#things can't go back to how they were but still! There is love now there is genuine care between spark and fark

[lananiscorner]

Reblogging this version and stealing the tags as well:

#i realized this when I was following#gen padalecki#she was talking about the garden#and livestock#and book clubs#and doing so many things with the boys#and i realized that if she had to work#like i have to work#and didn't have the money to hire people to do shit#she couldn't do all of that either#and then i unfollowed her#because it wasn't relevant to me#and was just making me feel bad about myself#even though i knew we were not on the same boat#she's in a yacht#and i'm in a rowboat#and you can't compare the two

This is so important, especially when it comes to body image.

If you ever find yourself looking at someone and thinking "damn, I wish I was as slim and toned as that insta model" or "damn, I wish I was built like that Navy Seal dude"... remember that this is literally PART OF THEIR JOB. You can't be an insta model without being slim and you can't be a spec ops soldier without being in excellent, buff shape. And as a result, people like that spend A LOT of hours in the gym. Like, a lot A LOT. And no, not off hours, after already working for 8+ hours a day like you with your desk job. If you are trying to emulate people like that while not being in that job, you are essentially trying to do two jobs at once. And that ain't a sustainable way to live (you can make it work, but good grief, at what cost...)

And any time you look at someone rich enough to afford somebody else to do their cooking and cleaning and child care? Dial your own expectations way the hell down, because those are freaking time sinks. There's a reason rich people hire other people to do that shit for them (because it's work--and unless you are rich it's work you HAVE TO do for free, because cooking is kind of important for eating and cleaning is kind of important for being healthy and if you don't take care of your kids they have a high risk of ending up dead).

I would also add to this that sometimes it really is too late/impossible to strive for something that you would like to be your top priority. I have asthma and I'm nearing 40. Even if I started working out right now, with the same diet and exercise regimen as a soldier, I would not be able to get that level of fitness, because 1) my lungs aren't build for that and 2) aging is a thing and my body's prime days are over.

And that sucks. Realizing that there are legit, unchangeable roadblocks to things you would like to make your priority SUCKS. And it's okay to be angry and frustrated about that for a while, and to grieve the opportunities you wish you had but never will. It's perfectly fine and normal and healthy. So long as you remember that grief is not a place to be forever. Life goes on. There's more beauty to find in the world and so much more to live for rather than wallowing in sadness forever.

So, if you find yourself with something that you want to make your priority, but cannot, for circumstances outside of your control, ask yourself "okay, but how much do I have to dial back the intensity to make it work and still have it be a top goal?"

One of my goals for this year is to go swimming again. I used to do that competitively. I would love to get back to that same level of intensity again, but 1) I am getting old, 2) I have a full-time job, and 3) it's not something I can just do at home anytime I want--I have to take a bus to the city swimming pool to get there and they ain't open 24/7. So no, I will not be swimming again with the same regularity and intensity as before, but I will try to find a time window that will work with my job and the commute and the opening hours and I will take as much swimming as I can get, because good grief, I miss the water.

One thing that has made me a much more well-adjusted person is a clip I once saw of Hank Green saying that anyone can be in amazing shape as long as being in amazing shape is one of their top three priorities.

(This is obviously a generalization that isn't true for everyone. But it is true for most people and I'm proceeding from there.)

This "top three priorities" framing has genuinely reduced my tendency toward jealousy and self-comparison a lot. Now when I feel envious of someone’s spotless, aesthetic home, I think to myself, “Having a spotless, aesthetic home is probably one of their top three priorities. It’s definitely not one of mine, so I shouldn’t expect my home to look like that.”

Or when I see an influencer with a body that takes a ton of work to maintain: “Maintaining that body is obviously one of her top three priorities, because it’s her livelihood. My livelihood is my brain, so I’m never going to prioritize my body like that.”

It also helps me to identify areas that I actually DO want to prioritize more. I realized in recent years that my envy for my friends who prioritized writing more than I did was NOT going away, so I started to prioritize writing more. (Not top three, but higher priority than it has been in the past.)

[chrissturnsfav]

omg i just thought about something

can you write about how rapper!chris and star are arguing over something reallyy stupid and none of them wanna apologize first, but chris can't sleep properly if they're angry at each other so he tries to talk with her before going to bed😔😔

they’re just so sweet and i need some angst 💔

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader refuse to go to bed angry

you don’t even remember how it started. something about work. or maybe it was the aux cord in the car. it was dumb as fuck, you know that, but now you're both too deep into this silent battle of egos to back down.

chris is across the room, scrolling on his phone, sprawled out in a manspread on the couch. you're on his bed, curled up in his hoodie that still smells like his cologne, arms crossed, jaw tight.

the sleepover routine hasn’t changed—you're here, he's here—but the vibe is off. and you hate when the vibe is off.

he exhales loud as hell, like he wants you to notice. you pretend you don't, but then he does it again. dramatic dick.

"yo, you really gonna sleep mad at me?" his voice is all low and smooth, but there’s that little whiny edge to it, kinda like he's suffering. good.

you don't answer. you hear him toss his phone onto the nightstand with way too much force.

"nah, fuck that," he mutters, then suddenly, the king size bed dips as he flops down next to you, shaking the whole mattress. you don't move.

he sighs and shifts. then a finger pokes your arm. once. twice. three times.

"quit actin' like you sleepin'. i know you ain't asleep, ma."

you swat his hand away, but he just laughs. you can hear the smirk on his lips.

"so we really beefin' over some dumb shit?"

"you started it," you mumble quietly, your heart speeding up. you hate arguing with chris, yet you're so stubborn.

"you kept it goin'," he shoots back, rolling onto his side to face you. "and now we both look dumb as shit."

you hate when he makes sense.

he shifts closer, nudging your shoulder with his. "look, i know you’re probably sittin' here thinkin' all hard, stressin' yourself out over some shit that don’t even matter."

you glare at him. "i am not."

"you are," he says, huffing with a roll of his eyes. "bet you already planned three different ways to apologize, blamed yourself for the whole argument, and decided i secretly wanna leave you. don’t lie."

you look away, huffing, realizing he's right once again.

he groans and throws an arm over his face. "baby, i love you, but you gotta stop doin' that shit."

his words hit something soft in your chest. you swallow.

