#the packet said ''guilt free!''

[strikingamatch]

i ate too much

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[starlightsearches]

ooooooooh can we eget a track 8 with edward nashton? maybve it's his first time but he doesnt want to tell the reader that?? love your writing 🖤

Moving Too Fast

Track 8: Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones - Give me a character and a NSFW prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Edward Nashton x F! Reader

AN: Thanks for the suggestion, friend! Here's a little love letter from me to pre-mature ejaculation uwu. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated mwah mwah

Warnings: 18+ only, some language, lots of self-loathing from Eddie, sexism, mentions of creepy behavior, making out, and pre-mature ejaculation. Let me know if I missed anything!

Eddie could have sworn it was three dates.

Isn't that what everybody said? Third date go great? Try these six tips to make him yours for sure.

Or maybe he just got that idea from some stupid magazine back when he was in college. The ones he'd shove inside his jacket before the guy ringing up all the ramen packets and dandruff shampoo would notice.

Magazines he'd read whenever his roommate was gone—when he'd stroke his cock nice and slow at the lurid words, still getting used to the idea of pleasure, guilt always sitting at the top of his stomach like an oil slick—reading about all the ways a woman could touch you. Too scared at the sight of tits to look at any real porn.

High school was where he learned what it meant if a girl let you touch her on the first date. Eddie had spent every hellish minute in those fucking locker rooms with his head ducked low, trying to avoid attention, curling in on himself to hide the body he was so ashamed of and didn't understand.

He still heard what the other boys said. Learned all the words—slut, whore, skank—practiced saying them under his breath whenever he was alone so they'd come out naturally if the occasion ever arose. (It never did.)

But this isn't a third date. It's not even a date. And Eddie's not sure what that's supposed to say about you.

He doesn't think you're a slut. There haven't been any other men here on the nights Eddie watched your doorway (before you'd ever said a word to him) from the nearby alley, standing guard, looking for glimpses of you through the windows.

No other men, and he's glad, because there's no way for him to know what he'd have done.

But you do seem eager for him—or for this, at least—with the little noises you're making against his lips, kissing him in the darkness of your bedroom, pulling him against you and all your warm skin.

A word like eager doesn't even belong in the same room as Eddie. Not directed at him, although it emanates from his body like a disease, keeping everybody at a distance.

Everybody but you.

His clumsy hands grip at the extra fabric of your baggy t-shirt where it hangs at your sides, his hold so tight it could rip at any moment.

"You can take it off," you whisper, the words slurring out in the quick pause before you're kissing him again. Eddie's lungs are getting smaller as he lifts the fabric, knuckles bumping against your waist, catching at the edge of your bra. He's lucky his grip doesn't falter, or he'd have to start over.

But maybe Eddie wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like this—the Sisyphean task of taking of your clothes a riddle he'd love to spend all his time working out—baring your skin but going no farther.

Never needing to show the vulnerable parts of himself.

He has to pull back so you can get your shirt off the rest of the way, balling up the warm fabric in his hands. Eddie thinks about holding it to his nose and breathing deep, letting your scent wash over and through him.

But that will have to wait for another time. When you're not here. When the lock-picking kit he ordered finally shows up on his doorstep.

He rubs the fabric between his fingers instead, gripping hard enough his knuckles turn white. You drop down to the mattress, tits bouncing, and Eddie's vision blackens at the edges.

"Come on, Eds. What're you waiting for?"

To wake up. He can't think of a better answer, so he doesn't say anything, shins hitting the bed, looming over you with his too-warm body and heavy breaths. And none of that makes you push him away, pulling him closer, your body pressing and rubbing against his.

Tits pillowing against his chest as you cup your hands around his neck, tongue dipping deeper into his mouth when you raise your chin. One of your legs hooks around the back of his ankle, stroking at the leg of his jeans.

And worst of all, your palms—warm, and a little damp—slipping the bottom of his shirt out from under the waistband of his pants. Eddie feels the press of your hands against his skin like a brand, and he hopes your touch will stain him somehow because he'll never feel you like this again. Not after what comes next.

Eddie's already too close. You've hardly done anything and he's close, so hard it's painful, his tender dick pressed up against your thigh, warm from your body even through the layers he wears. He feels his heavy balls drawing tight against his skin, so desperate to spill somewhere besides his own hand.

Eddie literally begs his body to hold on, to wait, pleading silently with god, with whoever could be listening, with his own shame to stop the inevitable next step.

It's no use, as he knew it would be. Eddie cums with a moan that mortifies him down in his bones.

Your hands stop their movements, lingering questioningly at the space above his hips.

"Eddie?"

He feels your breath hit his face, lips no longer against his when you press your head further into the pillows, looking up at him as his cum seeps into the fabric of his jeans, hot and heavier than he's used to, probably soaking through and smearing over all your lovely skin.

"Eddie, did you—"

He shoots back with a cry before you can get the question out, unsure where to look, pressing his hands over the wet spot on his crotch, all his visible skin bright red and flushed.

"I'm—oh, god—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

He's crying, actually, steps away from full-blown, whiny sobs. The one chance he had to be close to someone, to be with someone, and he's ruined it.

The same way he ruins everything.

"I- this doesn't—this doesn't, uh, usually happen."

It's a lie, even without the implication that this has happened with other women. Eddie never lasts long when he's thinking about you, no matter what he tries.

It's a weak attempt, but he has to save face, has to kill the sickness inside of him.

Has to hope against hope that you won't laugh in his face.

Eddie thinks he's imagining it when he feels your hand at his wrist, insistent in its grip until your eyes meet his, not mocking, like he was certain they would be, but curious, and fervent.

"Really?"

There's this lilting appetite in your voice that Eddie could never imagine, that tells him just how dull all his daydreams had been.

"Eddie," you whisper, lips painted wet by your tongue, and you're on your knees, closing the distance he left open, "that's—"

Whatever it is, Eddie doesn't find out. You don't finish your sentence before you're kissing him again.

[cyberstrm]

4:07 am

remus lupin x gn!reader

cws: consensual age gap, reader was formally remus's student but nothing inappropriate happened during that time, smoking, swearing

you took a long drag from your cigarette as you gazed into the black sky. leaning out of a cramped, 3rd floor corridor window was not the most glamorous way of smoking, but you were so desperate you didn't care.

as much as you valued being in the order of the phoenix, the current headquarters (the house formally owned by the blacks) was a fucking nightmare. it reeked of death and woodworms, and there were creatures of all shapes and sizes hiding in crevices and cupboards. it was only just liveable and you'd been stuck living here here for weeks, but at least you could leave when you wanted to, unlike poor sirius.

offering to stay and help clean up headquarters over the summer seemed simple enough at the time, but it was hard work. when the kids went back to school, you'd go proper househunting. you'd graduated from hogwarts only this year, and needed somewhere to crash, so in exchange for a free room and food on the table, you'd agreed to help make the black house fit for living.

mrs weasley did not approve of your smoking habits, hence the uncomfortable leaning out of the window. besides, it was too late (or rather, early in the morning) to go outside.

"care to spare one?"

you jumped, hitting your head on the window.

"ow! fuck!"

you pulled out, still holding a half-finished cigarette, panting. remus lupin stood in front of you, his face apologetic. he was wearing brown cords and a baggy, sage green button up that was half untucked, and mismatched socks.

"apologies, y/n. didn't mean to startle you."

"cough next time or something, merlin." you placed a hand on your heart dramatically and fumbled with your packet of fags. "we won't both fit out the window so we'll just have to sit and smoke vaguely in the vicinity."

remus laughed and took the cigarette, his fingertips brushing yours. he sat opposite you on the stairwell, lazily using his wand to light his cigarette.

"didn't take you for a smoker." you said, after exhaling deeply.

"yes, well. you're not exactly the smoker type either." he replied, taking a long drag with a grateful expression.

"excuse me, the last time you saw me i had shitty box-dyed hair and a nose stud. I'm definitely the smoker type." you said in mock defence, referencing the year that remus had taught your defence against the dark arts lessons.

he chuckled, nodding. "that's true. you did look very different back then."

"man, i miss your classes. they were so chill. sorry i was always a nightmare and never handed in homework."

"i had worse students." he smirked, and you smacked him playfully. you both laughed.

you hadn't felt this relaxed in a while. after everything that happened last year, you'd felt wild and panicked for almost every waking moment. you believed harry, of course you did, and being close with the weasley's meant you knew all about the order, and joined as soon as you left school. maybe it would've been better if you didn't believe harry. you wouldn't feel so...panicked all the time. but you did, so that was that.

"what are you doing up so early anyway?" you asked, checking your watch and feeling a pang of guilt at the little '4:07' staring up at you.

remus nodded at the window. you looked up and saw the almost full moon.

"i can never sleep in the days beforehand."

"oooh." you replied in understanding. "i'm....i'm sorry you had to leave hogwarts because of it. that fucking sucked."

"i'm used to it." he shrugged.

"anytime you need cigs, i'm your person. any time. for free. no charge. it's the least i can do, like honestly i wouldn't have passed DADA if it weren't for you."

"i'll hold you to that." he grinned.

he gazed out the window, his eyes glazed and unfocused. he looked exhausted, but he wore it well. you supposed that was because he was rarely anything but. he looked soft, blurry around the edges, like a mirage, or as if he were painted with watercolour.

"d'you wanna know something kinda funny."

don't say it.

"mm?"

don't say it.

"i kinda..."

you're going to embarrass yourself.

"i used to have the biggest crush on you when you were at hogwarts."

remus didn't say anything, but smiled humbly.

"i get that a lot, actually."

"really?"

"you sound surprised." he grinned.

"what? no- i just mean...who will i have to battle for your heart?"

he laughed, and you found your face was growing warm. you don't know why you'd told him, it was very spur of the moment, but you were glad you did. it was nice to see him properly laugh.

"things have changed so much." you muttered, getting to the end of your cig. "i changed so much. probably for the better."

"things have changed- are changing." he agreed. "but i do hope you didn't stop liking me."

you properly blushed this time. "you mean that?"

he gazed at you, and leant forward to stub out his cigarette on the windowsill. he didn't lean back. his eyes were on you, full of something you'd never seen before. not lust, more like-

but before you could think of what it was more like, he pressed his lips to yours gently. his facial hair was rough against your skin as he kissed you deeper, his hand cupping your cheek.

he pulled away, still holding your face.

"was that...okay?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at your flustered face.

"y-yeah....but....maybe we should go somewhere more private." you chuckled, gesturing to the fact you were both slumped on the stairwell floor.

"good idea, hun." he pecked your lips. he stood up and helped you to your feet.

"my room?" you asked, kissing his scarred cheek.

"desperate for more, hm?" he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist. he kissed you again softly.

"you know it, old man."

[rancidexpression]

Am I Hypomanic or Just in My Twenties?

Everyone around me seemed to be overwhelmed by the in and outs of the events that plague each day of my life. I give many the sense that I am a ticking time bomb, someone to be worried about. Many stories I have told others seemed Far Bigger to them than it seemed to me, that I should be more concerned or worried or scared about it, are you okay, yaa yaa yaa.

             I thought it would be funny to chalk that up to me being a Scorpio,

 but my therapist said it is because I surround myself with chaos! 

A few of my less desirable traits are as follows:

- zero second thought to many of my worst actions

- cannot fully close a drawer or cabinet

- that I think I am right about everything

- the best way and only way to do anything well is by doing things how I do them

- will try and do anything once

- I have the worst impulse control and will fully send anything to the moon

- Fuck It We Ball mentality 

- will leave anywhere if I do not want to be there

 XXX said they liked how spontaneous I am, while my spontaneity is actually because I cannot fathom the consequences of any of my actions, I would miss 100% of the shots I don't take, there's a 50/50 chance in everything- that is, until they arise (I promise, I am getting better at not completely disregarding myself in my endeavors. Slowly but surely. At least I do not drink to be stupid anymore). 

In a way that was Conceited and a bit Vile, I gained a small bit of

 “>:-) muwhaha”

(felt in my throat, like a warm hug- but from tonsillitis) whenever I was able to shock someone by my little stories of life. If one of em’ did not shock someone, I would surely be able to gather up enough material to at the very least make them uneasy.  I do not do any of this for pity, or for people to see me as weaker than them. In a way I hoped to make my Lore seem so Big. Damn this bitch has had a crazy life! They have done everything! It was my idea of self-protection perhaps, my little bubble of allure. My storytelling sometimes consists of:

“My dad just got married to a woman after being engaged for less than a week”

“Want to look at my relationship history?”

“I fainted and cracked open my eyebrow at my first job. My boss said I did it on purpose to get out of working that shift. The chef at this place also assaulted me and I was told just not to be near him”

“My friends and I made up a fake story to trip an older woman with guilt by saying we were making a club to stop bullying, but we needed funds to help supply the activities for it. We really just wanted weed money”

Any story that involves one of my exes has a very large chance of being Fucked Up, comical, and crazy

“Once while being  institutionalized at 14 some dude jizzed in a Skippys peanut butter condiment packet and showed every adolescent in our hallway.” (my next room neighbor).

“When I was 15 I pierced my own nipples and belly button while I was high on  oxy. I did it because I was hoping to get my first ex to be mad at me for being Young and Wild and Free,  but afterwards he just spread a rumor at school that I was a ‘whore and addict’. Granted somewhat true”

(I promise, again, I am getting better at not completely disregarding myself in my endeavors. Slowly but surely.)

A coworker of mine, XXX, asked me why I couldn't just be friends with anybody. It has been a long running joke between everyone I worked with, that every week I come in and exclaim that,

Here Ye, Here Ye, My Loved Ones,

     I have met The One, my True Love! Blessed me, I believe in the humanity of life again!  They are magical, and actually treat me with little to some decency! Oh, if only you could feel this love that is inside of my heart, the world would be a better place. I am elated, I am joyous, I am excited by everything!

To be fair, I have had some of the worst dating history imaginable, and if there was any Hint of there being a crumb of decency pushed my way, I tend to leech onto it with an insane fantasy, to hoard the feeling of mutual reciprocity, gripping like it was my last Hope. (Well, what I would think to be mutual reciprocity) At heart, in mind, body, and soul, I have always been a hopeless romantic, a sap, a Lover. But because of this, I am naive, I give the benefit of the doubt too much, let wayyy too many things slide, and always end up getting treated pretty Badly. The definition of insanity is to keep repeating the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different result each time. That is with me and trying to fix emotionally unavailable people who have no interest in treating me well. And you know what Baby, Let's Buckle Up For The Next Ride!

 Ask anyone I know!! Yall Heard?” No One Loves Like XXXX Loves!”

During the week of my coworker saying that, and although at this time I am on cloud nine, I was almost certain that… But..okay…. Please just Hear me out.. okay.. But  this has to be The One I have waited centuries for, and finally I will be loved with the same force in which I love), I joked that I would just have a go at one of their friends when we ended (let me have a little hope here). I liked to make myself seem bigger and tougher than I really was.Nothing could hurt me, I was better than that.  If I could make others believe that I was wanted and desirable, The Hot Commodity of this Town, maybe it would come true and I wouldn't feel so hopeless and out of control.

 In June of this year, I went on a wild streak of about 4-5 dates per week. I was a lunatic on dating apps. A few weeks earlier I had a very intense and horrendous breakup, and went batshit crazy in my rebound era. I would invite a random man, an absolute stranger from a dating site, to come to my apartment- where I lived alone- with no way of fending for myself and while also being quite weak. Each date we would have dinner I either cooked or we brought to my place, play a board game, and drink way too much cheap wine. 

I would invite them 

*pat pat*

to sit next to me on my beige velvet couch, with many candles dancing in the dark, cozied up close but enough not touching them fully- just a little tease of skin contact. Some of my dates were not memorable, but most were with bizarre characters with the worst personalities, who would very much cross any boundaries. In all honesty that is how most every femme person's dating history in this city looked like. Nothing to call home about, or they probably have pedo/abusive tendencies. 

I live in many corners of the Octadecagon of Extremes. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I do have a hot head about myself sometimes, what can I say. I will walk around like I Am The Shit, I am so HOT!! I want to kiss everyone and they want to kiss me. Or I cannot bear to look at myself in the mirror, probably in a relapse, and continuing to do Everything that disregards any sense of my well-being, because I deserve horrible things and I suck, Woe Is Me! I just to Feel Something Please Oh God Let Me FEEEEEEEELLLL. Or everything is so intense and fastandracingandmoving oh Oh i'm overwhelmed help me there are so manythings going onARound me I can feel people's heartbeat in vibrations around me and  I Am So Young And Alive And Hopeful god might just make me a penny to keep in their pocket Everything's So Beautiful and Life is Love YIPPEEEEE!! Or institutionalization, extended stay with my sister or mom, or completely up and leaving, missing in action, see ya later (or not). I genuinely feel horrendous for the amount of people I have hurt in the worst of those extremes, through my words and actions.

