his fingers thrusting into your sopping entrance. But you can barely hear anything, your brain buzzing from oversensitivity. It almost hurts, how good he makes you feel. When he groans around your clit, it sends vibrations straight to your tightening core.

“Gyeom!” you whine, eyes prickling with tears as he sucks harder.

Your legs shake out of control when he curls his fingers against your g-spot, sending you hurtling into another orgasm. A guttural wail of his name leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tears run down your cheeks as your head hits the pillow and you shake against the mattress, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure erupting throughout you. Wave after wave of hot pleasure spreads across your skin and Yugyeom watches in awe as your pussy squirts all over him and down his bare chest.

“Fuck, baby!” He laughs when you finally come to. “You just squirted!”

You feel your cheeks heat as you look down at his wet body and the mess on the sheets. “I-I did,” you mutter, suddenly shy.

“Don’t get embarrassed on me now, kitten,” he smiles reassuringly at you. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done, babe. I just want to eat you out forever now!”

You suck in a breath when he dips down and laps at your cum. You shiver at the sting of oversensitivity, pushing his head away. 

“Too much, Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your thigh before sitting back up. 

The smirk returns to his face as his eyes darken again. “Too much, kitten? But I’m just taking care of you. I know you love your self-care nights so much.”

Your eyes grow wide as you follow his hands. You swallow, seeing the bulge of his jeans. And despite having orgasmed the hardest you ever have just moments ago, you find your pussy clenching against air.

And the ache for your boyfriend returns, tenfold. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses his red, hard cock to your swollen pussy. A little indulgence never hurt anyone right? After all, you had a very rough week. 

[machinegunbun]

this is based on a true story and i feel stupid typing out this novel

I slept with someone miles from home whenever I was 21 who looked suspiciously like Colson some details have been edited in order to protect identities/obscure timelines

Also shitty and boring it’s a rough draft forgive my URL also thought I could changw it when I made it omg

I’m gonna send this in pieces bc it just disappeared (I can’t take the hint omg)

~££~

The sound of pans clanging against a cold, concrete floor snap you back to your senses and also prompt you to press a Bluetooth earbud further into your brain, to drown it all out and get back to the flow. As the beat pounds on and on into your canal, aggressive lyrics soothing your movements into a ballet-esque orchestra repeating the task in front of you, you begin wrapping prepped food like a machine once again. Although burns, cuts, and bruises sting across your body (some of your trade, some for fun, and some from flat out vices) you pay no mind, as it is keeping you heavily grounded; Just as well, the crisp, wet, refreshing air (just faintly tinged with cigarette smoke,) of the emergency exit door wide open billow against your back, providing necessary healing and much needed relief from the aching muscles underneath your ratty shirt.

In the middle of your last piece of the steam table puzzle, you realize someone must be smoking this cigarette you smell? And it had been quite some time since your last, so it made you suddenly grit your teeth at the craving. Quickly checking the clock, you realize it is midnight, and you’re likely the last 2 in the store, so you need to hurry it up and finish cash drop. After all, it would be a long walk home in Cleveland, Ohio sleet.

You are jarred from your thoughts with a frigid, slender finger hooking your headphones around them and out of your ears. As you realize what Chipotle veteran is still left standing alongside you, you quickly pause the music and wipe your hands on a nearby towel before turning to face him.

“My bad I’m not done yet, if I’m holding you up Colson. I only have to stick this in the walk in, and count registers.”

A chuckle escaped the blonde don. He threw his hands up, so that you had to look up to see the tall, mysterious creature, as if to surrender. “I’m not a boss man, take your time. I just wanted to see if you needed a square. It’s been since lunch rush you had a break.” He stops to look at you sternly, although in fascination. “And you were here before me.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure, stacking bowls in your arms neatly, “I have to go by the gas station after this to get some.”

Colson begins snatching things from you to pace alongside you towards the cooler. “Let me help you. Take a break, I’ll GIVE you a cig, dude.”

You cringe at dude, because that is how everyone saw you no matter how many days you came in with make up and a clean apron. Nevertheless, you were grateful, and you told him as much.

You had become comfortable in the job itself the past 18 months, and you knew every employee from sheer silent and thoughtful observation, but you were sure this was the most you had talked to Colson (or the other, less attractive crew either, for that matter) and weren’t quite as content with small talk or favors. You noted sometime last week he must be having a hard time when you had to step on the line for him after an altercation with a customer, which he walked out over. First time in a year and a half, so you knew it must be serious.

Once the task was completed, Colson abruptly grabs you by the arm and forces a menthol into it.

“Let’s do that first and then we’ll blow this joint.” Ever the jokester, as he says this, he winks and pulls a joint from behind his ear.