"i just don't like to be wrong," you admit, voice small, chewing the inside of your cheek.

he peeks at you from under his arm, grinning. "well, if we're bein' real, we're both wrong. so now we can stop actin' stupid and go to sleep."

you hesitate, shooting him a bratty glare, making him scoff out a chuckle.

"c'mooon," he coaxes, voice dipping into that playful, teasing tone that always makes you crack. "jus' say you sorry first. be the bigger person. show me how mature you are."

"you say it first," you whine, frowning like a small child.

"nah, ion do first," he says, flipping onto his back with a smirk. "i'm a rapper. got a reputation to uphold."

you roll your eyes, but he catches the way the corner of your mouth twitches. he sees his opening and goes straight for it.

next thing you know, he's rolling over, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket, his breath warm against your neck. "damn, you smell good," he mumbles. "all mad and cute and shit."

you groan. "chris—"

"shhh," he hums, tucking his face against your shoulder. "s'okay, i accept your apology."

"i didn't even apologize," you whine, frowning up at him as you squirm.

"you were thinkin' it, though. i could feel it. don't pull that stubborn shit, now."

you smack his arm, and he just laughs, holding you tighter. his warmth melts away the last bit of your stubbornness. fine. you did miss him.

"…whatever," you mumble, snuggling into his hoodie.

he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "love you, kid," he mumbles against your skin.

you huff, giving in. "love you."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind

@chrissturnsfav ™

[ghost-proofbaby]

I love the idea of Eddie having an especially grueling day at work his friend (they have mutual feelings but nothing has been said) offers to give him a massage. Eddie is genuinely grateful but also vv flustered by the end!!

listen. LISTEN. i know this got out of hand. i know i said these were going to stay short n sweet. i know what i said and promised. but. listen. you can't hand me a prompt that is just so delicious, with so much potential to sprinkle in a light dusting of angst, and to give me the chance to garnish with a beautiful open ending full of promise, and not expect a monster of a product to come from it. you just can't. i'm sorry. i hope you enjoy this, regardless. even if it's not quite bite-sized.

warnings: seemingly unrequited love that turns into clearly idiots in love. eddie gets shirtless. that's all.

wc: 4.4k+ yikes

It had started off as an innocent, well-intentioned offer. You swear it did. 

When Eddie had called you right after pulling a double at the garage, begging to come over and simply relax at your apartment, you’d set up to allow him to do just that. You’d cleaned up a little bit, lit a candle that normally gave you a headache if it burned too long but that Eddie loved, prepped a selection of movies for him to choose from, pulled out the menu for your favorite take-out – you’d gone the whole nine yards for your best friend. 

Someone might even point out it wasn’t just best friend behavior at this point. Steve and Robin alike had certainly called out your behavior at times, coining it as “girlfriend behavior on a best friend salary”.

You didn’t care. You were well aware of what you were doing, and you didn’t care. 

You’d spend the rest of your life on the best friend salary, as the two dinguses had so lovingly called it, for the look of sheer peace on Eddie’s face right now. 

He’s leaning back on the opposite end of your couch from you, knees spread and chin facing the ceiling as he sighs in bliss. Take-out containers are scattered about the coffee table, and his movie of choice of Return of the Jedi is about halfway over on your TV. 

You both had already chosen a second movie – The Lost Boys. The plans for the night were set in stone.

You tuck both knees up beneath your chin, side-glancing your best friend for a second and ignoring the flutter of your chest as you watch him sink deeper into the cushions, “We can talk about it, y’know.” 

“Hm?” 

“Your day,” you adjust a bit, turning your body to face him fully, “If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. We’ve already seen enough Jabba the Hutt to last a lifetime.”

That earns a smile from him, slowly crackling over his cheeks as he rolls his head towards you, “I dunno. Is there such thing as enough Jabba the Hutt?” 

You toss a piece of your sour watermelon candy at him, and despite it landing on his shirt, he still grabs it to pop it into his mouth. 

You try not to think too hard about how that shirt had been sitting in your drawers, clean and neatly folded, occupying space as if that might be normal. As if everyone has some of their best friend’s clothes at their apartment that they can change into after a long day at work. 

As if everyone has occasionally used said shirt as pajamas on nights they particularly miss the scent of their best friend’s cologne.

“Shut up,” you finally snicker, dropping your knees from your chin, sitting criss-cross now, “We don’t have to talk about your day if you don’t feel like it. By all means, if you wanna keep drooling over an alien slug, be my guest-”

At your teasing, Eddie moves quickly to grab one of your ankles, pulling your feet towards his lap before you can register what he’s doing. You gasp a little, and it’s definitely not because of the feeling of his warm palms wrapped around your bare skin. Totally not at the rush of warmth that travels up your body, head to toe, when you feel his rings pressing into you so eagerly. 

Absolutely not. You gasp, because anybody would gasp in this scenario. Because you’re just best friends. And best friends do stuff like that. 

“I am not drooling over a slug,” he chastises, grinning recklessly as he wiggles his fingers menacingly, mere inches from the bottom of your foot, “Take it back, or pay the price, baby.” 

Has he ever called you baby before? 

Certainly not, if your roaring heart has anything to say about it. 

“Don’t you dare,” you squeal – genuinely squeal – as you try and tug your legs out of his grasp. It’s a useless effort; he’s too strong, even after his long day, and your body isn’t even sure if it approves of taking his hands off of you. “Edward Munson, I swear to God-” 

It’s a mess of flailing limbs, painful laughter, and high-pitched screams from there. Squeaks from your own mouth, and a few from Eddie, mocking you all in good fun as he continues to persist for you to take it back. For just a moment, it feels like this is the normal – you’re living in a space where Eddie comes home from every day, grueling or effortless, to you. Where the two of you always end up on the couch together, bodies touching in any way they can. Where there’s always background noise on the TV as his focus is solely on you, smiling foolishly at his antics that were really just a simple effort to hear your laughter. Where your laughter is the only thing he really wants to hear at the end of the night, and it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard. 

A world where he tells you as much. 

A world where after this, he’s reaching the knob of your shared bedroom door rather than the front door of your lonesome apartment. 

A world where you aren’t existing on a best friend salary.

“Had enough yet, sweetheart?” he quips, just as breathless as you are from the struggle. This time, the nickname he uses is normal. It took you off guard during the first few months of friendship, but now? Your weary heart could handle it, cherish it even, and not let your stupid little crush get in the way of appreciating it. “All you have to say are the magic words.” 