 When I was in an EDA program, the fourth step was to make a “searching and fearless moral inventory”- which consisted of making a list of people and things I hated, my fears, pity for myself and others, all of my points of shame, everything I felt I was guilty for/harm I had caused to others, and experiences I am confused about in my life that still impact me to this day. I couldn't do it, all down to the steps of writing down all my resentments, and the harm I have caused myself and others. Maybe someday I will be able to go back to the program and face the faces I have caused harm too. I hope many people do that for me. I hope you reading this, do too.

[softshuji]

2:27 AM | HAITANI RAN

Ran’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his breath is mist in the cold expanse of his car. He inhales once, squeezes the steering wheel so hard he’s almost convinced he could break it. He switches on the heating,flicks open the packet of cigarettes and puts one between his lips, watching the smoke curl and puff. He’d have thought that spending the better part of an hour beating a man till his brains could be seen would have done something to ease the tight coil of tension and stiffness in his stomach but apparently not. 

His fingers still feel fatigued, still feel as if there are sparks just below the skin of his scarred hands. 

He hadn’t left under the best of circumstances, hadn’t even looked back as he slammed the door on you. You had watched, tears in your eyes as he drove off, his brow pinched, mouth turned down, lip caught between his teeth as he held back all the things he could have said.

He’s still thinking about it now. Still thinking about the look on your face when he shrugged on his jacket and walked out, the keys on the hook shaking as he slammed the front door. You had watched the white paint, watched the door handle stay unmoving, and waited with bated breath, for him to return, say sorry, to take it back. And minutes had passed, the drone of the engine had disappeared and still you waited, would have continued to wait had it not been for the ring of your mobile.

Ran sighs, picks up his phone, half expecting to see a barrage of missed calls from you, and then deflates when he sees nothing but the lockscreen clear of any notifications.He doesn’t know that on your side, you’re doing the same thing, sniffling and checking your phone periodically for any sign that he might have reached out to you.

Ran’s finger hovers over your name. He dials, listens for the ring, his heart hammering in his chest. More nerve wracking than killing a man, he thinks.

You see his name flash on the screen, and you let it ring twice before picking it up, perhaps out of spite, perhaps because you don’t want to make it seem like you were waiting for him, watching the clock tick away. A punishment in itself for the both of you of sorts. 

You wipe your nose on a sodden tissue left on your nightstand, rolling over on your shared bed that smells so horribly like him.  Your heartbeat quickens when you press the phone to your ear.

‘Princess?’ he says, and the air whooshes out of you. There is no playful lilt, no teasing, no sarcasm in it. It is worried and hushed and hoarse, and you can tell by the roughness of it that he’s smoked a few cigarettes before making the call.

Your lip wobbles, and you don’t entirely trust your voice not to betray you right now, so you clear your throat. But even still, that lump right there persists and when you exhale, it comes out shaky.

‘Ran…’ You don’t mean for it to sound so desperate, for your breathy whisper to feed down the line. And perhaps it’s because your heart has been aching since he slammed that door, and you saw the vein in his forehead pulse with anger, but a half-hearted sob pulls its way out of you and drips down the line.

A spike of anxiety shoots its way through him, and he can tell you’ve been crying to yourself over the last few hours. The guilt worms its way into his stomach like a parasite. 

‘Princess …’ he says again, his tongue heavy, sticking to the roof of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

The tears are free-flowing and fast and you hiccup into the receiver. It’s been hours, you know that. You know that the jagged edges of your pain have softened into smoother tendrils of heartbreak. You also know that you forgave him the minute you saw his name pop up on your screen. Still, you want to make him work for that forgiveness, you want him to know, to at least feel a fraction of the sharp pain he caused you.

‘Ran I-’ You’re not sure what to say to him to get this feeling across, this strange sensation of both yearning and anger. And you are angry with him, for walking out on you, for not explaining, for the way he reacted to such a simple request. 

Can you take some time off so we can spend a weekend together?

Yet you know that even still, you’ve forgiven him so quickly, and perhaps that’s a testament to what you feel for him. You are irrevocably in love and you know that life is so short and fleeting and that that love is the most sacred gift you could ever share with each other.

‘I know baby,’ he says, and though you can’t see it, he’s hoping that him pressing his forehead into the steering wheel and mentally cursing himself is going to somehow assuage the guilt. ‘I’m stupid, I’m an idiot-’

‘Very stupid-’ you interject, just to drive home the point.

‘Very stupid, correct.’ He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself for saying whatever he needs to, if it means he’s going to win you back. ‘I am the most insufferable person on the whole Earth-’

‘That’s an understatement-’ 

He tuts at your minor interruption and you snort, sniffling, your skin cracking from the tears dried on your face.

‘I’m a stupid boyfriend, an idiotic man who doesn’t deserve to have such a beautiful and smart girl in my life-’ 

He’s on a roll now, gripping the phone tight and fiddling with a cigarette lighter you bought for him, his initials carved into the gold casing. 

‘Ran-’ You sit up in your bed, brows furrowed.

‘-But I know that I love you,’ he says, an almost imperceptible whisper that you swear no one else would have heard over the drone of the car’s heating, or the shuffle of sheets as you moved. But you know him, know his words, know his voice anywhere. Your heart knows his instinctively, and you’re so in rhythm with each other that in a sea of voices, you could pick him out. You would know him beyond death, beyond anything. 

You’ve heard him say it before, many times before in fact. But it’s still true as ever. That he has your heart in a vice grip and that he, through the simple act of existing, of saying the three words, can make you come undone where you sit. You feel yourself soften, the edges of your pain withering away like leaves in autumn. You try to fight the watery smile that’s threatening your lips and even though your chin wobbles still, you think it’s okay.He’s okay, you’re okay.

‘Princess?’ He hasn’t heard you reply and it worries him just a bit. 

You take a shaky breath and all that tension dissipates through your skin. Your fight seems so trivial compared to this, compared to the vast expanse of love between you, the years and years of building what you both cherish so much. ‘I love you too Ran.’ 

And with that, he sighs, lifting his head from the steering wheel, gripping the phone a little looser and his shoulder sag as he leans against the plush leather seat. It is so simply said, so simply done, that the argument from the afternoon almost seems non-existent compared to this. 

‘I’m on my way home,’ he says and he means it. ‘I’ll see you soon Pretty baby.’ 

‘Can’t wait,’ you reply and he can almost feel your smile through the phone. There is no tension, no echo of worry or hurt feeding through the line this time. Only love, persisting as it always does.

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs since like forever, figured it was time to post it. Believe it or not Ran was one of the first characters I ever started writing for, it's been a while since I wrote for him, thank you to everyone who has supported my work thus far and continues to do so, it really means a lot to me y'know, I know I'm really inconsistent with posting, but you guys continue to stay with me, thank you all. and thanks to my ran for being a whole lot of fun and a huge inspo for me <3

taglist: @clovcly @oikawascutie @alias-sano @mxnjiros @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @kimduckja @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @invisible-cardigan-33 @crown5 @the-travelling-witch @bladesandguns @reiners-milkbiddies @michiphoria @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @anxious-cherry-pie @oikawascutie (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

[lorelune]

no need to be brutal

||  getou suguru x reader || T || hurt/comfort ||  wc: 4.6k || ao3  ||

There’s no need to be cruel to yourself. Suguru reminds you of this.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: hurt/comfort with suguru!! AU where everyone lives/nobody dies. no spoilers! just some happy, jujutsu tech moments. student is a student, prolly a third year but its unspecified. 

warnings: unhealthy coping with drugs and alcohol, reader's body size is referenced (wearing getou's clothes, being picked up, etc) 

The night had worn long and thin. You couldn’t remember if midnight had passed, but the moon rose high, waning and half-full. The air was crisp, chilled, and a cloud of steam hung around your cheeks and stinging nose with each breath.

Cold, and it had seeped down into your bones. Perhaps, it was the chill that made them feel so brittle.

Why did you feel so breakable?

You cursed under your breath, shaking your head.

Don’t think like that.

How could you not?

You chased away the thought, sniffling and refusing to feel it. Rather, you dug into the pocket of your winter jacket, and tugged free a plain, silver flask. Half-full of fire water, and it was the only reason you could stand the frigid weather that night.

It was unhealthy to numb your thoughts like this, but what did you have to lose?

The campus was quiet around you, ginkgo trees, old and timeless, were undisturbed. The wind laid, restful, and only sang high in the clouds. The whooshing in your ears was louder. Outside of your skull, it was quiet. The freshly fallen snow sucked the sound from the land. Snow silence, and perhaps, without the liquor in your empty stomach, you would’ve been more unnerved.

“Hey.”

Your head bobbed up to the voice.

At the sight of who it was, a twist of guilt wound itself in your stomach. Silhouetted by the yellow lights of the dorms, Suguru stood above you. He had height on you normally, but from your perch on the cold stone bench, he almost towered.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and dropped your head back to the pure power on the ground.

“What’re you doing out here?” Suguru asked, softly. “It’s cold.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell.” Your voice was clipped, even with the alcohol burning the back of your throat. You punched yourself internally, shaking your head and running a hand down your cheek. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Suguru replied simply, regarding you with a gentle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you come back inside? Yu and Nanami made that pumpkin bread that they’ve been wanting to. You should get some before Satoru eats it all.”

You swallowed, steeling yourself.

“I’m okay, but thank you.”

Suguru said nothing, and the cold quiet ate you both alive for a moment. Just two forms, minds, stuck in their own thoughts. You couldn’t think about him too hard or it stung.

Your stomach rolled and you just wanted him to leave—

“May I sit with you?” He asked, moving a step or two closer.

It would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps.

You could blame the firewater if you said something stupid. If you made a fool of yourself or said the wrong thing, or god fucking forbid hurt Suguru.

You sniffled, scooting over on the bench and brushing off the snow for him with your hand. You half-expected him to chastise you doing so with it bare, but he said nothing.

He sat down next to you, bundled in his jacket, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Want one?”

“... Are you enabling me?”

“... Yes, but you look like you could use one more than me,” He offered the stick to you, and you took it with a trembling hand.

Without thought, Suguru leaned forward, lighting your cigarette with a cupped hand before retrieving his own and repeating the process.

The liquor made the nicotine easier to bear. The smoke and steam mixed and mingled, between your lips and in the space between you and Suguru.

“You should come inside after this,” He repeated, perhaps inching a bit closer. “You have to be cold, right? I’ll steal Satoru’s heated blanket.”

“You’re bribing me.”

“Attempting to.”

You exhaled, shaking your head, “I’m drunk, and I want to be more drunk.”

“... Where’d you get booze?” Suguru asked, amusement in the lilt of his voice, with a tinge of bewilderment.

“Mei brought it for me when she came to visit last week,” You wrapped your arms around it. “You know she’d do anything for money. And, she, ya’ know— knows.”

Gets it, you mean. This awful, hollow, rotten feeling in your chest. You’d called Mei a while back, lost and desperate for a modicum of support and god, you refused to show your classmates a hint of weakness. No one you had regular contact with.

You sobbed to her over the phone, incoherent and babbling with the nightmare that had woken you.

She listened, asked if there was anyone at the school you could talk to, ‘sleep in their room, maybe? It’s more common than you think. All sorcerers have nightmares. It’d be more fucked up if you didn’t.’

And you wept to her again about how you couldn’t. You were the weakest and showing any gaps in your finely crafted armor was a means for breaking. You were brittle, remember? Half-to-shattering, most of the time.

Mei seemed to understand that too and offered to buy you a few bottles— ‘It’s awful, but it’s better than pills. Only drink on the nights you can’t sleep, and do not let Satoru have any and don’t let Yaga know.’

You cried to her more, a thanks. She took your money with a sad look on her face, though it wasn’t like she, Mei Mei, would refuse your crumpled cash. She didn’t, just forced you into a brief hug with a squeeze.

How kind, especially when it was all you could accept.

You were pulled from your thoughts with Suguru’s light laugh, “Mei’s your enabler? Should’ve known.”

You made a little noise out of the back of your throat and curled over yourself and your cigarette.

“You should go inside,” You parroted, gently, “It’s cold.”

“Come in with me then,” He suggested, easily. “We can watch a movie. A good one. We have popcorn too.”

It did sound... nice.

You let yourself imagine it, greedy for a moment. You, Suguru, Satoru and Ieiri, the second years too, all bundled in blankets and propped on pillows in the common room. Satoru had bought a nice TV for all of you, and you knew that one of them would have a good movie to watch. You could smell Yu and Kento’s baking, you had been for hours, something warm and spiced that you could so easily sink into—

The liquor made your lips looser.

“I-I don’t want to burden you.”

You wanted to cut your tongue out as soon as the words left you and you visibly cringed. Your cigarette was nearly burning your fingers, hitting filter, but you held it, lest your pick at your nail beds.

You thought Suguru may laugh, scoff or plain dismiss the comment. Ideally, he’d forget and offer you another cigarette.

Instead, he shuffled a bit closer on the bench.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Why would you be a burden?”

“I’m cold, drunk, and feel like shit,” You said, resisting the urge to lean into his heat. “I’m not e-exactly... fun to be around right now.”

“You don’t need to be fun,” He answered quietly, closing the distance between the two of you. He plucked the butt cigarette from your fingers and tossed it into the snow before grabbing your wrist. He kept his grip light, peering down.

Ever-gentle, like he was trying not to spook a frightened animal, he held your hand in his palm. His hand was larger, engulfing yours as he maneuvered yours, examining your fingers.

“I think you burned yourself— Shoko can fix you up.”

Burden, burden.

“It’s fine. I can’t feel it.” You tried to bring your hand back to yourself, to hide it in your chest, but Suguru’s grip only got tighter. Your heart stuttered.

Caught.

Suguru took a deep sigh, and the exhale was enough to get you to finally regard him directly.

His hair was down, spilling down his shoulders and tucked behind one pink-tipped ear. His eyes looked tired, though not defeated as they flickered up to meet yours.

You wanted to die a little.

“Come inside, warm up.” Suguru urged again, without breaking eye contact.

When you tried to turn your head away, he squeezed your wrist and tapped your cheek to meet his eyes once more. His gaze burned through you, brutal in the most disarming way. He had a way of doing that without trying and god, you wanted to smack him for it.

“What’s keeping you out here?” Suguru whispered. If he had spoken any quieter, the non-existent wind might’ve eaten the sound.

You wanted to break the stare, look at something other than his eyes, but you couldn’t. His irises were dark as pitch, sucking you in, and seemingly endlessly. Maybe it was the shit vodka in your gut, or the chill on your cheeks, but you lacked the facilities to pull away from him.

Not with him holding your wrist like that.

Not with him demanding in such a way.

So, you spat whatever came to mind. Fuck it.

“I told you,” Your lips curled, angry. Indignant, and guilt furled in your stomach with your tone. “I don’t want to fucking burden you all, Suguru. I feel like shit. I’m drunk. I’m not exactly in a great mood or thinking, ya’ know, great thoughts. I don’t want to fucking be in there.”

You nodded to the dorms and ripped your hand away. Surprisingly, Suguru let loose on his grip, and you separated yourself from him. Seething.

The inevitable shame in speaking in such a way, honestly and angrily, burned something in your lungs. You wanted to vomit.

Suguru inhaled, about to speak—

“W-wait,” You stuttered, backpedaling. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be shitty or harsh—”

“The only person you’re being shitty to is yourself,” Suguru interrupted with his reply, simply and truthfully. His tone remained leveled and unwavering. “Stop punishing yourself.”

“... ‘Punishing myself’?” Your words slurred, just barely.

Suguru hummed, leaning forward, and pressing his lips to your forehead. The warmth of it bled through you. Soft affections were so damning. He slipped his hand under your thin jacket and settled it on the meat just above your waist with a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know what’s with sorcerers. We’re all so terrible at acknowledging wounds,” Suguru laughed, gently. “Why are you keeping yourself out in the cold?

“‘M too drunk for this, Suguru,” You deflected. “And you’re too honest, ya’ know.”

He chuckled, rubbing his thumb against your side in small circles.

Though you couldn’t feel the chill in the air, the bite of it lost to your own, you could feel his touch. The heat of his fingertips, over just a layer of thin cloth, felt like open flame. The warmth of his breath near your cheeks was spiced, curling and if you were any less lucid, you would’ve sworn it was making you sweat.

“You’d rather I, what— tease you instead? In your state?” He gasped, jokingly, rubbing your side roughly enough for a giggle to pop from your lips. You muffled it into the downy neck of his jacket, sucking in the scent of his shampoo in some attempt to calm yourself.

“You’d that anyways!”

He hummed, his palm sliding up your back to rest at the base of your skull. The action had no haste, no expectations, but it coaxed you from hiding your flushed cheeks all the same.

“I wouldn’t,” He sighed, pressing his petal-soft lips to your cheeks. They dragged across the fullest swell of the flesh, leaving a line of heat that was impossible to disregard.

You grabbed his forearm, white-knuckling it immediately, and sank into it.

(Surrender to it, just for a moment.)

(Would... that be okay?)

“I don’t want to hurt any of you.”

You said the words so softly, you weren’t sure he’d heard them.

“How could you hurt us?”

“Plenty of ways—”

Suguru didn’t let you speak, didn’t let you spiral into hypotheticals. Rather, he had his lips on yours, cradling your cheeks, and stealing your breath and words right from your tongue.