“You got tricks,” I laugh

We walk out the back and Colson hops up onto a stack of Buffalo Rock crates to light the J. You walk a safe distance from him to light your much appreciated cigarette.

“So you don’t talk much,” Colson hisses, taking a big inhale, before continuing as he keeps the joint from running, “but I know you smoke, cause your backpack always REEKS, dude.” He cracks a smile, eyes low and beautiful eyelashes glistening in the flurries swirling around you.

You nod in acknowledgement, no sense denying that. “It’s for my glaucoma,” you joke dryly.

Colson snorts and chokes before leaning out with the bud to pass it.

“So how you be doing that shit all day? Lifting dishpans bigger than you and shit, doubles 6 days a week?” Colson inquires, and if it weren’t wishful thinking you would say he was checking you out. Hopefully not just to see if you’re a robot.

You smile meekly. “Well, you do it, too,” you remind.

“Yeah but I’m not a girl. I’m… Well, look at me,” he boasts playfully from atop his King of the Hill stack, arms spread out to show off, as the makeshift throne wobbles slightly below. “I’m six-foot-foe,” he smirks, holding fingers up as he annunciates.

You have to laugh at his gloating. “Well, as long as I want to eat, I’ll be here,” you dismiss as gently as you can. try as you might, This brings up the uncomfortable memory of your first month here, when Colson silently pushed a plate of steak towards you on your break after watching you struggling to stay vertical.

Colson knits a brow as brushes your fingertips softly to take the blunt back. “Another question, do you really be walking home, alone, in this shit every night?” He motions to the snow beginning to swirl.

“Yeah, I do what I have to. It was rough at first, now it’s like meditation. Only, like, 15 minutes,” you dismiss. You know you could have a car by now if you could give up the pills, and you feel the shame, all too familiar, welling up like a tight ball in your stomach.

“Well I can tell you you ain’t doing that shit tonight,” he affirms seriously, “cause I got a whip now!” His tone of concern Cascades easily info one of excitement.

You’re blushing now, whyyy? You’d been able to avoid everyone up to this point, sans your dealer. “You really don’t have to do that,” you say, though the wind off your face did sound more and more intoxicating as it whipped around the two of you.

“I INSIST,” he barks, putting the roach out between two fingers.

You make quick work of counting the registers while Colson stared on, expression unreadable. You grow more self conscious with each single you lay down , but try to ignore it.

“Damn, you a pro at this,” he snorts, sticking the same stack of hundreds through the bill counter over and over. “You one with the bands or something. Almost faster than this thing,’ he motions to the machine on the desk.

"And that’s a wrap,” you conclude, stacking drawers inside the safe with a quickness. “I’m just gonna change and we can leave.”

Cautiously and curiously, Colson stands in the doorway, waiting.

“Oh, my bad, you might wanna do that in private,” he smirks, stepping to the side.

Quickly you pull the door closed to the tiny office and pretend you aren’t trying to see if Colson is looking thru the small glass window, while you quickly strip to a crop top, sweatpants and a light jacket. Once finished, you attempt to gather your composure, and exit to find him scrambling to gather his as well.

You head in silence to his car, a used ‘96 Toyota. Once inside, Colson shakes and rubs his hands together, flicking a heater on immediately. “Sh-it, it is freezing,” he remarks, warming his hands by his mouth, eyes grazing across you, “aren’t you dying in that??” He motions to your flannel.

“Business as usual,” you say. If only he knew how many pharmaceuticals and trauma went into that demeanor.

“Shid, fuck that,” he resists, and begins digging in his backseat. “Here, this is Slim’s, wear it to make me feel better.”

You slip the jacket over your lap and give a nod of appreciation. You hated feeling like a homeless hopeless.

Colson reaches for the auxiliary cord and stops himself from pulling his phone from his pocket. You try hard not to stare at his briefs peeking over his belt.

“Let’s see what you’re bobbing your head to all day,” he smiles, hand out.

You oblige, only to realize who it was paused on.

“Oh, wait, not that playlis–”

“Dawg, is this my shit??” Colson almost screams, although curiously he doesn’t seem creeped out, he’s… Excited?

“Uh…” You bite your lip. “You… Did promote it constantly. Well, still do,” you stammer.

“No, no. Do NOT be embarrassed, this is fuckin sick! Incredible,” he whispers in disbelief, hooking up the cord, as he pulls a devil’s horn with the other hand. “We have a fan!” He triumphs before putting it in reverse and backing away.

“So, I was thinking…” He trails, fingers drumming almost nervously on the steering wheel, “we could hang at my place for a bit? Our names are next to each other on the schedule, so I know you have TWO whole days off, too,” he reminds, almost shutting down any attempt at refusal.

“I have smoke,” you offer, “but no wraps.”

Colson grins big. “Perfect, I got both at the house.”

***