“Are the magic words, you’re a dickhead?”

“Hm,” he pretends to ponder thoughtfully for just a second before shaking his hand, “‘Fraid not. Try again?” 

Instead of verbally replying, you give him a gentle kick in the stomach. Not the magic words he had in mind, but they sure do the trick. 

He lets out a soft oomph, one arm cradling his midsection as though you actually hurt him. You take it as your cue to remove your legs – his dramatics quickly come to a halt to prevent just that.

It’s probably meant to be subtle, the way both his arms fall down over your calves and keep your feet in his lap, but it has the capability to implode your entire world. 

“I can’t believe you’re being mean to me after the day I’ve had,” he whines, and all you can focus on is the way his thumb is rhythmically stroking the ball of your ankle now, “Me, your best friend, has had the most awful day and you-”

“Now you wanna talk about it?” you laugh a little, rolling your eyes at him.

“Absolutely.” 

“After you’ve just tortured me?” 

“Well, yeah. When else would I talk about it?” 

“I’m rescinding my offer to listen,” you continue to joke, making one more good faith offer to slip your legs from his lap. And, once more, he won’t allow it. 

He whines out a long, drawn out no, starting to lay his entire body across your legs this time. More direct, more to the point. Subtleties have been forgotten, you suppose. 

You don’t know if it’s more for you, or for him. You just know you like it. You like existing within a sneak preview of a girlfriend salary.

“You never answered me, drama queen,” you murmur as the joking lean across your legs becomes a bit more heavy, and Eddie is more genuinely collapsing his figure into your lap. He doesn’t even have to ask, or gesture – your fingers find home within his hair, and you can feel his hum of content against your thigh as you scratch along his scalp, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

All joking pretenses slip away from him as he mumbles out a muffled, “Not really.”

And you can work with that. You swear, you can. 

If you’d been so ready to lend a listening ear, then you can offer him this peace and quiet. A simple head massage as he leans into you, cheeks pressed to the top of your thigh as you think he returns to watching Return of the Jedi. 

His eyes might be closed, if his heavy breaths are anything to go off of. You’re just not sure. 

You just keep up your massage, sluggish strokes, clement scratches, deep breaths to match his own- 

And then, an idea hits you.

“Eds,” you whisper, your hand in his hair traveling to his shoulders, shaking him a bit, “Eddie.”

Only a grunt in response.

“Eddie, seriously, get up,” you stress, overeager, “I have an idea.”

“The apartment better be on fire,” he grumbles as he finally raises his head, face imprinted with the lines of your shorts in rolling hills of soft indents. 

Definitely was sleeping. Definitely wasn’t watching Star Wars. 

But even with his shoulders wrapped with dreary slumber, you’re still excited about your idea, motioning him to sit up fully. You let him take his time, of course, only after he swats your hands away sluggishly a few times. 

Once his back is straight, you lift one finger in the air, and draw a circle – motioning for him to turn his back to you without saying a word. 

His eyes narrow to slits at you, “Are you about to pull a prank on me? Because-”

“I’m not,” you assure him, reaching for his shoulders, nearly turning him yourself, “Scout’s honor.” 

He listens to you. Despite it all, despite his seeming mistrust, he turns his back to you. More specifically, he turns his shoulders to you. 

He’s still mumbling on about how you better not make his day worse, getting a little bit snappier when you gather his hair up to lay out of your way and claiming his scalp was extra sensitive today.

You pay his attitude no mind. He’s just grumpy. It doesn’t particularly phase you after years of close friendship.

“Listen, I know you like braiding my hair, but-” he continues with his protests as you grin behind him, shaking your head as you settle yourself closer to him. Knees bumping his hips, back straight for the time being. “I’d rather just nap right now. And I was really comfy, and really getting my rocks off to that damn alien slug-” 

All his words cut off when you finally put your plan into action. Your palms fall atop his shoulders, fingers curling around the tense skin, and he’s melting before you’ve even begun. 

“I- Oh,” he jumps a little at the first squeeze, but quickly returns to being pliant in your hold, “Oh… That’s…. That’s nice.” 

You continue your massage, gently squeezing, thumbs and fingers digging into any knots you find to work them away as you jeer, “Is it now?”

He nods, the smallest of movements as to not interrupt your work, “It is. ‘S real nice.” 

His head rolls with each pinch of your fingers, posture loosening as he leans back into your touch further. 

You take it a step further, biting back nerves when you slip your hands beneath the collar of his old t-shirt. You feel the shiver begin before it races down his spine at the press of your skin directly on his now. 

Your warm hands work dutifully, determined to bring as much relaxation to your best friend as possible. Definitely not enjoying yourself a bit too much at his smooth skin under your palms. Definitely not enjoying yourself just as much as he is. Certainly not. 

The shirt constricts you, though. Prevents your hands from traveling fully over sore spots you can feel the edges of. Catching your wrists, limiting the full potential of your movements. 

You’re glad he can’t see you as you suddenly request, “Take your shirt off.” 

“Hm?” he can’t form a proper word at first, not startled but simply sunken too deep in his relaxation, “What was that?” 

“I need your shirt off, Munson.” 

You try to sound brave, nonchalant, as you repeat yourself. You don’t want him to hear the fluttering of your heart – you don’t want him to hear the shake of your hands as you remove them from him.

You only want him to hear the totally reasonable request from a friend, who is simply trying to offer the best massage possible to their best friend who’s had a bad day. 

“Oh?” he looks over his shoulder, and you can see the edges of his raised brows through messy bangs, “Damn, sweetheart. If you wanted me naked, you just had to ask.” 

Can ribs break from a heart beating too fast? Is that even possible? 

“I did ask,” your voice is flat as a trade off to avoid any quivering to filtrate it, lips pressing tightly together as you swallow your heart, “So get to it.”

He leans forward, putting a bit of distance between you two before he reaches back to grab the center of his shirt. The fabric comes off with a flourish, and all you’re left face to face with is the bare expanse of his back.

You silently beg him not to look back over his shoulder, if only for just a second. 

You’ve seen Eddie shirtless plenty of times. At pool parties with the entire group, on rare lake days that always ended sun drunk and giddy, that one time he’d answered his door right after a quick shower and you’d seen a lot more than you’d bargained for. He was your friend. After a while, it would have been weirder to not have seen Eddie shirtless at least once. 

Something about this time feels different. 