He wasn’t brutal with it, only taking what you were giving, all of that sour guilt in your chest. He prodded your parted lips with his tongue, and you tentatively let him lick into your mouth.

It was filthy, but so needed.

The sensation of him overwhelmed all else.

The taste of Suguru’s mouth was a little bitter, like an herbal tea mixed with the honey lozenges he sucked on during the day. He had a stash of them in the pocket of his uniform pass, and you knew he popped one after each mission. In the moments he’d linger near after he would return, you could smell the method on him. It overtook your senses even from a distance.

You couldn’t think straight with him on you, though he wasn’t insistent. Wasn’t demanding. Just present and distracting and far more pleasant than the guilt and shame that spiraled and spat in your skull. What a lovely distraction.

“Suguru—” Your words muffled against his lips with a little moan. “Y-You’re distracting me.”

He pulled away with a sly grin, “That was the point.”

You frowned half-heartedly. Bastard. A kind one, bearing the cold and your bad attitude. Far too warm to not melt the chill in you at least a little.

“... Thank you.”

You shrunk into your jacket, hiding the best you can from Suguru’s knowingness.

...

You ended up back inside shortly, coaxed by Suguru’s warm, wide hands. He dragged you back to his dorm room.

“I thought we were going to hang out with everyone?” You raised an eyebrow as he opened his closet with a hum.

“We will. You’re just freezing.”

“I can’t feel it.”

“You’re drunk, sweetheart, remember?” He gave you a lopsided smile, teasing and poking a bit. You weren’t that drunk, just on the edge of being able to not tell if his words were in jest or not.

“Asshole.”

Suguru laughed, carrying a bundle of clothes with him from the closet, laying them on the bed, still folded. Then, he turned to you, regarded you fully since returning inside. His foxlike eyes went half-lidded, dark and swimming with something you couldn’t fully place. Adoration, at least a little bit, the kind that made your cheeks burn and your fingers twitch.

It was horribly disarming.

Suguru stepped even closer, reaching for the zipper of your jacket, halfway up your neck. Gingerly, he pulled it down and slipped it from your shoulders. It reeked of smoke and cheap liquor, but you couldn’t fully bring yourself to care.

Though, the smell clung to you as well— in your hair, between your fingers, over your lips.

“I want to shower.”

“That’s alright, pick out some clothes first,” Suguru gestured to his spread.

The assortment didn’t include his uniform pieces, those ridiculous pants and high-collars were tucked again in his closet. It was one of the rare nights everyone was able to relax and let their guards down. Hence the soft, appealing items he’d laid out. A worn crewneck or two, a soft pair of sweatpants that you knew would keep you toasty, a few more articles you didn’t bother to remember as you swiped what you wanted.

You mumbled a little ‘thank you’ and bundled the clothes in your arms, pressing them tight to your chest.

“Take your shower,” Suguru squeezed your shoulder. “Then we can go be with everyone else.”

You leaned into his hands, deflating with a sigh. Your stomach still tumbled with the hard liquor you’d drank, and the frayed nerves didn’t help the feeling. Suguru pressed a kiss to your forehead, shooing you off to your room and shower.

You mindlessly stripped and turned the water as hot as it would go. Scalding, even. Soaking under the spray, you washed. Cleansed. Your soap smelled like lavender and herbs as it lathered. It eased something in you, just enough that the heat and steam melted some of the tension from your shoulders.

After, you slipped into Suguru’s clothes. You adjusted the sweats and sweater the best you could, but they were clearly well worn, stretched and practically made for his body at that point. The collar of the shirt was wide and hung off your shoulders, and the pants were long enough to need to be cuffed to not drag on the floor. The roominess felt good, comforting along with the smell of him clung to you.

(Stale sweat, a bit of smoke, the subtle cologne and deodorant he used...)

You blushed at the thought of it all and buried your face in your hands. Heat rose in your cheeks, and perhaps it was a bit... gross to think of your dear friend’s scent in such a way.

(Were you ‘friends’? Something more. Probably. But sorcerers hated the typical, interpersonal labels. They were far-too lasting.)

You let yourself indulge and pulled the collar of the sweater up to your nose and took a deep inhale. Suguru had left a pair of slippers for you, his size and they had you shuffling to the common room of the dorm. Voices bounced off the walls, shouts and giggles that made the dim hallway seem a bit livelier.

Good, we all need it.

You were still drunk, and your steps weren’t in a perfectly straight line. The liquor had burrowed a craving in your gut for something filling and a glass of water (or three). The smell of grease and herbs hit you— they got pizza—

You nearly drooled at the cardboard boxes laid out on the kotatsu. The rest of your classmates were around the low table, tucked under its thick blanket to stave off the draft.

Suguru called your name with a wide smile, patting the empty spot next to him. You half-stumbled over and plopped down beside him. Gojo was already against in his side, and you took the other. Suguru spurred your on by tugging your tucked legs over his lap, resting a hand on your thigh and squeezing.

“Nice to have you finally join us,” Gojo looked at you over his shades. “How much did you smoke, half a pack? You looked pretty brooding.”

Your cheeks got hot and the swirl of storm that was hanging over your thrummed. Gojo’s words were a reminder that your feelings were practically on display (why didn’t you smoke farther away—?)

Shoko rolled her eyes, “Don’t be an ass. You’re mopey ninety percent of the time that Suguru and (Y/N) aren’t around—”

Gojo sputtered something, trying to act nonchalant, but the tension in his shoulder was telling enough. You stifled a laugh against the back of your hand. Suguru snorted, tugging you both closer by the waist.

And it felt so good.

The cold air lingered but was so easily chased away by good company. The bottle of shit liquor was tucked away, and you’d sell it to Shoko in the next day or two. Rid yourself of it because this was far better coping.

Yu and Gojo had a hilariously heated debate on the quality of the American film Space Jam; both of them insisted that the group watch it. (“It’s a cinematic masterpiece, none of you have any taste,” Gojo scoffed, eyes fiery and passionate over 2000s cinema. Yu giggled and cuddled into Nanami, clearly enjoying the noncommittal sparring.) Shoko was eating up every minute of it, happily playing devil’s advocate to either side. Nanami was, perhaps, grumbling and looking a little less sullen than normal. His cheeks were rosy, blushed and bright (you assumed from how sweetly Yu was perched next time him.)

Between you all was a spread of sweets and savory comfort foods that made your mouth water. Gojo had donated some of his syrupy delights, boxes of imported chocolates and luxury mochi; the haughty treats were perfectly juxtaposed by slices of greasy, delivery pizza. Suguru snagged a few pieces for you, piled up and plated as you settled.

He nudged you, “Eat. Or I’ll steal those slices from you. Shoko might if I don’t.”

“True,” She wore a lazy grin and sipped a can of dark soda.

You dug in, a little unabashedly.

The awful feelings of the night before had kept you from eating well that day. You’d snuck a sickly-sweet, canned protein shake from the half-broken vending machines from the dorm, but that had been before breakfast. You’d try to eat an onigiri for lunch but tossed out half of it. Your stomach didn’t feel entirely suited for food.

Though, with warmth around you and Suguru by your side, some of your appetite returned. You chomped through the grease and cheese and managed to get through two slices with a completely settled tummy. When Suguru slapped a third slice on your plate, you shoved it away with a petulant shake of your head.

“No more,” You murmured, pressing your cheek into his shoulder. “I don’t want to get sick.”

You spoke quietly enough that Gojo and Nanami’s nearby row drowned your voice out to anyone other than Suguru. Thank god, honestly. The tremble and weak cadence of your voice was something you didn’t need to be examined and prodded. You trusted Suguru to only tease lightly, if at all.

His arm squeezed around your waist, tugging you closer. His lips brushed your temple, “We don’t want that, no.”

Gently, he tugged you into his lap. Pulling back from the kotatsu, he seated you between his crossed legs. He positioned himself perfectly so that your rump rests between his thighs, his legs bracing yours. His palms pressed into your ribs, keeping your tight to his chest.

You sank into him.

“Ew, PDA, please die,” Gojo groaned and stuck out his tongue.

Suguru chuckled and squeezed you, “Maybe if your ego was smaller, you’d be able to get some ‘PDA’ too, and you’d stop being such a prude.”

Gojo’s pale cheeks went bright red, “You motherfucker— do you know how many cute people’s numbers I have? I’m a hot ticket item.”

“Sure,” Shoko rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you had any follow-through. I’m fairly certain you’re the only virgin at this table.”

Gojo’s jaw fell open and you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled to your lips. Seeing the strongest sorcerer incredulous was a treat. It was especially funny in your tipsy brain.

The conversation was lost to you after that. The sparring continued, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Your comedown was slow and winding, and it left you yawning and fighting sleep.

Occasionally, Suguru rubbed at your ribs and hips. Little reminders to keep you there, seated at the kotatsu with good company. You weren’t sure if the touch was meant to keep you awake, or if it was to help lull you into half-sleep against his sternum.

He was just too comfy. Broad shoulders and bulky enough to be solid and easy to feel safe next to. Suguru was built— he was the best at physical combat of any of the students by a fairly significant margin. All that muscle felt warm and comforting to be resting on, and the layer of fat and flesh kept him soft was nearly criminal.

“Are you still with me?” Suguru asked, softly, squeezing one of your thighs gently.

You hummed, keeping your eyes closed, “Barely.”

“Would you like to go to sleep? You can stay in my room.”

“P-Please.” You said without thinking, desperate for more of the comfort. For him.

Suguru chuckled, “You don’t need to beg, but it is cute.”

Your cheeks flushed, hot and hard. Without warning, Suguru stood, hefting you up in his arms. He kept you tucked to his chest with his arms hooked under your knees.

“God,” Yu swooned. “Suguru, you gotta be careful doing that in public. Woof.”

Nanami sputtered, and you couldn’t help the sleepy grin that curled your lips. Precious.

Suguru wandered back to his room, sliding the door open with his hips. He set you on the bed, gentle as could be. You sat on the edge, kicking your feet as Suguru dug through his sleep clothes.

“You don’t gotta stay with me, if you don’t wanna,” You chewed your lips. “I don’t wanna take you away from everyone else.”

Suguru turned back to your, raising an eyebrow. He grabbed his shirt just behind his neck and peeled it off in one easy motion, “Don’t think you can chase me off that easily.”

“But—”

“Sweetheart,” Suguru’s voice washed over your, syrupy and dripping with affections that you had to accept. How could you not? “I need you to know that I’m here because I want to be. I’ve... missed you a lot lately.”

Suguru sat on the edge of the bed. He slouched. He had been gone on missions lately, far-off ones. Special grade sorcerers were a rarity, and he was often away, facing threats that you couldn’t imagine handling at all, let alone with the deftness that he possessed. It had kept you two apart for some time, and the work of it made it harder to talk.

“I’ve missed you too,” Mentally, you admit that his absence had definitely made some of your feelings harder to bear.

Suguru turned to you. The pits of his eyes bled onyx, the depth and darkness of them unreadable. It encircled you, ensnaring you as it always had. And he fell down with you. Into the sheets with you. In love with you. He was so good at picking you up, even if you scampered away from him in your hardest moments. In the same way, you knew how to comfort him.

In that moment, you shifted up, wiggling out of your sweatpants and leaving yourself bare besides his shirt and your cotton panties.

“Sleep with me,” You tugged on his bicep. “Please?”

You barely caught the way his expression cracked. The little wobble in his lip, his snare, the weakness he’d been so conditioned to hide, long before he became a sorcerer.

“We don’t need to be strong,” You admitted in slurred words, but the feeling of them hit all the same. “Let’s rest together. Please?”

Suguru melted, the bastard, jolting to wrap himself around you and pull you down into the sheets.

“Let’s.” He rubs his cheeks on your forehead. You reached behind his head and tugged his bun, releasing it from its elastic. You combed through his silken hair with slow, sleepy fingers.

“‘M gonna fall asleep,” You slurred, pressing your nose to his collarbone.

��Good.” Suguru kissed over your face, finishing with a chaste press of his lips to yours. He murmured against them. “I’ll be right here in the morning.”

“.. You’re staying?”

“I can’t imagine leaving this bed, not with you in it, like this,” He squeezed your hips and kissed your cheeks once more. The touches didn’t bleed anything other than the desire to stay— whatever and however that meant.

You went lax into the sheets, squeezing him in turn, “Thank you.”

Your voice was small again, barely there and higher-pitched. Suguru relaxed against you, sinking with you into the sheets and closer to the ever-looming slumber.

“Of course— sleep now, though,” Suguru chuckled, rich and deep like the coffee you were sure he’d brew for you come morning.

“You too,” You let your eyes slip shut. You let drowsiness take you, the same way Suguru had taken you. The same way he held your heart with hands beginning to callous. The same way you kept his own, gentle and steady in the way you wanted to keep him well.

You were grateful, if nothing else.

[babybearcookie]

The Great Cookie War

this was requested

this is an age regression drabble; if you don't like that, don't read it. age regression is a sfw coping mechanism, so i will be blocking anyone who sexualizes it

word count: 1,4k gender neutral reader

You looked around for the nth time, looking out for any movement that might’ve meant that your daddy was around, lurking on you. For the first time in a few hours, he had left you unsupervised, which was a bad idea on his part, because now you had a free path to the glorious chocolate chip cookies that were kept in the top of the cupboard, where you normally couldn’t reach, but as you were now alone, you could climb on the kitchen tabletop to reach the height you needed uninterrupted. You dragged over a chair as silently as you could, wincing as you heard it squeak when you put it in place, but looking around again showed that you hadn’t been caught yet.

Just as you were about to reach the cookies, already having climbed from the chair to the kitchen counter, you felt two hands on your waist, and suddenly you were being lifted into the arms of daddy Taehyun, who was smirking at you as if he had just won some game the two of you were playing. “You know you’re not supposed to do that, little one,” he berated softly, kissing your cheek and putting you on the floor, pushing the chair back to its original place. You pouted back at him. Why did he have to bust you right when you were inches away from getting the sweet price of choccy cookies?!

You thought quickly and told him; “I wasn’t going to eat any, daddy! I was just going to get them down so that I could ask for some!” A total lie, of course. As if you had the self-restraint to keep from eating the cookies the moment you had your grubby hands on them. You would have devoured half the packet before anyone could’ve stopped you. And Taehyun knew that but he was nice and played along; “well, that’s so very sweet of you, baby, but you know that cookies come after dinner, always.” he said with a smile, “unless it’s your birthday or Christmas” he continued and you echoed him, having heard him say just that a thousand times before, rolling your eyes as you muttered the words.

You tried a different tactic; “but daddy, I'm so hungry! Since I didn’t get lunch and dinner’s far away, cookies can be my lunch!” You were playing dirty, relying heavily on Taehyun’s guilt to get what you wanted. He had told you he’d make some lunch for you, but he was caught in the middle of a hurricane of work calls, so he couldn’t make the time, for you or for lunch for about an hour and a half. He had told you he was sorry, and that you had to wait to eat until dinner since he didn’t want to ruin your appetite. He'd felt so bad, feeling like he was starving you, but you had told him you were fine, and that you weren’t that hungry anyway. It hurt for a second that you’d weaponize something he felt bad about, but he knew you were just a kid and you’d do most anything to get what you wanted.

He offered you a pained smile, sitting down in a chair, patting his lap to get you to sit with him for a second. “Baby, that’s not very nice. You know daddy feels really bad about missing lunch, and it hurt daddy when you used it to get your way,” he calmly explained to you. Tears started welling in your eyes, hugging Taehyun tightly. “Sorry, daddy. Won't do it again. Don't wanna hurt daddy.” He hugged you back and said; “I know you don’t, angel.” He loves you so much. As much as you could be a little demon and test his patience, you were also incredibly loving and thoughtful when you took a second.

As the two of you hugged and made up, you apologized a few more times, telling him that you love him, that was the end of that, but that didn’t mean it was the end of your cookie quest. It just meant that you had to give every plan an extra thought before doing it, to make sure it wasn’t going to hurt your daddy.

Along the afternoon, you tried most everything else in your repertoire but didn’t get anywhere. You had tried your biggest pout, only to get your cheeks squished in return, you tried intimidating him with squinted eyes and blowing raspberries at him, but that just rewarded you him laughing at your antics and scrunching his nose at you. You even tried bribing him with good behaviour for the rest of the month if you could have cookies before dinner. “Baby, you’re adorably corrupt, but no. Even if I thought you’d be able to be good for a whole month, you still aren’t getting the cookies before eating dinner,” he told you, booping you on the nose as if to end the discussion right there. You huffed and went back to what you had been doing before going to Taehyun for the final time, which was colouring.

As Taehyun finished making dinner and went to get you ready for eating, he sees what colourings and drawings you had been working on, which seemed to be particularly cookie themed. “Hi there, my little cookie monster. Are you ready for some food?” you looked as if you wanted to say no and protest to having to eat anything other than the cookies you so desperately wanted, but before you could get any words out, your stomach growled at you, strongly disagreeing with what you were about to say; that you weren’t hungry.