He has freckles – not nearly as much as Steve or Robin, but they still exist. Small markings across skin glowing warmly in the dim light of your living room lamp, spattered without rhyme or reason. One on the back of his left shoulder, another slightly off-centered at the base of his neck. He has a light scar towards the bottom of his right shoulder blade – a memory from his childhood he told you once when you’d first seen it at the lake. Everyone else was out splashing about the ten-degrees-too-cool water, and he’d joined your side on the shore. Laid on his stomach as you laid on your back, offering you conversation in the form of stories about every blemish across his skin. The intentional tattoos, the unintentional scars. Everything. 

Even that day doesn’t quite compare to the intimacy of him being here now, being shirtless in your apartment, just the two of you. 

Maybe there was something extra in your coffee this morning, making you feel so delusional. 

“I don’t have any lotion or oils,” you finally clear your throat, trying to joke about as the two of you had been before, “But that doesn’t matter. You ready for the best damn massage of your life, Munson?” 

“Yes, please,” he groans, and something deep in your stomach clenches at the sound, “Want me to lay down or something?” 

Your brain short-circuits for a second, because you know where that leads. 

If he lays down, there’s only one way to continue to comfortably give him the massage. If he lays down, you’re about to bite off more than you could chew on a best friend salary. 

“Sure,” you choke out, damning yourself in the process. 

It’s all robotic mechanics as you two shift to assume the position; you stand up, and he sprawls out. And you swear, in the process, you catch a smothering of pink slow creeping across his chest and neck. 

“Can I…” you start to question, finally growing a bit shy as you stare down at the dip of his lower back. Two dimples on either side of his spine, looking so inviting and yet daunting. 

He finishes the sentence for you, saving you the embarrassment, “Sit on me? Yeah, go for it, babe.” 

There it is again. An unfamiliar nickname that falls so effortlessly off the lips for him. Another pet name to send you into a tailspin as your breath catches and your heart races, as though needing to catch up after the fleeting endearment.

“Thanks,” you whisper out. 

You’re starting to regret all your choices, but it’s too late to back down now. You just want to help him relax – that’s all this is. 

Stop making this more than it is. 

You’re exceptionally careful as you crawl over Eddie, placing a knee on either side of him, hovering for just a second as you take deep breaths to hype yourself up to do the inevitable. 

He twists a bit, startling you enough for you to balance yourself with a palm on each shoulder blade, “C’mon now, you’re not going to crush me. You should know this by now,” his eyes glitter, and you know he’s referring to that time you two made a bet he couldn’t carry you bridal style while drunk. He could, “Sit your pretty ass down and get to work, Masseuse.” 

You weren’t imagining the pink across his chest and neck. It’s climbed up now, tendrils tickling his cheeks. The bridge of his nose nearly looks sunburnt from this angle. 

It’s a good look on him. 

“Masseuse?” you snort as you shove him to be fully laying down once more, needing to get his eyes off of you for just a second, “That’s an awfully big word. You been reading without me or something? Becoming a secret genius?” 

Fall back into the normal flow of things. Try not to think about the heat of him between your legs as you sit half your weight down. 

“That is not a big word,” he chides. 

“Spell it, then.” 

“I-” he cuts off as your hands smooth back over his skin, no more restrictions. 

He never finishes his sentence, never complies with your request. All that falls from his lips are soft sighs as you begin the massage again. 

There’s an occasional twitch below his muscles as you knead away, slowly but surely becoming more comfortable with it all. Becoming more mesmerized as you can now see his skin moving with you, occasionally letting up when you skirt past freckles and scars alike, fingertips merely tracing them as he shivers under your delicate touch. 

You do exactly as you set out to do – you relax him. And then some.

You’ve never really gotten into the art of massages, something about it always feeling a bit too intimate. You’d never consider yourself a professional at it by any means – if anything, you’ve been on the receiving end rather than the giving end more often than not. And even those occurrences were rare. 

But when it came to Eddie, it seemingly came naturally. 

Not all of your movements are conventional. You pass back and forth between the usual squeezes of skin you’ve witnessed on TV and from others, and gentle tracing of your fingertips. Drawing shapes, painting pictures that vanish without ever having existed in the first place. Words, sentences, secret messages for just you two. 

When you trace out the endearment of idiot, Eddie seems to catch on, lazy grin peeking up past his curtain of hair covering the cheek almost facing you. 

In another place, where you make that coveted girlfriend salary, you’d trace out three little words on the tip of your tongue. 

You almost do it, too. It’s when you trace out idiot, in fact. You start, entirely subconsciously, with the i. A long pause, a space between words. 

And then you trace an l. One long line down the center of his spine. 

Your finger is already rotating for the o, ready to trace it in the center as the other two letters had been, a signalling it wasn’t a part of that last simple line. 

And then you divert. And you rush to finish out with the i, the o, the t. He laughs a little, the rush of air felt below you as he lets it out soundlessly, and you catch sight of his smile.

A seeming endearment to Eddie, a hidden scolding for yourself. 

Maybe one day you can find the nerve to properly trace it out – or better yet, say it. Speak your truth outloud and handle whatever consequences come from it. Because you do – you really, really do mean it – and those feelings for Eddie can’t seem to change. Something carved into your very soul, unchanging as the years pass. If anything, the carving only digs deeper into you with each month you spend with him. 

One day. But not today, not when Eddie’s had a bad day. It should be a good day when you say it, lessening the blow of rejection, hopefully. 

You almost lose your balance a few times. Each time having to adjust your position of sitting on him, shifting his hips right along with yours. And each time, you notice the catch in his sighs. The way they almost transform into moans, tense noises that seemingly tear from his throat, only dampened by poor attempts to conceal them. Even the back of his neck has grown flushed now, the tips of his ears vibrant when you see them poke through his hair. 

Sometimes, you lose your balance from his shifting, even. 

The air is sticky with tension as you finally finish up. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour – you weren’t keeping score, more focused on continuing on until Eddie’s entire body has gone boneless beneath you. 

Pretty, and pink, and pliant. Entirely slackened beneath your touches. 

It takes more to encourage yourself to climb off of him than it did to climb on originally. Your body protests entirely, knees not caring for the ache forming, inner thighs happy to be bracketing his hips. But you do it. Because you’re just a friend, a best friend, helping your friend relax. 

You stand, towering over him, looking down to find him hiding his face just a bit. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” his voice is entirely muffled by his mouthful of couch cushion, and you furrow your brows. 

“How was it?” 

He lifts his face strategically. He probably hopes you don’t notice, but you do, “Oh! Oh, it was, uh- It was fucking great, sweetheart. I… I swear, your hands are fucking magic.” 

Why is he tripping over his words like that? 

He can’t even look you in the eyes, line of sight darting anywhere but you.

Why is he flushed, head to toe? 

“Yeah?” you cross your arms, and subtly lean to block the TV now displaying credits that Eddie found terribly interesting, “Would you consider it the best massage you’ve ever had?” 

He nods, and you catch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows before squeaking out, “Oh, yeah! The absolute best I’ve ever had,” his eyes widen at his words, as if he’s made a terrible choice that you’re unaware of, “I mean, you know, I just- you should really consider becoming an actual masseuse.”

That’s when it hits you; Eddie is absolutely refusing to sit up. To remove his hips from your couch. 

He’s blushing, and he’s stuttering, and he’s definitely hiding something. 

There’s a twist in your gut that you can’t reveal. A satisfaction you know better than to celebrate right now. 

Instead, you decide to play with him just a little bit more. 

“Good,” you nod, stepping towards the end of the couch you’d originally occupied. Where Eddie’s knees are stiff against. “Maybe I will consider a career change. But for now – move, Munson. I’m just exhausted.” 

“What?” he looks at you, frightened, only moving his neck to keep his hips flush and hidden away. 

“Get your legs out of my seat,” you laugh a little, leveling him with a daring stare. 

You know what he’s hiding. You’re a bit proud of it, too. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says slowly, and you can see him going over his options in his head. A million excuses he’s probably conjuring, a hundred different escape plans he’s grasping at. “Yeah, of course.” 

And, just as you’d suspected, he doesn’t go with a single one to save his dignity. 

He moves quickly. Tucking his legs up and twisting himself into an upright position in the blink of an eye, and immediately grabbing one of your throw pillows that two of you had tossed off into the floor amidst the original movie night plans. 

He’s fast, you’ll give him that. But not fast enough for you to not catch sight of the tent in his pants. 

You don’t let your eyes linger too long. Swallow down any drooling threatening to begin. Tamper down any desire flaring in your chest and between your hips. 

Best friend salary, you remind yourself even as you grin a tad bit too salaciously for your current cover. Best friend salary, not girlfriend salary. 

You plop down on the seat still warm from Eddie’s legs, sinking back in self-satisfaction. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe it doesn’t have to be another time, or place, or Universe to get what you want. Maybe all your delusion, that wild imagination of yours, wasn’t so misplaced after all. 

Best friend salary, your mind whispers. For now.

Eddie makes himself comfortable right along with you, still seeming in a much better condition than when he’d first arrived, even if his cheeks had bloomed into a rose garden. He presses that throw pillow of yours protectively over his crotch, and once more focuses on the screen in front of you two. 

“Say, Eddie,” you drawl, almost radiant with your grin. A fire now lit inside both of you. “Think you could be a doll and pop in the next movie for me?” 

It’s a little evil, you’ll admit. But he kind of deserves it for underpaying you over the years, when it’s so clear you’re due for a promotion. Sometime soon, you hope. 

Both your heads turn to each other at the same time, wildly different speeds. Eddie’s neck snaps in disbelief, while you take your time to make eye contact.

All it takes is one knowing look exchanged, and the illusion fumbles on its stilts. 

“I…” his embarrassment, all that flush, slowly morphs as he catches the truth behind your intentions. The hand pressing down on the throw pillow alleviates just a bit, stiff shoulders relaxing as they should have been after your massage as he reflects back just as evil of a glint in his eyes as you had, “Sure thing, baby.”

It’s probably going to be a long night. Surely, the promotion of best friend to girlfriend is going to involve some paperwork. Or an interview, to prove your capability and experience first hand, of course.

But, well, he never did put his shirt back on, did he?

[raindailies]

❝ ── VALENTINE'S REMEDY ❞ 

❤︎ ❝ it's you.. it has always been you. ❞  

(mydei x gn!reader ; phainon x gn!reader) !!

८ sypnosis. valentine's day with : PHAINON & MYDEI !! (seperately). sfw. fluff. crack, gender neutral reader — MORDEN DAY AU . ؛ ଓ

@ warnings; none ! all fluff & cutesy valentines (๑﹏๑ ) ⋆

── notes. this valentines, i deliver this to you (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) , originally, i planned to have much more characters than mydei & phainon, but there are so many things happening that i couldn't do that — enjoy, nevertheless! I hope you all had a good valentine's day yesterday ♡

ᝰ.ᐟ PHAINON — cooking date.. ?

(wc : 997)

⟡ "(name)! I've decided—we should cook together for valentines!" Phainon proposes. Your face utterly falls at his word is absolute and full horror at the thought. Oh no. If there was one thing you should know about being Phainon's lover, is that he is horrid at cooking, unfortunately, you had to learn this the hard way. (e.g, your house coming close to catch fire if you hadn't stopped his myriad of senseless trouble)

⟡ "Are you sure? I mean—what if we just.. go to a café or—"

⟡ "No way! I wanna make cookies with you!" Phainon only implored further at your admittedly weak rebuttal, his demeanor akin to that of a beaming light (or a beaming puppy), you could only make an effort to avoid his eager gaze as he awaited your reply. 

⟡ After a beat of hesitance and silence, Phainon pretty much tackled you onto the couch, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other rested on your forearm, pulling you impossibly closer to his own body, lowering his chin to rest comfortably on your shoulder with a huff, the cheeky grin still ever present on his lips as you tried to wrestle yourself out of his hold, muttering weak protests, which proved impossible in a matter of a second when you realized his muscles weren't just for show. "C'mon, can't my lovely partner and valentines indulge in my well-versed fantasy of baking together~?"

⟡ Thus, led you two to where you were now. Valentine's day was supposed to be cutesy, right? Maybe sharing a sundae, kissing under the sunset sky that boarded the horizons with a soft tint—instead of the intricate (admittedly, delusional) scenarios that you were conjuring just days prior, now, you are subjected to cooking with Phainon. 

⟡ "(name)! Is the sugar supposed to be this flaky? And it's a little salty." Phainon exclaimed, remnants of 'sugar' on his fingers as he test-tasted them in his mouth, you looked over in horror.