“C’mon baby, let’s go wash our hands.” he ushered you, holding out his hand for you to take. You took the hand but not without making sure Taehyun saw the big pout present on your face. “I know, sourpuss,” Taehyun chuckled but waited for you to take his hand, which you did eventually. Getting your hands clean was an easy task, and as much resistance he thought you’d put, so was getting food in you.

Afterwards, he made quick work of cleaning the kitchen, letting you go back to your colouring in the living room. Before going in there to you, to relax for the evening, he silently got the cookies out of the cupboard you’d been eyeing. He hid it behind his back, going into the living room, sitting on the couch behind where you were sitting on the floor.

“Hey, baby?” When you turned around to face him to see what he wanted, you saw him holding up the packet of cookies you had wanted so desperately the entire day. He watched as your face lit up; your eyes grew wide and your mouth opened. You tried reaching for the packet, but he held it above his head and patted his lap, signalling that if you wanted them, you had to sit with him on his lap.

You placed yourself on his legs and he brought the arm he didn’t use to hold the cookies around you and laid the cookies down beside the two of you. “Baby, I just wanna talk with you really quick, do you think we can talk?” he asked and your attention shifted from the cookies to your caregiver, nodding. “Baby, I understand how much you’ve wanted cookies, but begging like you have today isn’t very nice. You're just my tiny little baby, so I understand that it’s hard to behave sometimes, but it would make daddy really happy if you tried to behave in the future. Does that sound okay?” he asked you, and you looked fidgety and unsure. He stroked your arm, encouraging you to go on. You told him more about not exactly liking misbehaving, but you sometimes feel bad and you have to put those negative feelings somewhere. He understood and told you that you could always come to him when you have those bad feelings, but if you need to misbehave sometimes as an outlet, that’s just how it is then. He's here to help you feel good when you're regressed but he’s also here to help you when you don’t feel so good.

After the serious conversation, which left him understanding you a bit more, he finally opened the cookie packet for you, sharing the snack, with you munching happily, looking just adorable as you held onto the small cookie with both hands and took small bites.

[celestial-kit]

August

Inspired by August by Taylor Swift. All characters are 18+.

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors dni, angst, cheating, loss of virginity, dry humping, Tsukishima is kind of an asshole in this, I don’t know how to write endings

______________________________________________________________

You never expected your summer to end in heartbreak. You had every intention to have a fun, harmless summer with your friends, but now you’re here, a boy that will most certainly hurt you, a boy that you are in love with, and you know that there isn’t another ending to this story. 

You first saw Tsukishima Kei in your dad’s lab, bent over a microscope, examining some sort of sample. The lab is on the edge of the water in your little beach town. Apparently, there was a rare microorganism discovered in the coral reefs, so the lab got a grant to expand their operation and study the small creatures. Tsukishima was hired as an intern for the summer to help with the project, and you were immediately captivated by him. His blonde hair, golden eyes, broad shoulders, sharp cheekbones, everything about him created a thirst in you that you needed to quench. 

You quickly reached out to make a connection, learning that he was a biology major at a school in Sendai City and moved to your little town for the summer for this internship. While you did your best to flirt with him, his phone lit up with a text and you caught a glance of his lock screen. It was a picture of him and a girl. You paused mid joke to ask, “Is that your girlfriend?” 

He didn’t look at you as he replied to the text and said, “Yeah.”

You could feel your heart start to crack, disappointed by the discovery, but you still found yourself gravitating towards him over the coming weeks, going out of your way to talk to him, spend time with him, doing anything to get closer to him. 

One afternoon you were driving your car through town on your way to the local ice cream shop when you saw Tsukishima walking on the sidewalk, his headphones over his ears, hands in his pockets, and his head tilted toward the sky, presumably admiring the clear sky. 

You skidded to a stop next him, rolling your window down and pushing your sunglasses down your nose to look him in the eyes. He stopped strolling, surprised, and pulled his headphones down to hear what you had to say.

“Get in the car,” you smiled sweetly at him. You knew it was wrong to continue to pursue this, you knew he had a girlfriend, you knew it would hurt when you had to let him go, but part of you hoped that you could have him, keep him. 

He didn’t reject you, but rather gave you a smirk as he rounded your car, getting in your passenger seat. You laughed giddily as you continued your drive to the ice cream shop. After getting your ice cream, you sat on a bench overlooking the beach, appreciating the way the waves crashed on the shoreline. As you talked to each other, you found yourself becoming mesmerized by him. Watching him as his lips curved in a smile from a fond memory, his eyes lighting up as he let out a soft chuckle as he reminisced. 

He looked down at you after a minute and said, “Your ice cream is melting.” And sure enough, it was. The creamy vanilla had started to drip down the cone in your hand, down your fingers and hand, and you exclaimed with a quiet, “Oh!” as you searched for a napkin to clean yourself up. Before you could find one, you felt Tsukishima grab your arm to bring your hand up to his mouth and used his tongue to clean the sticky cream of your hand. He made eye contact with you as he made long swipes up your hand with his tongue. You couldn’t stop your breath from hitching in your throat and your heart from pounding in your chest. 

When he had cleaned up most of your mess, he stood up, a soft blush painting his cheeks as he said, “I should go.” Then he started walking away. You put a hand out, getting ready to stop him, tell him to wait, but he turned around to look at you and said, “I’ll see you later.” 

You found yourself making plans around him, waiting for him to be free so you could see him again, even canceling plans that you had been looking forward to in case he called you. One Saturday afternoon, Tsukishima texted you, “Meet me behind the mall.” So you got in your car and met him behind the cookie shop that was attached to the mall. The parking lot was empty as he climbed into your passenger seat, and you looked at him expectantly. 

“Where do you want to go?” you ask, trying to quell any hope in your heart as you waited for his reply. 

“Nowhere,” he replied, and then leaned across your console to grab your face and pull your lips to his. Your heart started to pound again, you could feel the beat of it in your ears, and even though you knew you should stop him, tell him that it was wrong, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You were so happy that he wanted you, so you let him kiss you. 

He pressed his tongue into your mouth, massaging your own and making you whine into the kiss. His other hand moved to your hip, grabbing and squeezing you over your skirt as he tried to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. When he pulled away, he reached under his seat to push it as far back as it could go, then he looked at you and said, “Come here.” His voice was gravelly and he looked at you in a way that made heat pool in your stomach and wetness seep into your panties. You scrambled over the console, climbing into his lap as he grabbed your hips as he seated you on top of his hard cock through his pants. 

You gasp at the contact, not expecting to feel him in that way, but still finding yourself trembling at the feeling as he dragged your clothed cunt against the front of his pants. He brought your lips down to his and continued to kiss you while thrusting up against your heat, making you mewl and gasp and pant against his lips. 

You hadn’t told him you were a virgin, never finding someone until this moment who you were interested in doing this with. But now as you feel pleasure rack across your body, you think that you wouldn’t mind giving it to him. 

He leaned his head back, resting on the back of his seat as he watched you grind yourself down on him, chasing a high that you had never felt before. You gripped his shoulders tightly as you pressed down harder, faster until you felt your mind being taken over by static, your mouth dropping open as you spasmed against his chest and he continued to thrust against you until he stopped with a grunt. 

You both breathed heavily as you rested your head on his chest, looking down to find that your skirt had hiked up from him grabbing your ass and moving you along his length, your panties completely exposed to him and anyone that might walk by the car. You could see your slick had dripped down your thighs and onto the front of his pants, and there was a distinct wet spot where Tsukishima had finished. 

“You made a mess,” Tsukishima said darkly, as you examined the scene. You looked at him, your face beating red from embarrassment, unsure how to take his comment.

“I’m sorry,” you dipped your head, trying to avoid his gaze. 

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him and said, “Don’t be.” Then he was kissing you again with your head feeling light and your heart feeling full. 

After that moment, you spent the rest of the summer waiting for his call, meeting him privately, and touching each other, despite the guilt that you felt after each interaction. One night, he asked you to go see a movie, and he fingered you in the back of the dark moving theatre, one hand over your mouth to keep you quiet while he whispered in your ear about how you were a dirty girl. Another day, you met him under the pier on the beach, laying out a blanket to have a picnic and you ended up giving him a blowjob, choking as he pushed your head down on his cock and wincing when he came down your throat. 

Each interaction made you feel sorry for his girlfriend, but they also made you fall harder for him, and you never wanted to let him go.

Now, you find yourself with one week left of summer, in his makeshift apartment, laying on blankets in his living room while the tv plays a movie that is long forgotten. Tsukishima has his fingers inside you, rubbing against your walls and making you see stars. You’re crying out for him as you lay naked underneath him, and he hovers over you with a smirk.

“Kei, please, Kei! I need you,” you whine. You know this is your last chance to be with him, he was leaving in just a few days to go back to school, and he would be busy with the lab right up until he left. 

He shoves his fingers harder inside you, making you cry out again, and says, “Are you sure?”

You nod, sure that you want him, that you need him, but you also say, “I’ve never…” trailing off, unsure how to explain that he’ll be your first. He leans down, softly kissing your lips and shushing you, pulling his fingers out of your cunt to rub gentle circles on your clit. 

“I know,” he whispers. “We’ll go slow.” Then he’s kissing you while your pushing his shirt off his shoulders, feeling the lean muscles of his chest and down his abdomen until you reach his pants. With shaky hands, you undo the button and he pushes them down his legs with his underwear, letting his hard length spring free. You reach down to give him a few pumps, feeling the weight of him in your hands as you shiver at the thought of him filling you up.

He pulls a condom out of his packet and starts rolling it down his length, then he’s lining himself up with your entrance while his forearms brace themselves next to your head. He looks down into your eyes before asking, “Are you sure?” 

When you nod, he starts pushing in, slowly filling you up as you gasp and tears well in your eyes. The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before, and it’s uncomfortable, it even hurts a little, but it also amazes you that you are so close to Tsukishima. You can see the blissed out look on his face as he continues to push in until he’s bottomed out and his balls are pressed snuggly against you, and it makes you want to keep going.

He holds himself there to give you time to adjust to the new pressure inside you, and you can feel the tears start to pour down your cheeks as you reach up to fist your hands in his hair and whisper, “I love you.” 

At this, he drops his head to the crook of your neck and sighs your name, gently kissing and nipping at your neck as he pulls out and gently pushes back in. You’re acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t return your sentiment, that he may not love you back, but at this moment you don’t know if you care because he is inside you and the feeling of him dragging along your walls makes you cry out and hold onto him tighter. 

He continues to push into you at this slow pace, and you continue to cry as he reaches down to rub circles into your clit, trying to get you to reach your peak before him. You end up cumming together, a watery sob leaving your lips as pleasure rocks through you and you realize that this moment with him is over.

Tsukishima stays on top of you for a few more moments before he pulls his softening length from you and stands to discard the used condom and clean himself up. You use one of the blankets that you’re laying on to wrap yourself up, feeling vulnerable and exposed as you watch him walk around his apartment and get dressed. You used the edges of the blanket to wipe the tears from your face and you sniffle a little when you ask, “Will you call me? When you’re back at school?” 

Tsukishima pauses his search for a clean shirt to look over his shoulder at you, giving you a sympathetic smile and saying “Of course” before continuing his search. You snuggle deeper into the blanket that you’ve cocooned yourself in as you feel a weight in your heart that you knew would come at the end of this.

_

When Tsukishima left, he gave you a hug and kissed your cheek, telling you that he would call you when he got the chance. True to his word, he did call you. He told you he missed you, asked you what you were wearing, requested you send him pictures. You always complied because you loved him, and you wanted him to want you. Sometimes late at night, he would call and whisper into your ear about how he needed you, and he would tell you how to touch yourself as he jacked off on the other end. 

Eventually though, the phone calls became shorter and the time between calls got longer. He stopped calling you late at night, stopped telling you that he missed you, and you could tell that he was ready for it to end. You cried when you knew it was over, even though he didn’t say it, you could tell by the way he said goodbye at the end of a call that he would not call again. 

You hoped that he knew that you loved him, that he brought you something you didn’t know existed and he will forever live in your heart. You hoped that he found happiness, that his girlfriend gave him everything you did and more, and you hoped that one day, even if it was far in the future, that he would come back to your open arms, despite the fact that he broke your heart.

[youare-mysonshine]

heavy || bucky barnes

Summary: reader’s mental health has been taking a decline and bucky is there.

Requested: No

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: talks of mental health, depression, anxiety, angst, cussing.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back I guess lmao. I’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately and I guess I kinda just wanted to put it into words, something productive? And I’ve been feeling our angsty emo boy bucky barnes. Most of you might’ve followed me for my Oscar fics but I kinda wanna branch out and I thought this would be a good time to do so. Anyways, I know that some of you have inboxed me or messaged me and I haven’t responded and I’m sorry. But I just want you all to know that if you’re struggling, I’m always here to talk. About anything, always. So, I hope you enjoy this. I might’ve cried while writing this lmao and I also might’ve ended it on such an awkward place but, i’m still getting used to writing again. (Flashbacks are in italics)

————

Bucky didn’t miss the dark circles under your eyes. He didn’t miss the way you sort of slouched as you approached him. He didn’t miss the way that your smile didn’t really meet your eyes.

“Hey,” You said in a breathless voice. “Sorry, I’m late. I got held up.” You said as you took a seat across from him in the booth. Held up. It was better than telling him that you were thinking of just not showing up at all. In the end, you knew that you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t just blow off your new friend who you had so enjoyed spending time with. So, in a rush, you got dressed and made your way to the small, quiet diner that you two had taken to frequenting together. Bucky Barnes was an enigma if you’d ever met one. The way that you had met was rather.. cliche and something straight from a story.

You had been trying to lay off of the caffeine for a while, realizing that you had nearly gone through an entire packet of 32 k-pods that you had just purchased. You realized that you might’ve had a problem. You had been going pretty strong with staying away from caffeine for the time being, until you passed by a coffee shop and got a whiff of coffee. You just couldn’t help yourself; you bought a cup of coffee. It was when you were walking down the street, holding the cup of coffee in one hand, looking down, that you didn’t see someone walking right in your path. You had collided into what seemed like a solid wall and the impact had caused you to squeeze the cup of coffee in surprise, the warm liquid burning your hand, staining your clothes and the other person. You had realized it was another person you had crashed into when you heard them let out a low cuss.

Bucky’s grumpy self had been fully prepared to tell you off for crashing into him, having just left his therapist’s office, but when you looked up at him with those bright eyes of yours, a million apologies spilling from your lips a mile a minute, he swallowed whatever harsh words had nearly sprung forth. He had apologized as well; both of you had been at fault. Bucky had been going over his session with Dr. Raynor that morning, completely lost in his own mind, and you had your eyes trained on the ground, something that was a bad habit of yours. The shock of realizing you had bumped into a man, a really really handsome man with the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen, had made you temporarily forget that you had practically scorched your hand with the coffee, and that you had gotten it on him as well.

“I’m so, so sorry.” You said once again, quickly averting your eyes from the handsome stranger’s face. Instead you focused on the smushed cup in your hand and the stains on his leather jacket. It just made you feel even terrible. “I, I can pay for you to get your jacket cleaned, if you want. Really. I wasn’t paying attention and I just, for whatever reason, squished my cup and.. I’m sorry.” You said, kind of breathlessly.

“It’s.. it’s alright.” His voice was like the coffee that you had been drinking. Smooth and rich. It was deep, something that reverberated deep in your chest and had your stomach fluttering with butterflies. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Really, it’s fine. And don’t worry about my jacket. No harm, no foul.” He said. “You should, uh, you should take care of that hand. Hope you didn’t burn yourself too bad.” He gestured to your hand, still clutching the cup, with one of his own gloved hands.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t that hot. Thank you, though. And again, I’m really, really sorry.” Sparing one, seemingly, last glance at the handsome stranger, you side stepped him and began to walk away, tossing the empty cup of coffee in a trash can on the sidewalk. But you didn’t get very far because that deep voice called out to you, halting you in your tracks.

“Can I buy you another cup of coffee?” Bucky’s mouth had opened and spoken the words long before his brain could even catch up. He didn’t know why he had asked you that, but something in his gut was just telling him too.

“What?” A look of total bewilderment had crossed your face and he had seen it.

“I just, well I thought that, since I bumped into you, I could make it up to you by buying you a new cup of coffee. If you wanted, I mean. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.” Bucky clarified, hand stuffed in his pocket, waiting for your answer. For a few seconds, you simply stood there, unsure of what to say because surely this wasn’t happening? The last time that you had gone out with a guy was.. well, shit, you didn’t even remember the last time. The little voice in the back of your head, that anxious, paranoid little voice, was telling you not to go off with a stranger. You’d watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds and other true crime shows and documentaries to know that situations like this never turned out well. However, you didn’t get a bad feeling from this particular man. He seemed just as awkward and slightly frazzled as you felt. So you agreed.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Y/N.”