 ⟡ "That's salt! You don't add that much salt to cookies?!" You shrieked. Things were going so well!! How were you supposed to know Phainon couldn't differentiate sugar from salt? As you tried to scoop out the salt from the mixture of butter, eggs, and vanilla extract, you spared a glance to see Phainon looking at you expectedly, his eyes were that of a puppy, and you knew him well enough to know that he was sulking, and you couldn't bare it in your heart to scold him (you did it anyways).

⟡ Your boyfriend was a basketball player, a real good one, sure—you didn't know that would affect his baking skills, though. Phainon (read: attempted) to throw the egg into the mixture, stance that of a basketball throw, only for the egg to splatter onto the ground. One ominous call of his name from you, got the white-haired male quickly begging for mercy, splutters of "I'm sorry! (name)! H-hey, please put down that knife!" cascaded from his hurried begs. 

⟡ "Hand me the flour." You noted, feeling a bag soon resting in your hand, however—as you poured, you decided to spare a glance at the bag. You inwardly sigh to yourself, catching Phainon's back collar to turn his face around, forcing him to take a good look at the bag. "This is baking soda!" Unfortunately, Phainon only offered a sheepish grin before hastily freeing himself out of your hold, in fear, probably.

⟡ You'd love to say his misfit of troubles stopped there, but it definitely didn't. You almost curse your whole ascenstor's family tree when Phainon called again. "(name)...? Uh, is the microwave supposed to be glowing?" You looked back hesitantly. Yes, the microwave was glowing. With a metal bowl inside of it. I love my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend. I love my boyfrie—

⟡ "How much longer?" Phainon was then exempt from further participation in the baking, sulking, he attached himself to your back, subjected to only being able to watch you bake, due to his tendencies to cause a mess in the kitchen. "Wait a bit, you really are impatient." His arms wrapped around your waist, your back met his chest, and he lowered his head to rest on your shoulder as you mixed the bowl of ingredients with a practiced technique. You could almost feel his sullen pout despite not looking at him. 

⟡ When you pulled the cookies out of the oven, Phainon was quick on his feet behind you, shuffling to get a closer look (and, hand sticking out to try and grab one but was quickly dismissed by your own hand grabbing his to cease his quick-witted endeavor). The cookies were chocolate flavored, something Phainon insisted, saying it's 'valentine' coded, and sprinkled with specks of pink sprinkles, in Phainon's eyes—they look like heaven sent offerings from the goddess that you embodied.. maybe an exaggeration. 

⟡ "Say ahh." You held a cookie to his face, to which he immediately beamed, opening his mouth as he awaited the dessert to be delivered to his mouth, when it did, he instantly smiled—if Phainon did have a tail, you imagine it'd be wagging right then. 

⟡ In a moment of unfocused haze, Phainon cupped your cheeks into his much larger palm, pressing his (chocolate infused) lips onto yours, in turn, making you nearly shriek in surprise. You tasted a faint chocolate savor against his unexpectedly soft lips, you're only left still dumbfounded when he pulled away.

⟡ "C'mon, yer gonna watch me eat, or will you eat your own phenomenal cooking, too?" Phainon grinned, a boyish smile overcame his features as he slid a hand through the tufts of his white hair.

⟡ ".. Yeah yeah, alright." Perhaps this valentine wasn't actually that bad, you hummed to yourself, tasting a cookie, relishing in your boyfriend's cheerful expressions. The cookies tasted saltier than they should, but you found yourself not minding. 

⟡ Still.. you make a mental note to keep Phainon out of the kitchen.

ᝰ.ᐟ MYDEI — arcade date !!

(wc: 1174)

⟡ "Try to beat me." Mydei grinned, a competitive look rose in his eyes, you almost scoffed, your hand tightening on the console handle. 

⟡ Currently, the two of you were situated at an arcade. Now, you’re not sure what Mydei’s idea of a fun valentine’s day is, but apparently to him, it was a competition. For goodness’s sake, doesn’t he get enough competition in his basketball matches? But despite all odds, you were still swooned by the competitive man, and you really can’t lie because Mydei being competitive also makes you competitive in turn. 

⟡ “Please, indulge me, o strongest of all.” You beamed back, a combative shine coating both of your eyes, neither of you broke eye contact. Only when the game’s ‘ancient’-like machine erupted a small, distorted, “game start!”, did you and Mydei consecutively locked in, eyes fixed on each’s little pixelated character. 

⟡ The valentines date, turned out to be one big, competitive game to you both—and to no one’s surprise, Mydei kept tally of each wins he got. “I win. (name), it almost feels as if you’re letting me win on purpose, don’t go easy on this boyfriend of yours!” Mydei grinned, his arm slung over your shoulder casually, a shit-eating smirk painted over his face as he made absolutely no effort to conceal the pleasure he attained. You could only stare at the ‘GAME OVER!” words on your own arcade machine (indubitably, a bit pouty). 

⟡ However, once he noticed your sullen mood, Mydei quickly panicked, a rushed ‘oh shit’ nearly escaped his mouth, but he was quick to shut it, he mentally scolded himself inside of his head, before ushering you for one more game, this time, he wanted to raise your mood, rather than anything, as fun as it was winning for him, it was much better when he sees you smile. 

⟡ When you do win, you swiftly whirled to Mydei with the brightest smile on your face, finger pointing at the screen that showed Mydei’s pixelated character in a defeated position, while yours did some tacky emote dance with 90’s music singing from the machine. He smiled, ruffling your hair in leisure, ignoring your slight protests of “don’t mess up my hair?!” 

⟡ “C’mon,” Mydei held up the arcade card between his pointer and middle finger with a smirk visible on his face, bringing his gaze to the other arcade game machines, ”You wanna miss t’day and all the money I spent on you, or you wanna play more?” He leaned closer—leaving your heart stubbornly speeding up. 

⟡ Thus, the two of you spent your valentines in the arcade game spot for around 5 hours at best—creating pompous feuds and rivalry for the sake of it, but for some reason, you couldn’t help but notice Mydei lost more times than you’d think he would, I mean, no offense, but he play games like anytime he’s free, surely he should’ve won each feuds easily? Before you could rack your mind on his foreign behavior, the air hockey immediately slotted itself into your goal as you let your mind wander, causing you to lose a point, much to your horror. “Hey! My eyes are up here! Ya losin’ already, (name)?”

⟡ You sent a glare to his direction, picking up the hockey from your goal to immediately fling to his direction with your mallet, only for the hockey to (somehow??) fly up and hit Mydei square in the face, so, you technically did achieve a headshot, just not in the goal. 

⟡ “Holy shit—I’m sorry! So sorry! Mydei, are you okay?!” You spluttered, hand hovering in all directions over his face as he rubbed his palm on the area where the hockey quite literally pounded him, Mydei raised a hand to stop your stuttering, a grin broke out of his (pathetically) kind of painstrucken face, obviously, it was bound to hurt. 

⟡ Putting aside the rough. . encounter, Mydei only brushes you off, “It’s okay,” he’d said, before adding, “but I don’t know . . a kiss might make it even better?” good to know that Mydei’s brain, on the contrary, hasn’t changed. You thought. 

⟡ The rest of the day went on without any further casualties, basketball games (to no one’s surprise, Mydei surpassed the original highest score, earning himself a spot in the leaderboard), racing games (you somehow won this one, where you immediately hopped up and down with Mydei’s hand in yours, you didn’t look back then, but if you did, the sickly love struck face on Mydei’s face looking at you fondly would’ve probably imploded you from the inside out), dancing games (Mydei slipped and nearly fell on you–but with his muscular stature, he caught himself and you from falling in public, thank god no one was there to witness), and . . claw machines, which personally, agitated you.

⟡ “.. Move over, let me try.” Mydei groaned, weary of watching you fail time and time again to get a pink-ish red cat from the claw machine that just kept bouncing further away from the blissful exit everytime you moved the claw, to the point where you were one touch closer to crashing out in public, given your.. shortcoming. 

⟡ For some sicken reason–as if the gods were taunting you, Mydei was able to grab the cat plush toy on his first try, your mouth agape as it jeeringly falls into the exit slot, where Mydei took it into his hand to dangle the plush in front of your face with a shit-eating grin, a look of triumphant curled on the tips of his attempted nonchalance. 

⟡ “I hate you.” Grumbling, you still took the plushie into your arms.

⟡ “Say that all you want, darlin’, I know you love me.” 

⟡ ... as the two of you left the arcade, hand held in each other's, intertwined, some imaginative cupid floating around bow in hand, as a small (delusional) cacophony of choir song hummed, an unexpected popped from behind a counter.

⟡ “See, Aggy, they do get along well!” Tribbie’s cheerful voice rang, as they hid behind a counter–not in a conspicuous location at all, Castorice nodded, hopeful for her friend. 

⟡ “.. I suppose I was worried for naught. (name) is in good hands, then.” Aglaea smiled, despite the 3 girls still being hunched under a counter. Without context, they looked more like stalkers, than friends ‘passing by’ and deciding to spy. 

⟡ “Mydei is. . strange. But I believe he really does like (name).” Castorice hummed, her voice, soft and delicate, in contrast to Tribbie’s cheerful tone, and Aglaea’s calming timbre. 

⟡ “Well, since we’re here already, Aggy, Cas, let’s go play some games!” 

⟡ (PS. word has it that you gave Mydei handmade chocolate earlier during the day?! Also, Mydei was practically shaking, the tips of his ears a burning red when he received the chocolate you so delicately made and packaged in a red-tinted heart box. Don’t tell anyone–but I heard from a little bird that this same man giggled to himself after the arcade date ( ꈍ◡ꈍ) !)

© 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms in any way, shape, or form without my permission. if found, you WILL be blocked.

NOTES:

- 43 rmb chinese yuan - $5, or wtv currency you have - kevin kaslana sucks at cooking (read: made kitchen appliances run for their life), therefore, phainon fucking sucks at cooking, no debates you take what you can get. - it is REALLY hard to write Mydei in modern au, considering like literally what would this guy be agitated about? But i consider him to be someone that yearns for the normalcy, rather than the chaos he shrouds himself in, similarly to kalpas from hi3. I think of Mydei as someone who is more suited for a modern life, no fights, violence, just peace - but he is always destined to end back at the aggression of the battlefield. haha!! - Phainon is so stupid i love him he's like a kicked puppy LMAO

❝ i blinked, and suddenly i have a valentine . . ? ❞ 

[laambfuzz]

—- cat and mouse. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: after schlatt's audio, you had to make it known you had discovered it. all goes well and you think you finally have the upper hand, until you log back onto soundgasm to see a surprise waiting for you.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, mutual masturbation.. technically?, schlatt does porn (duh), dirty talk, degradation and light praise, open ending.. again

authors note: happy valentines my loves!! wanted to treat you with a longer post and hoped to get this out for the 14th for you all (it's still the 14th for me, so!) whether you celebrated it with someone or not, you've got some pornstar!schlatt to help you with the day. once again, credit to @fanficfox who started this lovely idea.♡

schlatt had finally came back to streaming, after a few days off

and you were going to take tonight as your chance to get him back in this game of cat and mouse you had been playing

you lurked in chat for a while, letting the stream run by as normal. you wanted to wait a little, before inevitably pouncing your prey

and so when he had mentioned a bathroom break, you decided it was your time to strike

you got your donation amount and message ready for him returning, your index finger hovering over your mouse. you wanted to get the donation in as soon as possible, before others started to do the same

you heard the clambering of schlatt almost falling into his room, drawing your attention back to the screen as he sat back on his chair, announcing his return

your finger hit the donation button instantly, and now you just had to wait for the payment to confirm, and for tts to pick up your message

it took a minute, but finally the tts bot spoke up and announced your message

"i can't believe i was soaked a few nights ago, and it was all your fault. tsk tsk, big guy."

schlatts face contorts into one of shock, face turning to his other monitor as he tried to catch who sent the donation

as soon as he saw your name he felt a shiver go through his spine

but he changed his facial expression to one of disgust, shaking his head and murmuring a "what the fuck?" to act like it was just a random thirst comment

but he knew it was more than that, and so did you

chat was on schlatt's side of course, calling out the weirdness of the donation and noticing how uncomfy schlatt had gotten

then another donation pinged through, schlatt's eyes darting to the screen to see if it was from you

and it was

"you made a bet that it was going to rain last stream, and it did."

chat is suddenly spamming OMEGALUL's and KEKW's, laughing at the misconception but still shocked at how the last donation was worded

schlatt swallowed thickly, letting out a heavy sigh as he felt relief. relief from what? he didn't know, but somehow chat not caring made him feel hidden, still