That had happened about two months ago. Ever since then, you and Bucky had formed a strong friendship. Your first time getting coffee with him had been awkward, as were the next few times that you had seen one another. But things got easier. Becoming friends was easy. You kind of fell into this routine, almost as if you two had known each other your whole lives. That was why Bucky telling you who he really was had been terrifying for him. He carried around guilt and shame and just contempt for everything he’d done. Everything The Winter Soldier represented, and when he told you, he figured that you would think the same. He had asked you meet him at the diner that had now become your spot and and you remember how he nervously wrung his gloved hands together. You remember when you asked him what was wrong and he didn’t verbally respond but he took off his gloves; the right one first and then the left, revealing a shiny black metal hand, golden lines intricately placed.

He told you then. Maybe he didn’t tell you everything but he told you who he was and he had braced himself for you to get up and storm out. Or, to yell at him and tell him how much of a monster he was. But, it never came. Instead, you reached out and placed your hand on top his. Not his real hand, but the metal one. You didn’t say anything. You just gave him that smile that was quickly becoming his favorite. Sometimes, silence spoke a thousand words. To Bucky, you had become kind of a respite for him. Even in the late nights or mornings when he woke up after a nightmare. Or after a particularly hard session with Dr. Raynor. He had closed himself off from other people except you.

Bucky might not have known it, but he gave you the same level of comfort as you gave him. You found yourself craving his presence. Every time you were around him, you couldn’t help but to smile or laugh. In the time that you spent together, your mind was clear and free from all your worries. It all evaporated into thin air. Your mind, usually so active with all sorts of thoughts and worries, could finally rest when you were with Bucky. You could sleep. You could get up in the morning without that stress and anxiety drowning you. It was okay. It was great.

Until it wasn’t.

“No problem, doll.” He said, gloved hands clasped under the table on his lap. “I already ordered. Got your usual. Hope that was alright.” He added, to which you nodded absentmindedly.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Thanks Buck.” You said, mustering up a half hearted smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It was like even smiling drained the energy from you. You were exhausted. Not even just physically but mentally and emotionally. You had been having such good days for a while now, since meeting Bucky. You felt like maybe you would finally be alright but.. this feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that nothing was quite right, it was heavy. It weighed you down. It suffocated you. You wanted to be alone, but you also couldn’t stand to be alone because when you were alone, you were just stuck in your head and being in your head was the absolute worst place to be.

The intrusive thoughts had started. They told you that you would do nothing but weigh Bucky down. That he didn’t need someone like you in his life, someone with clear problems of their own, when he was going to therapy trying to better himself. Even if it had been mandatory for him to go. You wanted to push him away, save him from yourself, but you also couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

Bucky noticed the shift in you. Normally when you two met up, whether it was at the diner or anywhere else, you would usually talk his ear off. Not that he minded, he was content to just sit back and listen to you. Sometimes, you’d tell him about a new book that you had started reading. You had just started reading the fifth Harry Potter book and you were trying to get him to read them. You’d tell him about your day. You’d ask him how his day went, how it went with Dr. Raynor, though you never pushed for more information. You always let him share if he was comfortable with it and he appreciated that. Sometimes you teased him for being such an old man.

The food came soon after you had arrived and sure enough, Bucky had ordered your usual. It sent a pang through your heart when you realized that he had memorized your order, down to the extra syrup and whipped cream on the pancakes. Bucky always liked to make fun of you for ordering the same thing when you came to the diner. No matter what time it was, you always ordered the pancakes with extra syrup and extra whip cream, with the strawberries on the side. Secretly, though he found it adorable.

Today, you had barely even taken more than a few bites and that was what really let Bucky know that something wasn’t right. You kept your head down, eyes on the pancakes and you cut them up, bringing a few up to your mouth and chewing slowly, but you mostly just moved them around your plate with the fork in your hand. Bucky himself had barely taken only a few bites of the food he’d ordered for himself, but it wasn’t for lack of appetite, it was because of the growing concern. His bright blue eyes were now a stormy grey, kind of like the clouds that you see during a heavy storm. His brows were furrowed, giving him an appearance almost as if he were angry.

“You alright, Y/N? You’ve barely eaten your food and normally you finish before I do.” He attempted to joke, to bring about that smile that seemed to always fill him with warmth. He half expected you to look up at him with that cheeky little smile, a mischievous look in your eyes and say “You know, I would be offended by that, but I know why you eat so slow, Buck. I completely understand. You don’t want your dentures to fall out.” But it never came.

You don’t know what it was. Bucky asking you if you were alright or if it was simply all the pressure of just.. everything, finally breaking, but you could feel the hot tears in your eyes. They blurred your vision until you couldn’t really see the plate of the pancakes in focus. The dam had finally come apart and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You set the fork down and buried your face in your hands, your shoulders lightly shaking as you began to cry. All Bucky could do was stare for a few seconds, alarm written all over his face. Alarm and distress because he had no idea what just happened and if he had done something to upset you.

“Woah woah, hey. Sweetheart, hey. What’s wrong?” In seconds, Bucky was out of his side of the booth and scooting in beside you. You felt the comfort of his warmth, you felt his arm tentatively, almost hesitantly, slide around your shoulders and anchor you to him. You shook your head, attempting to calm down, to stop the tears but the more you tried, the more they seemed to come.

“I-I’m sorry, Bucky.. I.. I’m sorry.. I-I’m fine. Really.” You said, sniffling. It was apparent to you both that you were not alright and he really just wanted to get to the bottom of it. Or at least attempt to comfort you. But doing that in the middle of a diner with other people around wasn’t ideal.

“Hey, my apartment is only a short walk away. Come on, let’s get you out of here and somewhere more quiet.” You didn’t protest. You just nodded and slid out of the booth after he did. Bucky took out his wallet and placed a few bills on the table, paying for the uneaten food, and then quickly led you out of the establishment. He kept his hand on you, almost like an anchor. Whether it was to reassure you or himself, he didn’t know and you didn’t mind either. It was probably the only thing that kept you from retreating inside of your mind and giving in to the panic that so desperately wanted out.

You didn’t even realize that you had reached his apartment until he had led you up the stairs and you were standing behind him as he unlocked the door. He allowed you to step in first and then quickly followed behind you, shutting the door as he did so. You didn’t really get the chance to take in his apartment because he had ushered you to sit on his couch while he knelt in front of you.

“Alright, you’re scarin’ me here, doll. What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” The sheer look of concern and slight panic in his face and those pretty eyes of his made the waterworks come back again. You shook your head, your face scrunched up in anguish. Hot bullet tears fell from your eyes and left a wet path in their wake down your cheeks. Bucky wasn’t one to pry; he hated it when people tried to pry into his life and he didn’t do it to you, but he couldn’t stand the sight of seeing you cry. He couldn’t stand the sight of your once bright eyes and cheery smile just.. gone. You eyes were sad and your lips were pulled into a frown. “Talk to me, baby.” He practically pleaded.

“I just.. I don’t.. I don’t know how to explain it, Buck.” You cried. “I-I.. I just feel like..” You let out a frustrated cry when you couldn’t find the right words but Bucky was patient. He reached a hand up, cupping your cheek and wiping away the tears that kept falling. “I don’t feel.. happy. Everyday I wake up and I just, I feel fine for like a few seconds and then everything just comes crashing down on me. I can’t ever stop thinking. I can’t sleep at night. I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like this, Bucky. And I feel fucking crazy. Sometimes I feel like you don’t even really like me. I feel.. hopeless, like nothing is ever going to be okay. I might feel okay for a few seconds but then it just goes away.” You explained, though you were sure that you probably sounded like a raving and ranting lunatic. “Before I met you, I liked being alone but I also hated it because when I was alone, I would just overthink and overthink and overthink about every fucking thing. If it wasn’t one thing it was another just giving me such bad anxiety and.. I don’t know what to do anymore, Bucky. I’m just tired of feeling like this. Feeling like nothing is ever going to be okay, like I’m never going to be okay. I just feel.. alone.”

His heart was well and truly broken. In the two months that he’d known you, he hadn’t known how badly you had struggled with your mental health. He hadn’t known the war that you fought within your mind, and how bad it had become. You were such saving grace for Bucky; you saved him from the wars inside of his mind. The constant feeling of guilt that he fought with on a daily basis, and now.. he just wanted to do the same for you. He wanted to shoulder some of the pain that you carried, the pain that seemed to be weighing you down. Both of his hands now cupped your cheeks so delicately, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. His blue eyes were shining, looking at you with not pity, but something like.. understanding. If anyone knew what you were feeling, it was Bucky.

“You’re not alone.” His smooth and rich voice was so soft, so gentle that it brought on a new set of tears. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore. You know why? Cause you got me.” He said. “I know what it’s like to feel hopeless. To feel stuck in your head. To feel like nothing is ever gonna get better. I felt like that in Wakanda. Sometimes.. sometimes, we need help. And I know I’m not one to be talking considering that I don’t really like talking to my therapist or even going,” That roused the smallest of smiles from you. “I’m here. You know that, right? I’m here. You got me and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I don’t care if you have a million bad days. I don’t care if you feel like you’re bothering me. I’ll be there every time.” You two have gradually gravitated close to one another until your foreheads were pressed together. Bucky was still knelt in front of you on the couch, his hands still holding your cheeks. Your eyes were closed and you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. The tears had stopped falling but you were still sniffling softly. “You’ve helped me. Even if you don’t know it. You’ve helped me.” He was whispering. There was no one but you two in his apartment but he was still whispering the words meant for only you to hear. “Now, let me help you. Please.”

“Okay. I trust you, Bucky.”

[warmblanketwhump]

flight plan: part 2

no planes in this one - just some good old-fashioned sickfic! But if you want the backstory, check out part 1 here.

“A, can you hand me my glass of water? Pleaaaase?” B sticks out their bottom lip in a pout, and A can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, you. It’s been four days and I know you’re getting better, because you’re getting pesky again.” A straightens the blankets and slides their hand up to feel B’s cheek. “Still a little warm, but I think you’re on your way out of the woods.”

“So I should milk this while I can?” B flutters their eyelashes and gives a pitifully fake cough, which slips into a real one, sharp and rattling. Concern flits across A’s eyes, and they help B take a few sips from the glass.

Despite the joking, A didn’t kid themselves about how sick B had been, or how awful they’d truly felt after getting off the plane. The first two days had been nightmarish - B barely conscious, shivering with chills and sweating through their sheets, alternating between terrifying fever dreams and inconsolable moaning and weeping.

A did their best to hold them through it, but they had been minutes away from hauling B to the hospital. Thankfully B’s fever had spiked just one final time before settling into general low-grade misery.

“As long as you need me, sweetheart, you’ve got me.” B gives a tired smile and pulls the blanket to their chin, huddling around the new stuffed animal A gave them at the airport.

“Did you call C?”

“Ah, not yet. Too busy with you, ya sick little bean.” A gently fluffs B’s hair. “You rest, and I’ll give them a call now.”

But C doesn’t pick up. Nor do they pick up an hour later, leaving A stuck with the unpleasant task of leaving a voicemail.

“Um, hi…this is A. I just wanted to call and let you know that B’s on the mend. They’re still pretty weak, but I think things are looking up. So…yeah. Thanks for everything you did for B - once they were feeling better, they told me all about what you did. And I…well, I care a lot about them. Obviously. So I appreciate it. I guess you can call back if you-”

The message cuts off, and A groans. Hopefully that was enough. Still, they couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomach.

Later, they settle in with B to watch a movie, B’s head cradled in their lap as A combs their fingers soothingly through their hair, reveling in the sheer normalcy of it all. They both end up falling asleep, and when A blinks awake as the credits roll, they notice a missed call from C. B’s still out, so they click to listen to the voicemail.

“Hey, A….sorry I *coughs*…missed you earlier. Wasn’t able to *sniffs* make it to the phone. So glad to hear that B’s *cough cough* doing better. I think they did a little sharing.” C laughs weakly, but A can hear the sheer exhaustion in their voice. “Anyways, glad they had you. And if you’ve got any survival tips, feel free to pass them along…..I’m just kidding. *cough* I’ll be fine. Anyways, I’ll…see you around, I guess.” They pause briefly, like they want to say something more, but a coughing fit steals their breath away, and the message ends with a click cutting off the rough gasps.

The pit in A’s stomach comes back. C sounds sick.

“Who….who was that?” B mumbles from their spot on A’s lap.

“It was C. They called back and they….didn’t sound so good.”

B’s eyes snap to meet A’s, more alert than they have been in days. “Did they sound like me?”

C pauses. They hadn’t thought about not telling B, but in hindsight, maybe they should have. After all, it’d only flood B with guilt, and they needed all the energy they had to get well. But one look at B’s concern, and they knew they wouldn’t be able to lie.

“Yeah. They did.” Immediately B struggles to push themselves up, throwing their blanket off their shoulders and trying to stand.

“Whoa, hold it there. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To C. If they’re sick, it’s from me, and if any hints from the past four days of living with me are any indication, we gotta help them.”

A throws their hands up, pressing B back on the couch. “Hold up. We don’t know them, we don’t know if someone’s already taking care of them, and we don’t know where they live. I’m sure they’re-“

B frantically shakes their head. “You didn’t hear them. On the plane. From what they said…I don’t think they have anyone. I have to go.”

A chews their lip. “Well, let’s get things straight first. You’re in no shape to go help them. Which leaves me. A random stranger they don’t know. And you want me to check on them?”

The question was meant to be sarcastic, but B nods vigorously and fear fills their eyes with a fevered anxiety. “A, you saw how sick I was. You think anyone’s gonna be able to fight through that alone?”

A sighs wearily. They could blame it on the fact that arguing with a sick B was like arguing with a brick wall. But truthfully, what did their heart in was the thought of B alone on that plane, sick and shivering and miserable, if C hadn’t helped.

Fine. They’d send a text.

You okay? You sounded kinda rough on the phone. B was worried….

A few moments later, C responds.

Eh, I’ve felt better. But thank you for asking. And tell B not to feel bad. They were a better seatmate than most.

A smile tugs at A. At least this C was polite.

Is there anything you need? B said something about you being by yourself.

This pause was longer. The dots appeared and disappeared a few times, before a message came through.

I hate to take advantage, but is there ANY way you could bring over some cough medicine? I ran out a couple days ago. No worries if not - I can figure it out.

C’s heart sank. So they were alone. Sure, they didn’t say it - but any good friend or significant other worth their salt wouldn’t leave someone they loved without medicine for days.

I’ll bring some to you! Want to meet somewhere neutral, or just want me to drop it off?

In moments, C sends a response and an address.

Dropping off is fine. You are an actual lifesaver.

A settles B into bed with blankets, a cup of water, hot tea, and six types of medicine on the side table. “Now if you get worse, call me and I’ll turn around immediately. Nothing’s more important than you, okay?”

B shook their head. “I’ll be fine. They need someone.”

A heaves a sigh. “You’re too good, you.” They give B a quick forehead kiss, and head out into the night.

By the time they get to C’s apartment, their stomach is flip-flopping - C is a stranger. A lonely stranger, but a random stranger nonetheless. They come to C’s door and knock tentatively, gripping the paper bag of cough medicine (plus some cough drops and Tylenol for good measure), and hold their breath.

Nothing. A few minutes go by and A knocks again. They’re ready to break down the door if C doesn’t answer soon, but they realize what took so long right after they hear the click of the deadbolt.

A had seen corpses that looked more alive than C did right now. They lean heavily on the doorframe, sweat beaded on their forehead, a thick grey throw blanket clutched tightly around their shoulders. Their face is hollow and devoid of color, lips dry and cracked, their hair mussed and matted to their head. The cool night air hits their fevered body, triggering a round of chills that make them shudder. Despite their misery, a tiny light of gratitude flits across their eyes, and they stare incredulously at the paper bag in A’s hands.

“C….” A’s jaw drops to the ground.

“A, I seriously owe you one.” C tries to laugh, but it turns into a wheezing chest cough, high pitched and tense as they fight to catch their breath. Their eyes blink slowly, and they start to slide down the doorframe, but A grabs them and they both tumble inside.

Even through the blanket, A can feel C’s every bone. C weakly clings to A as they stumble toward the couch, and A deposits them on the cushions before tearing into the package of meds.

“What have you taken so far today?” A asks, trying to figure out the dosages.

“I….nothing…” C mumbles. A meets their eyes in disbelief before cracking open the blister packet and retrieving a proper dose. Grabbing an empty glass on the side table, they fill it before helping C choke the pills down. C greedily gulps the whole glass, breathing heavily once they’ve drained it.

“Water…water’s good.” C smiles blearily - they’re almost completely out of it. A presses a hand to the side of C’s neck, and C flinches at the cool touch. Their neck feels like a bank of hot coals, slick with sweat, lymph nodes sore and swollen. Their forehead isn’t much cooler either.

“C, when’s the last time you ate or drank anything?”

C cocks their head like A just asked them to recite the entire periodic table. “I….not sure? Days….kinda blurry.”

A’s seen enough. “C, you’ve got to go to the hospital. I haven’t even seen your temp, but you’re burning up even worse than B was.”

C frantically grasps at A’s wrists, sharp panic flooding their eyes. “Please…no…no hospital. I can’t. The meds….I’m fine here. Please.” A shiver wracks their body, and they hunch their shoulders, wrapping themselves back up and pulling the blanket over their nose. “Please. You can go now.”

“C, you need help-“

“I don’t.” Their voice breaks on the last word, cut off by a brief hiccuping sob.

Confusion rises through A - one minute C’s a grateful wreck, and the next moment they’re demanding they leave?

“C, I don’t understand-“

“You don’t get it. You think it feels all nice, having people care about you. Making you feel like you matter. And then they leave you. Get tired of you. Decide you’re not worth it. And it hurts worse than if they were never there at all.” C scrubs their eye with the corner of their blanket and sniffles as tears run down their cheeks. “I can’t let it happen again. I have to be alone. So just go. Please.”

A’s speechless. They kneel down next to the couch, hand tentatively hovering above C.

“C, is it okay if I put my hand on you right now?” C’s still sniffling, but they nod and mumble a weak “yes”, and A gently lets their hand rest on this stranger’s shoulder.

“C, I want to respect what you want right now. But you should know that you’re very sick. And you’ve managed in your own way - how, I have no idea - but you need some help right now. Now I can either call the hospital and let them handle it, or take you home with me. It’s up to you. Otherwise, you need to look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you want to be left alone through this.”

They squeeze C’s shoulder, and it triggers a deep gasping sob from their broken, aching body, sending a fault line straight through A’s heart. The sob turns to weeping, and A can barely make out the words C whimpers: "I don't want to hurt anymore."

God, who broke this poor thing? A bites their lip. C’s losing it. They’re running out of options short of forcing C to come with them, and that’s the last thing they want to do to a delirious, love-starved person who’s known them all of 6 minutes.

“C, I’m not gonna hurt you. I want to help you. Heck, even B wants to help you. I had to practically pin them down to the bed before leaving, they were so hell bent on this rescue.”

C’s red, swollen eyes meet A’s. “You mean….they asked after me?”

“Yes. They did. They could hardly stop talking about you once they came to their senses.” A rubs C’s knee through the blankets. “And they’d never forgive me if I left you here alone - they were very adamant about that. So if you want to save me a lot of arguing with and consoling of a very sad B, you’d actually be doing me a favor coming back with me.”

C seems to be weighing their options, all while struggling to stay awake on the couch. “I mean…if it saves you the trouble….”

A’s the one nodding vigorously now. “Please. It would.” Please. Just come back with me. I can’t leave you here like this. But I don’t know what else to do.

C presses themselves up off the couch with a single shaking arm. “Well, if it’d help you, then I accept.” And then they promptly pass out into A’s waiting arms.

It’s late when A gets back home with a limp C, and B is knocked out in their room, light still on - they’d tried to wait up, but their body still craved rest.

A carries C over the threshold and into the house. They gently lay the bundle on the bed and feel their forehead - still too hot, but the medicine seemed to be working. They manage to wake C up enough to take a few sips of broth from a mug before they pass out again.

For the briefest moment, A lets their hand touch C's shoulder again, making a silent promise they barely know how to keep: I don't know who broke you, but I'm not gonna let you hurt any more. I won't allow it.

A wave of exhaustion floods their body as they feel the effects of several late nights and long days of caretaking. They'd be no good to anyone if they didn't get any rest. A drapes an extra blanket over C’s sleeping form and heads for the couch for the night - they’d check back in an hour or so.

--------------------------

B’s awakened by the sound of sniffling. And it’s not theirs. They blink tentatively in the lamplight, sleep clouding their thoughts. Snatching a blanket from the top of their bed, they wrap up, stuffed animal under one arm, and shuffle across the hall to see where the sound is coming from.

It’s C, swathed in two blankets, holding a wad of tissues and trembling like a leaf. B flicks on the bedside table lamp, and C winces at the light. B can see the tear stains on their cheeks.

“Cold,” C whimpers, coughing weakly. Pity floods B - it’s like looking at a picture of themselves just a few days ago. They reach out and put their hand on C’s head, and C leans into the touch.

“Yeah, this part sucks,” B says softly, guilt flooding their core. Sure, they didn’t mean to make C sick. But they did. And they felt a certain responsibility to make sure they made it through okay - just like C had cared for them on the plane.

“Can I get you anything? Another blanket, tea, medicine?”

“Throat hurts…water…please?” B nods and places the stuffed animal next to C before beginning the long, slow shuffle to the kitchen. A’s asleep on the couch, and they can’t bear to wake them up for something this small. But by the time they get to the kitchen, their legs are trembling with exertion. Easy there. You’re still sick, too.

They brace themselves against the sink as the glass fills, and will themselves to make the final journey back to C. By the time they’ve returned, the glass feels like a lead weight in their hand, and their entire body is chilled and shivery all over. They do their best to help C take a few sips, holding the glass with trembling hands, bracing themselves on the bed so they don’t tip over.

“Thank….thank you,” C’s grateful eyes meet theirs, and in a split second B knows the effort was worth it. But the validation is replaced with a bout of lightheadedness that nearly topples them onto C.

“Sorry,” B gasps. “Still not up to marathons yet. Just...need a minute.” They tug their blanket tighter, closing their eyes. “And this body forgot how to stay warm when I do stuff.” C’s eyes flood with concern - even in their fevered haze, they can see B struggling.

"Want to sit for a minute?" C asks softly, patting the open spot next to them on the bed. “I’m still cold, too.”

B wriggles into the spot, propping themselves up on pillows and pulling blankets over them both. "Just a minute - you need your sleep."

C's already dozing. "S'okay. I'll sleep just fine. 'Sides, you're warm." C's nestled themselves into B's side, head resting on their chest, and B wraps an arm around C's shoulder and holds them close. They’re warm, too. Just a minute....

Many minutes later, A pokes their head in to check in on C - and finds two sick peas in a pod curled up together, C's head still on B's chest, B's arm curled protectively around C, stuffed animal squished between them, both tangled in blankets and Kleenexes.

In spite of their own exhaustion, A smiles. After everything that had happened, they had a feeling C wouldn't ever be alone again.

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.    

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

~

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do.                                                                                           Sincerely,                                                                      Steve Rogers

                                                                                            ~

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

 When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.  

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

[doopy-n-loopy]

How would yandere mercs react to us trying to escape late at night?

Well not well that's for sure!

Yan!Mercenaries (TF2) × Reader hcs/ imagines

// Yandere themes, violence, fear play, yandere shit

Defense

Demo

You got out of Demo's bed, you had given him more alcohol than usual to keep him asleep. You looked over the heavily snoring figure beside you. The scot had his mouth wide open and a bottle of beer cluched in his palm. You leaned in and blew on his eye to make sure he was asleep, and there was no physical response from him. You then quickly slipped on your clothes and pulled out the small bag you've been hiding behind the nightstand, it was filled with money and other essentials like pepper spray, sunglasses, and a cloak.

You walked out of the room, taking one last look at the scot before tiptoing out of the house, avoiding scattered empty alcohol containers on the ground.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard a voice from behind you

"y/n? What are ye doing?"

He was drunk of course, but when wasn't he? It was like he was sober in his own way. Sober enough to recognize that guilty look on your face. His expression twisted into an angry snarl and he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you down the stairs into the basement

"you'll stay here till you know how to listen"

He said trying to conceal his anger, but failing to do so

He could also just have a breakdown depending on the type of night it was and guilt you into staying

He will be a lot more strict on you

Heavy

You were looking to escape in the night but heavy lives in an eternal blizzard basically so... That's not a great idea

But lets say you've been preparing for awhile and got everything set up, a snow mobile, warm clothes, and a torch

But the moment you get to the shed, you find that your snow mobile is broken

Heavy then appears out of a corner of darkness with an upset expression

It's silent for a moment, until he speaks

"After all Heavy has done for you? Why?"

You felt guilt building up into your throat as you tried to search for an excuse. Unable to find one. He isn't a very restricting yandere, in fact, he's much tamer than most, he's given you basically all he has and to do this is like a slap in the face.

"Heavy will forgive you, if you just come back" he said while smiling

You were then gently pushed back out into the cold in the direction of his house, where you'd be staying once more

If he was in a bad mood, he'd be a little more rough

He also will place more restrictions on you but it's not like you'd notice considering it's not much

Engineer

You were about to leave in your car at night, when you tried turning it on, it wouldn't start. Engie then walks in front of your car and waves at you for you to come out, which after hesitating, you comply.

He walks over to you and hugs you, which confuses you. He tells you it's alright and that you don't have to go

"I'm sorry but, I want to leave" you stutter out

He panics internally and grips your shoulder, looking you in your eye

"do you know what could happen to you out there? Rapists! Murderers! The world ain't sugar n' honey, darlin"

"but-" you respond, suddenly cut off by him

"but you're safe here with me. I'll always protect you"

He hugs you once again, sucked into that warm embrace, you calm down and walk back with him

You were restricted from certain things from then on

Offense

Scout

You got into a fight with him earlier and in the middle of the night, you decided it was time to leave.

You packed a bag of clothes, some water, money, and other essentials

As you got your keys, you were met with a sleepy eyed scout who had bedhead

"Y/N....? The hell are ya doin?"

It takes a second for scout to process what's going on. You're grabbing your keys, you're fully dressed, and you had a suitcase with you

"Jeremy. I'm leaving*

You said sternly. You could see in his eyes that his heart shattered into a million pieces

"Wai- what no! No no no no! Please y/n you gotta stay please!"

He begged, grabbing onto your coat as you began to walk out. Tears formed on his face but you ignored it

"I can't put up with this anymore"

You said, voice cracking from the pain in your heart. Scout was sobbing now, he kneeled in front of you to stop you

"I'm so sorry I'm so sorry! I'll change I swear I'll become better! You want to go to eat out more? I got the money! I'll treat you nicely!"

You didn't believe a word he said, but with the way he was talking, it had to be true.

"Please I love you so much and it would kill me to lose you... Literally... You're my world to me, baby"

You bit your quivering lip as you looked down at him like he was a sad puppy. You sniffled and dropped your bags, huffing in defeat

".. I'm sorry. I'm just tired"

Scout was overjoyed to hear this. That night he clung to you

Scout didn't really become more strict, but he did become more loving to avoid that again.

Pyro

This one is scary, scarier than support classes even

You were almost out the door when they spotted you. They gave you an inquisitive look. You both shared a minute of uncomfortable silence before you bolted out the door. Pyro was unprepared for this, giving you some time to create distance between you two.

But Pyro was quick to get ready and they were out the door in no time with their flamethrower, ready to burn down acres of forests in order to catch you

You could hear pyro approaching, knowing that once you reach your car at the end of the base, you'll be safe and free.

While you were running, it seemed like their footsteps had been fading ever since they've gotten louder. Until you couldn't hear it anymore. You didn't pay any mind to this since your objective was just getting ti your car

When you arrived at the boarders of their territory when you stopped in your tracks

Pyro was leaning over their axe by the car, looking smug as ever. You looked towards your car and gasped.

Pyro had shredded the tires and broke open every window so you couldn't escape. You stood there as pyro approached you and swept you up in their arms, snuggling their mask into your neck the entire way home while you couldn't help but softly sob

Soldier

Soldier would lose his shit

He's already super strict, forces you to get up at 5 am every morning and run laps like you're in the military, makes you eat either MRE packets or home cooked food and you better hope it's an MRE pack because he cannot cook

So when he sees you at your car late at night, he screams at the top of his lungs enough to scare you into shock

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAGGOT? GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

I could see this going one of two ways, either complying or he has to chase you down (which he will)

If he has to chase you down, he won't be happy about it, and become even more strict than before (which I don't think is possible but it's soldier)

Support

Sniper

You... What?

How did you even get the idea that you could escape?

You live in his fucking van, you won't have a car other than his van

But lets say you saw the chance for escape, and tried to take it. You either got shut down the moment you got out of bed or you were lucky enough to get far away from the van

"get your bloody ass back to bed" is something he'd say if he shut you down the moment you stood up

But this man is a sniper, he can scope you out easily, and he won't hesitate to use a tranq on you

After that, you're back in the chains

Spy

Scary

Did you really think you could?

He knew you were gonna escape before you even escaped

He'd make very subtle remarks about it and remind you of what he could do

"Do you remember about the undercover mission in Spain back when I was working for the government that I told you about? When I was able to find the traitor using three clues. Even after all his records were erased"

Subtle shit like that to remind you who's in control

But lets say you didn't take the hint, and you decided to try and escape anyways

He'd catch you in the living room trying to escape, and send you back to bed

Or, you'd get lucky and be able to run away, meaning he'd be on a job

Trust me, he will find you within 48 hours, 24 if you aren't moving that much

He's very manipulative so he'd try to make you feel bad about it.

Much more strict afterwards

Medic

I have a feeling he'd already knowz but not to the extent that spy does

He notices your behavior, and how you're starting to become a bit more.. energetic?

Anyways, like spy, he'll warn you subtly

"You seem to always find yourself injured in any way. And like they say, a medic can track an injured person like a gps system, ja?"

If you decide to escape, he'll have some fun with you definitely. He'll late you run far enough to think that you're finally free, before he catches you and brings you back. He's sadistic.

He'll laugh at your face and degrade and humiliate you, making you regret ever trying

After that, he's much more strict, and demanding from you

Bonus cause I wanted to: Pauling

Pauling like spy, can track people very easily

I wouldn't even be surprised if she convinced medic to help put a tracker in you

Well, she'd be at work checking your location every hour. And the moment she finds out that you're not in the house but at a motel, she's pissed.

She has to quickly finish up work before taking her time to go catch you, and trust me, if Pauling takes time off work for something it's important

Once she finds you, she tells you to come out, trying to keep it civil. When you don't, she ends up busting through the door and taking you herself.

On the way home, she complains about how you worried her and made her miss some work like a parent going to pick up their sick kid from school

She eventually cools off after she gets you home, but she is definitely more strict

Gify was acting up so I couldn't download any more gifs 😭

Anyways feel free to request again!

[jeongvision]

bandaids

synopsis. in the midst of finals season, where routine takes over your lifestyle, you find solace in the voice of your most important person that always seem to know when you’re at your breaking point.

pairing. boyfriend! kim doyoung ✗ student! fem! reader

genre. fluff, angst, slice of life, hurt/comfort, college au, non idol au, established relationship au

word count. 1.8k words

warnings. cursing, mentions of anxiety, depictions of a mental breakdown

song. bandaids by keshi

author’s note. after looking at my calendar, it has come to my attention that it’s that time of the year: finals season. i just want to let all of you know that you are doing a great job. you made it this far and i’m proud of you. i promise you, you will get through this. hopefully this could give comfort in the midst of your studies. love you all.

friends of flowers fragile silence stand beside you stop your crying

If there is one thing that all college students could agree on, it’s that finals seasons are the absolute worst thing to ever go through in college. You’re constantly spending every night at the library with your eyes glued onto your textbooks, your brain rushing to keep up in retaining all the pertinent information needed for your exams. You’re devoting hours onto your laptop with your fingers typing away on your keyboard, internet tabs and pages cluttering your screen as you rush to reach the minimum page count required for your courses.

So many times you have declined all your friends’ requests for study dates or a simple get-together because you just don’t have the luxury to. As much as you’d love to take a break from your studies, you feel like you’re running out of time. It has gotten to the point where your boyfriend has to remind you every now and then to take breaks as he gets concerned for your well-being. And just when you thought you were done with one exam or assignment, you look back on your planner only to find out that there’s more to complete. It’s like your pile just doesn’t seem to lessen with each passing day, your mentality on the brink of collapse.

Just where is the end to all of this?

You are currently perched over your desk, packets of case studies splayed out on top of your corrections textbook. Your laptop screen shines bright at the corner, documents filled with infinitesimal texts and numbers. To your right lies your essential oil diffuser, planted right on your nightstand with fumes of aroma wafting through the air. You took your best friend’s suggestion in purchasing an aromatherapy diffuser to help relieve some stress you’ve accumulated from your studies. Lavender should help out, she said. But to your dismay, you don’t feel a single ounce of it lifting from your shoulders. Forcing your brain to believe its effective properties only puts your head more into a strain.

That’s when you felt a sharp pain rip through your skull. ‘Great,’ you groaned to yourself, ‘another fucking headache.’ You dropped your pen on your notebook and rubbed your fatigued eyes, the pressure from your fingertips massaging away. “God, I can’t wait for this semester to be over with already.”

Crossing your arms, you found your phone lying in the middle of your bed. You forgot that you left it on ‘do not disturb’, finally realizing why you didn’t hear your phone ring in the past few hours. You grabbed your phone off your bed. 2:58 am, it reads. Unlocking your phone, you skimmed through your notifications, your fingers swiftly responding to certain messages cluttered up in your phone until you reached to this one particular conversation:

hey babe (sent by doie <3, 11:01pm)

hope you’re eating your meals and drinking water (sent by doie <3, 11:01pm)

just want to let you know that i’m proud of you (sent by doie <3, 11:02pm)

always am and always will (sent by doie <3, 11:02pm)

love you (sent by doie <3, 11:02pm)

You could feel a smile blooming on your lips. It has been a while since you’ve seen Doyoung, let alone hear his voice. Is it too late to call him? ‘He might be sleeping,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Should I?’ Biting your lip, you mustered up the courage and decided to call him. Placing your phone against your ear, you awaited his call. The sound reverberates through your eardrums, the anticipation of having your call picked up diminishing with each passing ring. And just when you were about to give up, the tune stops short on its last ring.

“Hello?” a deep voice croaks.

You softly smile at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” you whispered. “Did I… wake you up?”

“No, no.” You hear him shuffling on his end, to what you could assume to be from his movements in his bed sheets. “Not at all, baby.” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle, touched over the fact he’s easing your guilt of awakening him from his much-needed slumber. “What’s wrong? You need something?”

You shrugged your shoulders, a habit you’ve developed when talking on the phone with someone. “No, not really.” You run your fingers through your hair before rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

He lets out a tired chuckle. “I missed you, too.”

You hum a little, “How are your finals?”

He scoffs. “Shit.”

“Not surprised,” you giggled. “You only have one more left, right?”

“Yeah. Chem 4. After that, I’m ready to sleep for a whole week straight.”

“Can I join you in your sleeping session?”

“You most certainly can.”

You both shared a laugh, your mind finally distracted from the strenuous documents that resided on top of your desk. “I call dibs on being the small spoon.”

He chortles. “You’re funny.”

“Hey! It’s only fair.”

“That’s what you said when you ate my share of fries the other week.”

His voice was much livelier than before, fully awakened from his rest now. You missed the jolly feeling you’d get when you talked to him. All those days and nights spent by his side where nothing else mattered in the world except for your boyfriend, whispering loving affirmations to you just like always. You really did miss him, and you can’t wait for this semester to be over to spend quality time with him again.

“Hey, y/n?” he called out.

“Hm?”

“You know that all I ever ask of you is to be honest with me?”

Your smile drops. You know where this is going, and frankly, you’re not sure if you’re ready to have this conversation again. Time after time, he would start a conversation with that question followed by his ongoing concerns wrapped in his mind. Sometimes he would ask for your second opinion, but most of the time they were diverted to you, his forever lover. And you knew this time, this is going to be about you.

Your free hand fiddled with the ends of your finger as you chew on your lip again, your eyes peering down to your lap.

“... yes,” you murmured.

You could hear your heart beating through your ears, the silence deafening the space that encompassed you around. Neither one of you uttered a sound to the other, too afraid to whisper through the thick tension planted in the air. Outside your dorm, there are muffled footsteps fading in and out by your door, most likely from your dorm neighbors coming back from another one of their library sessions. He lets out a soft sigh on his end, not one filled with annoyance, but filled with worry, his attention all focused onto you.

“... are you okay?”

And just like that, you felt the dam inside you crumble to ashes. The mask that you’ve held from the past few weeks is finally dissolving, the facade released from its shackles. Weeks of putting up a front, telling yourself that everything is okay, is now coming to end. ‘I’m fine,’ you would say to yourself. ‘This is nothing, I can handle this myself.’

Oh but darling, there’s only so much you could take in. Not everyone is perfect, and not everyone is indestructible. May we all be human, for we laugh, cry, smile, frown, scream, shout, cheer.

Tears burned through your eyelids, blurring your line of vision as you tried to hold yourself together. You shakily let out a sigh. “.... no,” your voice cracks. Another deep sigh, and you felt a tear drip down your cheek. “I’m… I’m tired, Doyoung.” More tears cascade down your cheeks, bringing your sleeves up to wipe them away with each drop. “I’m exhausted, Doyoung. I’m tired.. of all of this. I’m—”

With the phone still pressed against your ear, you sobbed into the night, finally pouring all your boxed-in emotions out to your lover. You cried out your frustrations, your anger, your desolace. Long have your soul been used to routine that you forgot what warmth felt like. To be cared for, watched for, and loved for.

Your sleeves soaked up all your tears, your eyelids certainly swollen from the sudden rush. You take even breaths, calming yourself down from your breakdown. Throughout your cries, never once did Doyoung strayed away from you, ears firmly pressed against his ear. He took in all, every last drop to mitigate the cold shell you’ve developed over time. He said nothing, only offering his presence as a sort of comfort to you for the time being. Once silence took over, all your tears spent, that’s when he spoke up.

“You did well, y/n.”

You breathing hitches for a moment, heart skipping a beat from his words.

“I’m so, so proud of you, y/n. You made it this far into the semester and for that, I’m proud of you.”

And alas, your smile returns. Minuscule it may be, but it’s more than what you could ask for. The feeling of having your shoulders lifted from your burdens made you feel like you could fly again, soar up in the clouds. Your best friend certainly knows how to cheer you up the most.

“Sorry about all of that,” you chuckled.

“Don’t be sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, I am. You literally just heard me have a breakdown and cry with snots all over the place—”

“I don’t give a damn about all of that, y/n.” There’s a slight shuffle on his end. “I love you for you, and that’s never going to change. I will love you at your lowest, and I will love you at your highest. Even when you feel like there’s no hope left in this world, I will bring you back to earth and hold you and remind you that you are hope.”

Just when you thought you had no more tears left in your system, you could feel the waterworks starting again. You bite down on your lower lip, desperately holding it in as love overcomes you.

“You did well, y/n. Only two more finals to go and you’re finally free.”

You wipe away the stray tear that befallen on your cheek. “Thank you, Doyoung. Really.”

“Now go out there and kick some ass for me, alright? Show those professors who’s the boss around here.”

You giggled. With your two fingers on your temple, you did an informal salute. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s my girl.”

Let this be a reminder to you, to all, that there will always be one person that will love you at your lowest, and will always be there to help pick you back up.

i’m afraid that bandaids are no good for heartache not okay, so tell me when your world is falling down

[hotpinkhoshi]

kiss it better | five

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, eventual smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: tw for death, death of a parent, reference to drug addiction

word count: 4.5k

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

a/n: hi babies thank you for your patience, i know it’s been many many months since i’ve updated! the last time i posted for kib was all the way back in may, which is crazy, i know. but life has been weird and it’s been difficult for me to find the motivation to write. it’s slowly coming back for me and i’m so glad you guys have stuck around with me even if i haven’t been consistent. i’m more grateful than you know!

✩ index here ✩

“She did what?” Dahyun asked, her bite of gimbap nearly falling right out of her mouth. 

Youngjae threw his head back and broke into laughter entirely at Mark’s expense. 

Mark ran his tongue over his teeth and refused to look up at his friends, focusing awfully hard on the sketch he’d been working on in between appointments. He quickly realized that they had absolutely no sympathy for him. 

“Yeah.” 

It had been two weeks already since that night, and Mark was just now feeling comfortable enough to spill what had happened after he took you home. He liked to take his own time to process his thoughts before he revealed them to others, and quite frankly, he hadn’t even wanted to tell anyone. But he was starting to think maybe he needed an outside perspective. 

“She has guts,” Youngjae said, after finally pulling himself upright in his chair. “Was it good?” 

“Dude,” Mark warned, far from amused. 

Dahyun cut in. “It’s a good enough question. From what I’ve seen, you guys have some intense sexual tension. If the kiss was hot, maybe it’s worth exploring.” 

“We don’t have sexual tension,” Mark defended. 

Youngjae snorted. 

“Sure. But, let’s say if you did, and the kiss was good…” Dahyun trailed off, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Groaning, Mark tapped the end of his pencil against the desk. He glanced up at the wall, his eyes naturally drawn to the photo of your shoulder, of the tattoo he’d designed and permanently inked onto your skin. It wasn’t the only photo he had pinned up of his previous work, but it was the one he looked at the most. 

“She’s a kid,” he said, little to no conviction in his voice. 

But you weren’t a kid. Mark knew in every way, you were an adult. Even mentally, emotionally, you seemed more mature than he felt most days. Packing up your belongings because you refused to live a life you weren’t satisfied with? He couldn’t imagine anything more grown up than that.

“Mark,” Youngjae’s tone was firm, serious this time. “It’s not the worst thing in the world if you have chemistry with someone. I know it may not be the most convenient girl for you, but… you’ve been by yourself for a long time. You can’t tell me you aren’t lonely.” 

He hadn’t thought he was lonely until you came into his life. He had been fine, so fine, living on his own. Waking up alone, eating dinner alone, focusing on his work and living one day to the next. 

But now, he looked forward to the sound of your keys in the door when you got home from your evening shift. He bought your favorite brand of orange juice instead of his. He didn’t mind watching outlandish and obviously fake reality shows if it meant that he got to hear your commentary along with it. More than anything, he’d gotten used to the way you made him feel. In the simplest of terms, he was happy. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Mark said. “I already fucked it up.”

Dahyun narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” 

He rubbed some of the tension out of his forehead, relaying the conversation he’d had with Taehyung that night to his friends. The exchange wasn’t longer than a few minutes, but it was long enough for Mark to potentially ruin everything you’d built for yourself in the last couple of months. 

“I didn’t tell him everything - I couldn’t do that. But I told him I’d seen her in the city, that I thought maybe she worked in one of the restaurants near the shop…” A knot of guilt coiled in his stomach. “Fuck.” 

He’d just wanted to do the right thing. You were young, you couldn’t see that your parents cared about you. Taehyung cared about you. They deserved to know where you were, especially after everything they had done for him. He could at least point them in the right direction. 

“Well, shit,” Youngjae offered, a sympathetic frown on his face. 

“I fucked her over, and I haven’t been able to look her in the eye since. We’ve just avoided each other for the last two weeks and I-” Mark heaved a breath, leaning back in his chair. “I hate it.” 

He missed you. Even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

“I have an idea,” Dahyun said, her whole body perking up. “Don’t look at me like that, sometimes I have good ideas. Why don’t you invite her along for Yugyeom’s camping trip?”

“You mean the couple thing?” 

Dahyun sighed. “It’s not a couple thing. It’s just… everyone there is part of a couple. Anyway, it might be a good way to make things less awkward.” 

Mark blinked a few times, waiting for Dahyun to say ‘just kidding’ because it was an absolutely ridiculous idea. “What? How would that make things any less awkward?” 

She shrugged. “I mean, it’s a great opportunity to break the tension. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Mark scowled. 

You spent your entire shift thinking about Mark. Thinking about how you had completely messed up your relationship, and trying to figure out how to fix it all. It had been a stupid, drunken mistake, and you would take it back in a heartbeat if you could. 

The past two weeks had been torture, tiptoeing around and trying your hardest to avoid him. You’d picked up extra shifts almost every day, figuring that if you were working, at least you didn’t have to pretend like everything was normal. 

All you wanted was to come home, curl up on the couch with Milo and watch your favorite ridiculous TV shows while Mark snickered next to you, entertained by the disgustingly wealthy families on the screen no matter how much he pretended to hate it. You wanted to be able to lean into him, feel the body heat radiating off of him when his shoulder brushed yours. 

You missed Mark. Even if you couldn’t say it out loud. 

After much debating, you decided that the best way to apologize started with food. And you owed him, anyway, after he opened his home to you and let you stay there free of charge. A dinner was the least you could do. 

You could tell once you walked into Paradise Tattoo just before closing time that Mark hadn’t been expecting you in the slightest. He was at the desk, going over papers with Dahyun, when the bell dinged to signal your entrance. 

In his ripped jeans and muscle tee, all of his tattoos were on display for you, even the large quote he had inked onto his ribcage. You gulped and shoved your feelings down. That would only make things worse. 

“Hi,” you said, greeting both Mark and Dahyun. 

“Hey.” Mark scratched his head and straightened his posture. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well,” you started, wringing your hands in front of you. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner? On me. I owe you, anyway.” 

Dahyun piped up, a mischievous smirk on her lips, “That’s a great idea. Mark was just talking about how hungry he was.

Mark cleared his throat and shot his co-worker what looked suspiciously like a glare. “No, I’m fine. You really don’t have to-” 

“Come on,” you said, hiding a smile. “How about burgers? There’s a good place around the corner. It won’t kill you to let me pay, will it?” 

You could see Mark weigh his options as he chewed his lip. Either end up hungry, settling for some quick frozen food later on, or bite the bullet and let you pay for his dinner. You knew it would hurt his pride to do so, but you wouldn’t back down. It was more than just the free room and board that you wanted to make up for. 

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “Let me grab my stuff.” 

It only took less than ten minutes for you to walk down to the burger place, but it felt like an hour as awkward silence hung around the two of you. It wasn’t until you were both seated at a corner booth inside the restaurant that you finally spoke up. 

“Listen, Mark,” you said, looking up from the packet of ketchup you’d been nervously squishing between your fingers. “About that night…” 

“No, you don’t-” Mark was quick to interrupt, but you held your hand up. 

“Just let me, okay?” You sighed. 

You’d rehearsed these words countless times in the bathroom mirror, and right now it felt like they were slipping right out of your fingers. Where were you supposed to start? With the kiss, straight away? Or getting so drunk that you’d needed to be taken care of in the first place?

“I’m just… really sorry. I was stupid to drink that much and it’s not your job to watch after me. I should be able to take care of myself.”

Mark stopped you again. “I didn’t mind taking care of you.” 

“But it’s not your job, Mark. I’m an adult, and you’re letting me stay with you and asking for nothing in return. The least I could do is make it easy on you.”

“Y/N, if you could have seen me at your age, you wouldn’t feel so bad. We all get drunk and stupid sometimes,” Mark said with a shrug. It almost relieved some of your guilt until you remembered the kiss in the bathroom. 

“Well...” You shook your head and looked back down at your hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him for this one. “I really shouldn’t have ki-” 

“Hi! My name’s Lana, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two something to drink while you look over the menus?”

A cheerful brunette appeared in front of you, a pen behind her ear and a wide grin plastered on her face. You glanced at Mark, then up at your waitress, not sure if you were grateful for the interruption or not. 

“Um, can I just have a water?” you asked, voice small and uncomfortable in your throat. 

“Same for me,” Mark agreed. 

“Perfect! Let me know if you have any questions about the menu!” 

You let out a long breath before you were able to look at Mark again. He was biting his cheek, his lips all twisted and holding back a laugh. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Her timing,” Mark got out, just as he let go of his laughter, throwing his head back. 

To your own surprise, you found yourself shaking with laughter as well. Either from Mark’s contagious laugh giggle or the simple ridiculousness of the situation. Here you were, in a burger restaurant, apologizing to your older brother’s best friend for kissing him while you were heavily intoxicated.

You covered your face with your hands to suppress your own laughter, letting your back slump against the cushions of the booth. It all came to you then, just how silly you’d been the last two weeks. 

“I am sorry, though,” you said, after you both settled down. 

Mark’s eyes glinted as he watched you from across the table, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “It’s alright. I mean it. Last time I was that drunk, I’m pretty sure I ran around the block in my underwear singing the Canadian national anthem.”

You giggled again at the mental image. “What? How did you even-”

“No idea. It’s like I was possessed by a drunk Canadian mischief demon.” 

It was strange to imagine Mark and Taehyung in their teen years, since you’d been so young at the time, you could barely remember anything from that time of your life. You remembered Taehyung wearing the same pair of purple skinny jeans for three months because a girl at school had told him she liked them. 

You remembered Taehyung letting you sit in the basement in your favorite cushioned chair while he and Mark played video games on the big screen. It had been your favorite place to read then, tuning out the rambunctious cries of defeat while you got lost in other worlds. 

“So we’re okay, then?” you asked, after Lana had come back to take your order and left once more. 

Mark nodded, a genuine smile on his lips. “We’re okay.” 

“Maybe it’s weird, but…” you began, staring down at the wrapped silverware on the table instead of looking Mark in the eye. “Even though I grew up seeing you as Taehyung’s friend, that feels like a lifetime ago. And now I just kind of see you as… my friend. Like somebody I can trust.” 

When you finally looked up at Mark, his expression was unreadable. His bottom lip was between his teeth, but his eyes looked somewhat uncomfortable. You worried for a second that you’d crossed a line. 

“I owe a lot to your family,” Mark said after another long moment passed. 

Even though you didn’t remember much about Mark from your childhood years, you knew his upbringing had been rough. His parents had been addicts, the kind that never should’ve been together, let alone bring a child into the world. 

You’d never met his mom, but your own mother had made enough snide comments about her after Mark had gone home for you to understand just what kind of person she was. 

“One of those low life, worthless drug addicts. Sleeping around with anyone that can help her out, if you know what I mean. Never should’ve been a mother.”

She had a funny way of showing her compassion sometimes. 

Taehyung brought him over once after school and your mother had gotten one look at his threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks and taken him in as her new project. At first, he ate dinner with your family almost every night, and then she started making Taehyung pass over his any extra clothes he’d gotten that didn’t fit properly or that he simply didn’t like.

Mark did owe a lot to your family. 

You didn’t know what to say. You’d been so young there was no way you could take credit for anything your parents had done for Mark, but still, you itched to comfort him. Even now, with the unsaid words lingering in the air, you sensed that he had never been able to fully open up to anybody. Though you didn’t deserve it, you wanted to be the first. 

“Your mom,” you found yourself saying. “Is she…?” 

Mark shook his head. “She’s gone. Passed away a couple years ago.” 

Your face fell. If anything, you had expected her to have taken off for good or maybe gotten into some trouble she couldn’t get herself out of, but you hadn’t expected her to be gone. 

“Oh, god, Mark. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

To your surprise, he only lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time before that. Maybe two, three years. Then my aunt showed up on my doorstep with a box of her things and told me she OD’d in a gas station parking lot a week before.” 

His voice wavered only slightly, but enough to tell you he cared more than he let on. You could only imagine how painful it would be to hear of your own mother’s passing a week after the fact. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again. 

Mark shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s weird,” he said, tongue running over his lower lip as he paused. “I’d stopped seeing her as my mother so long ago that… I felt like I’d already mourned her death. Fuck, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“No,” you answered as you reached across the table, fingers laying across the back of Mark’s hand. “It doesn’t. At all.”

A moment passed between the two of you. You caught Mark’s eyes glancing down at your hand resting on his skin, but he made no move to avoid your touch. 

“I never even went through her things. The box is just sitting at the back of my bedroom closet collecting dust.” 

“Do you want to go through her things?” you asked. 

Mark paused, chewing at the inside of his lip before he answered. “I don’t know.”

You nodded, somehow understanding exactly what he meant. Though you hadn’t gone through the same thing, you were familiar with avoiding a potentially painful and uncomfortable situation by simply pretending it didn’t exist. Hence why you had four unopened voicemails from your brother and parents. 

You found yourself stroking the back of Mark’s hand with your thumb. It didn’t feel wrong to touch him like this, even though maybe it should have. All you wanted was to bring him a shred of the comfort he had deserved to have for much longer than you’d known him. 

“Alrighty, and here we’ve got the bacon cheeseburger and sweet potato fries for the lady,” Lana exclaimed, immediately bursting your bubble as she returned to your table with your food balanced on a tray. You were quick to snatch your hand from Mark’s. “And a BBQ cheddar burger with curly fries for the handsome man.”

You didn’t miss the way Lana winked as she placed Mark’s food in front of him. This girl was not getting a generous tip from you, that was for sure. 

“I told you, after that depressing dinner conversation, we need to do something fun,” you told Mark as you carried your skincare basket out from the bathroom into the living room.

“And this is fun for who?” 

You threw him a playful glance and plopped down onto the floor in front of the couch on your knees, setting your basket on the cushion and sifting through it. 

“Both of us. Just trust me.” 

Catching the skeptic look on Mark’s face, you could only grin to yourself as you pulled out a tube of your favorite clay mask. He didn’t know just how relaxing a good face mask could be, but you were willing to show him. 

“I’ll even go first,” you told him. 

Mark lifted his feet to prop them up on the coffee table as Milo curled up like a tiny ball of cotton on his lap. You’d both changed out of your work clothes into comfy clothes, and you couldn’t help noticing how warm Mark looked in his white joggers and oversized black hoodie. You wouldn’t mind snuggling up into that space between his side and the couch cushion… 

You sighed and shook your head, attempting to clear the less-than-platonic thoughts from your mind. If you were going to make this friendship work, you would need to stop thinking about him like that. Immediately.

“Can I ask you something?” Mark said after a beat of silence as you popped open the cap to your mask. 

“Hm?” you asked, propping your personal sized makeup mirror on the couch so that you could see yourself while you applied your mask. 

“Yugyeom’s family has a yearly pass to this campground, and every year he does this weekend camping trip…” he trailed off for a moment and you forced yourself not to react, instead focusing on applying your charcoal mask to your cheeks. “This year, it somehow ended up as a couple thing, so Dahyun suggested I invited a friend along. So…” 

Lifting your eyes from your own reflection, you watched as Mark struggled to finish his thought. 

“So…” you said, helping him along. “Are you asking me to come with you?” 

Immediately, a neon flashing red alarm screeched in your mind. ‘This is a terrible idea! You must say no!’ it screamed.

“Only if you want to. I mean, it’s a cool place. Their lot is right by this swimming hole and there’s a fire pit, so we normally bring a ton of booze and cook our own food over the fire…” 

Mark ran his fingers through his deep red locks of hair, his nerves displayed clearly on his face. You weren’t sure why he was so nervous to ask you, but it came off as incredibly endearing. Despite the warnings blaring in your mind, you found yourself nodding. 

“Okay.” 

Mark looked at you then, his eyes finally locking on yours, and the corner of his lips lifted in a hopeful smile. “Really?”

You couldn’t help grinning as well. “Yeah. I mean, on one condition…”

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” you replied, holding up the mask tube and popping the cap back open. “You let me put this mask on you.”

“Aish,” Mark said and shook his head. “No way. Not worth it.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby!” 

You stood from the floor and climbed onto the couch, crawling to his side and squeezing some of the mask onto your index and middle fingers. “It’s not that bad!”

“Get away from me!” Mark exclaimed with a laugh, dodging your fingers. Milo hopped up onto the arm of the couch, stomping his cute little paws a few times. 

“Just let me pamper you, Mark!” 

He let out another laugh, louder this time, trying to reach for the mask to steal from your grasp, but he wasn’t fast enough. You giggled, ducking to miss his hands as he grabbed for your wrists. 

Somehow, you found yourself straddling him, thighs resting on either side of Mark’s waist. 

“Real men wear face masks!” you exclaimed with a shout of victory as you finally managed to smear a good amount of the clay mask across Mark’s left cheek. 

“Oh, you little-” he replied, hands reaching for your sides underneath the long sleeved shirt you were wearing. He tickled your sides, a joyful laugh falling from his lips when you started squealing. 

Milo yapped a few times from the arm of the chair, presumably because he thought that you were hurting Mark or vice versa, but his protective barks only made you laugh harder. 

“Mark! Stop it!” 

You gasped for breath, wriggling on top of him and dropping the mask tube, fighting between giggling and trying to swat his hands away. 

“It’s what you deserve, you sneak,” he said, his hands still squeezing and tickling your sides, unknowingly drifting further up your shirt to your ribs. 

Twisting and turning, you finally managed to grab his wrists and yanked them from under your shirt. You held them firmly in between your bodies, even though he could have easily overpowered you. 

Your chest heaved up and down with the last of your giggles. Mark stared up at you, still smiling and out of breath. The air suddenly became thick as you held eye contact, your hands falling from his wrists to his chest. 

“Y/N,” Mark whispered. 

‘Danger! Danger!’ your mind yelled. 

Mark’s hands, now free from your hold, landed on your hips. You felt his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt, stroking the bare skin of your stomach. Your heart pounded beneath your rib cage at his gentle touch. 

“Mark,” you said, intending on telling him to stop, but it quickly died in your throat. 

His chin tipped up, making you realize just how close you were to him now. You weren’t sure who had leaned in first, but only a few mere inches separated your lips from his now. If you only bent forward a bit, you could… 

It reminded you, all of the sudden, of the kiss in the bathroom. It had been quick, but long enough for you to slide your tongue past his lips. You remembered the shock to your system the moment you had felt the cold metal of a tongue piercing. 

“Y/N,” Mark said again. “Tell me to stop.”

His voice was quiet but you felt like you could read between the lines. He didn’t want to stop, and the only way he was going to stop was if you made it clear that you didn’t want this. 

But you did. You’d wanted it from the moment he ran his fingers over the tattoo he’d inked onto your skin one of those first nights, a soft ghost of a touch that made goosebumps form on every inch of your skin. 

You weren’t stupid, you knew that this was all wrong for a variety of reasons, the least of which being that he was your roommate. But that meant nothing to you compared to the way his hands felt on your skin.

Before you could open your mouth, tell him that you didn’t want him to stop, an 8-bit version of the Mario Kart theme blasted from somewhere behind you. You jumped, your heart skipping several beats from the surprise. 

Mark took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking a few times before he gently guided your hips to climb off of him. “Sorry, I should…”

The ringtone felt familiar but you couldn’t figure out why. Even as you watched Mark grab for his phone off the coffee table and immediately silence it, you wracked your brain to try and remember where you had heard that ringtone before. 

It was as if Taehyung had known, the moment that Mark quieted the little voice in his head telling him not to be so close to you and that this was wrong in so many ways, and finally accepted his feelings for you.  

Maybe he had a sixth sense. 

The moment that had passed between you then had been effectively ruined as soon as he was reminded of two things: you were his childhood best friend’s little sister, and he had already ruined your life even if you didn’t know it yet. 

But he’d been so close to giving in. You’d been on top of him, smiling in that innocently beautiful way that you did, your thighs caging in his hips. He hadn’t missed the fact that he could feel you with every inch of him, considering how he’d begged his body not to react, not to harden beneath you. Between the thin layers of his sweats and your sleep shorts, there was no way you wouldn’t notice. 

Later, after you’d grabbed a washcloth so you could both wipe the face mask off your faces and awkwardly watch TV for an hour before enough time could pass for you to realistically head off to bed, Mark listened to the voicemail Taehyung had left. 

“Hey man. I just wanted to let you know that uh, I’m going to try and head to the city and look for Y/N in a few weeks. If you see her again or have any idea where she might be, let me know. I really appreciate it, my mom’s been going crazy… anyway, maybe we can grab a drink or something once I’m in town. I’ll hit you up. Thanks again, Mark.”

Mark was glad he was in the privacy of his own bedroom when he listened to the message so you didn’t see the way he threw his phone down on the bed, muttering curse words to himself and trying to forget how heavenly you had felt on top of him. 

It was impossible. All he could think about was your skin under his fingertips, how your lips had been so soft and smooth and close to his, and how the weight of you on top of him had been enough to make him hard. 

His only option was to shut himself in the bathroom and crank the shower all the way to the coldest temperature that he could stand and pray that it would be enough to keep him from sneaking into your bedroom that night. 

[seychellse]

First of all I cant believe I really wrote this and said, “yeah, I’m gonna post this” this is just one of many stupid things I should have left as a dumb 2am thought

There is some violence mentioned so I’m flagging it just in case ok ok

Thought: would you kill the love of your life for a lifetime supply of breadsticks? How about baguettes, freshly baked? Able to be ordered on demand, any time you felt a flight of fancy coming on. Chocolate traybakes? An unending supply of sweetmeats of your choice?

Eren for sure would, little hesitation on his part. But he’d gauge how good the lifetime supply is before merking you at least, and would demand samples, would make you try them too as a final olive branch before you die. I headcanon that he doesn’t like sweet stuff much and he’d be way more motivated by savoury offers, so cake is out for sure. It would probs be something shitty too - he would tempt you into acquiescing to his demand to die by plying you with challah and pita, but he’d switch up the SECOND you’re gone and opt for like soda bread or pumpernickel, something that would make you fully regret giving up your life lol

Surprisingly, Annie and Historia would too 🤔 The latter would maybe be more reluctant but for both of them, all they need is some convincing from the terrible influences in their lives - that’s always enough to spur them into making bad decisions lol. Annie would do it for carrot cake but would prefer red velvet or maybe the quintessential chocolate chip cookie (the crumbly, foil packet type, not the melt-in-your-mouth soft kind). She’d also murmur apologies over and over again as the light dims from your eyes and you exhale for the last time and she would ever so gently carry you to your grave, making sure nobody knew of her sin of greed and mariticide. She’d pick an easy way for you to go, so she can feel less guilt for her decision. Anyways, Historia is another one for preferring savoury over sweet, so she’d go for any kind of bread that would pair well with a good, soft cheese and, queen that she is, pulls the soft, warm baked dough from its crispy crust oh so gingerly. She’s delicate with it because she’d also be trying to push out the parallel image of her gazing down at you screaming out for help, for redemption or at least an end to your suffering while you, too, were torn apart.

Connie would do it but he’d regret it for sure - you can only fill the void with sweet Danish pastries and savoury bruschetta for so long I guess. Niccolo would help him make some ciabatta to help him get over it on Sasha’s request but she’d just sneak in and eventually he’d tell em to get lost with their lovey-dovey nonsense and break down, regretting his moment of greed for the life he had made forfeit. Connie it’s honestly OK; grilled cheese made with rustic-style slices of granary white bread and skinny Swiss cheese will take the pain away :’-( plus it’s free! Free forever! For his own sake and not to insult your memory and sacrifice he’d get over it eventually, but the taste of bloomer loaves will forever feel hollow to him.

Jean is 100% the opposite fr fr. He’s got you, boo! No way he’s giving you up for some fucking bread. It’s actually very sweet how heated he gets about it so you make sure nobody tries to bring it up again in case he actually blows a gasket. But you’ll clutch him at night, perplexed as to why he’s so rigid and stiff the closer you get. The reason? He’s tormented by the thought of hastily refusing the offer - like, sure, bread is whatever. Not good enough to end a life for sure. But: he deadass could have had an on-demand supply of madeleines... Viennese whirls... petit beurres... butter biscuits of the highest quality... the thought of what could have been will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Mikasa would kill anyone who even asked her that. How dare they?? She, who lost her original family, her adoptive family, her found family, AND the people she tried to find comfort and community with afterwards??? And now you’re asking if she’d give up the one person she clung to in her moments of weakness, the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?????? Are you insane. No amount of crumbly loaves are worth your life. Pita’s a favourite of hers (she’ll insist with such passion that it’s not just bc Eren’s partial to them too), along with herby breads like garlic bread and focaccia, but even the promise of a lifetime’s amount of them will never sway her. She’d kill whoever had the nerve to ask before they could even finish the question tbh. #traumabonding #justgirlythingz

Armin is SUCH a sweetie - another for the ‘no’ pile. His tastes start off a little juvenile, but there���s nothing wrong with that. Everybody loves shortbread, after all - same with macaroons. But as he gets older, his tastes also shift from sweet to more savoury sweetmeats. It’s worth it to keep racking up a bill for the leagues of cheesy croissants and oatcakes he becomes partial to, if only because he gets to experience you waking him up every morning and feeding them to him with a smile and a fresh cup of espresso. Best boy 💯

The final babe that would never give you up for something as simple as a sweet, crumbly thing is Marco. Mmm, he’s a good man. Just like Jean, he would have recurring thoughts about his foodstuff of choice, which is 100% homemade garlic bread; the kind made with a proper butter instead of premade paste and nearly falls apart after being pulled from the oven because it’s so soft, golden brown and glazed with honey. The thought makes his mouth water and his mind drift, but it also reaffirms his belief that the ephemeral dose of dopamine it would give him wouldn’t be worth the lifetime of pain he’d have to slog through without you to mitigate it. BEST BOY HE’S THE BEST

Honestly, Reiner is obsessed with ginger, so he loves gingersnaps and gingerbread in equal measures. It’s not just a Christmas thing with him; he’d eat the spiced biscuits any day, any time. He’ll bring an entire tin into bed, dip them in tea, salivate over designing gingerbread houses just to absolutely devour them like it’s some kind of ritualistic practice. He’s a sugar fiend for sure, but what really gets him going is more out-there flavour combinations. So he’s sacrificing you, but it’s for the sake of bringing lesser-liked sweet treats into the limelight for maximum enjoyment for the masses. Don’t you want people to enjoy what he enjoys? Don’t you want him to be happy? If he did sacrifice you, it would only be during a fit of madness, but he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy his veritable feast of aniseed or Anzac biscuits afterwards, and he’d probably go down with you. Romantic

Bertholdt would. He just would I’m sorry. He’s so basic with his choices too like dang you set yourself up for real? For endless flatbreads? For dry-ass crackers? it’s absolutely shocking. How can he sit there & exchange you for a plain, dry tortilla with his soul intact? That’s why he’d try and be sneaky about it; you’d judge so hard if he murdered you and all he got in return was a lifetime issue of whole wheat. He would have slight texture issues so filled sweetmeats are a no-go, and things like seeded bread are his absolute nightmare. He enjoys sweet things! He would enjoy pan de leche and agege bread so much if he wasn’t so afraid of change. Bertie baby; please for your own good try and push the boat out a little - don’t let your lover die for no good reason

It’s a little difficult to pinpoint exactly what kind of treat Ymir would destroy you for. One thing that sticks out to her is macarons, the brightly-coloured treats are both tasteful and tasty and make her think good thoughts. She likes that - but can’t decide if that’s enough to justify the atrocity she would be committing against you. She’s not too bothered about her own death, but yours...? Hard to say. Despite all of that, whether or not she would actually go through with it in the end, you do know that she will bring the dilemma up endlessly just to taunt you about it. She probably wouldn’t... probably.

Sasha is a total write-off lol bless her this one’s too easy. This is not up for debate in any manner that would make sense. Sasha is bae and she knows you are also bae. This does not, however, change the fact that she would also kill you for a half-empty share box of stale profiteroles fished out of a back-alley trash can downtown that she had to fight off both hobos and dumpster-diving hippies for. So for a fresh stack? A chocolate-covered, berry-topped, sugar dusted, ice cream filled croquembouche? Whenever she feels the urge? Don’t. Even. Bother. Listen - you love her enough to know that food comes first in her life, always. In fact, not only would you would help her kill yourself for her to receive an eternal supply of choux pastry, you would be GRATEFUL for the opportunity. OKAY?!