"what, were you thinking of something else? fucking pervs."

the last donation comes through, and chat just continues to laugh. they assume it's at them, and that's what you wanted

but once again, you and schlatt knew it was more than that

schlatt sent somewhat of a glare to the camera, and you felt his dark eyes peering right through you

but you felt a thrill of excitement at the same time, happy to have one-upped him after a few nights ago

however, you really weren't expecting him to get you back so soon

you got into bed later that night and had your phone already loaded onto schlatt's soundgasm page, and that's when you seen it

a new video had been uploaded tonight— desperate little thing

a heat suddenly started to pool in your belly as you read the title, and you clicked on it instantly

your free hand trailed under the covers, nudging your underwear to the side as your middle and index fingers grazed your clit

you press the start button and you're instantly greeted with a dark, low chuckle

"bet you thought you were real clever, huh sweetheart? thought you could try tease me like that and get away with it?"

a whine leaves your throat at his voice, the fact it's condescending and so much lower than you usually hear on stream

you hear a scoff, a creak of the chair before his breath is suddenly hitting the mic

he breathes deeply into the mic for a few moments, his breath hitching occasionally so you can only imagine he's once again stroking himself on the other end

"pathetic fuckin' donation messages, is what they were," he starts, inhaling through his nose before heavily exhaling. "could tell how needy you were. wanted me to see so bad you had to give me your fuckin' cash?"

your fingers toyed with your clit before you rubbed slow circles, moaning softly at his low voice, and how he was insulting you

"bet you're already touching yourself, huh? like a filthy fuckin' slut, all because im talkin' down on you," he chuckles dryly, before groaning lowly. "just pathetic. can't keep your hands off yourself when you see me. so- fuck.. so desperate."

and he was right. you were touching yourself, getting even wetter as he spoke down on you, as if you were nothing

if his words were so wrong and mean, why was it making you feel so good?

a sweet moan drops from his lips, and you can hear the wet sounds as he jerks himself off. "but don't you worry, sweetheart. i like my sluts desperate."

and something about that line drove you wild. you felt your face grow hot at the embarrassing whine you let out as he said it, but it's not as if he was here to hear it anyways

your fingers sped up, stroking the circles faster against your clit as you bucked your hips up into your fingers

anything for the extra friction

the audio continued with schlatt talking you through touching yourself, talking about how he's stroking himself and all the lovely groans, pants and grunts that comes with it

suddenly he stops all movement though, and nothing can be heard

"should i finish, hmm? should i let you hear me cum? beg for me slut, c'mon."

and it's so fucking stupid, and you shouldn't beg for an audio file

and yet..

your fingers are slipping downwards, allowing your thumb to take over the role for rubbing your clit, as the other two fingers now slide inside you

"fuck! please— please schlatt, let me— let me hear it. need to hear you— please."

the words fall from your lips without command, pouring right from your heart as you ache to hear him in return, needing to hear as he hits his climax

you hear a long, slow grunt from the audio causing you to gasp and perk up, fingers continuing their work

"i know you're a good slut f'me, letting everyone know how much you need me. and you love it, don't you? love me putting you in your place, over a fuckin' audio file? pathetic."

schlatt lets out a whine as he pants, a shuddering moan escaping him and you can tell he's cumming, judging by the higher moans and faster movements

"come on, fuckin' listen to me. you better cum now sweetheart, i'm telling you."

and as if his words had some control over you, suddenly your whole body was shaking as the orgasm overtook it, and your slick began to soak your fingers

you worked yourself through the orgasm, slowly but surely working down the pace of your fingers and thumb before you slumped into the bed, chest heaving as you closed your eyes, revelling in schlatt's own heavy breathing

"next time— next time you come to play, remember who owns you sweetheart. i'll see you next time, because i'm hoping you'll come back for more," he starts, before he cuts himself off with a chuckle

"who am i kiddin'? of course you'll come crawling back to me, you always do."

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Full fic of this blurb

Bucky had a love, hate relationship with his arm. He loved that it was something that he could use if you ever needed protection. It was always on him, so he was always ready to save you if anything ever happened. He liked how it made him feel whole again. Missing an arm really makes you feel less than at times but having his arm on made him feel like a normal person again, especially when it was covered in a sleeve, and he was able to forget that it's made of metal.

But at the same time, he hated it. No matter the benefits that came with the arm, he couldn't find it in him to not hate it. It was a weapon. It's what made him a weapon. It was a constant reminder of his past, but even though he hated looking at it, he hated not having it on even more. Without it, he didn't feel like a man worthy of you, and that outweighed the hatred tremendously.

You had asked him about it before. It was easy to see that he wasn't comfortable with the arm still, so you asked if he'd be more comfortable with having it off when the two of you were alone at your apartment. You immediately regretted your words when you saw him visibly stiffen, your eyes widened, and you were quick to try and take back your words. "Buck, I... I just want you to be comfortable, that's all." You kissed his shoulder and felt him relax against you. "I am comfortable, doll." He half-heartedly mumbled and gave you a weak smile, but that was enough for you to drop the subject for the time being.

He wasn't lying fully... he was comfortable around you. He just wasn't comfortable with the idea of you seeing him without it just yet. Maybe one day in the future, it'd happen organically, but for now, the idea of you seeing him without his arm made his mind race. What if you were disturbed by it? It wasn't every day you saw someone missing a limb. What if you wanted to know the story behind him losing his arm? He's never really told anyone that story people just seemed to already know it. what if you viewed him as less than? As not worthy for you. He couldn't bear having you think of him the way he thinks of himself.

Later that night, the two of you went to bed, and for the first time in your relationship, Bucky was the first one to fall asleep. You followed shortly after, but not before taking the opportunity to take in his peaceful form. With a kiss on his chest, you finally closed your eyes, ready for a peaceful sleep.

Unfortunately, peacefulness between the two of you were short lived. Maybe it was because he fell asleep more aware of his arm, more aware of his past, but whatever it was caused Bucky to have one of the worst nightmares he's had in a while.

The first thing that stirred you awake was Bucky's groans and mumbles. It wasn't uncommon for him to get nightmares and as you were starting to wake yourself up so you can help him wake from the dream, before you could do anything though his left hand grabbed onto your arm with a tightness that left you worried he was going to break it. This was the first time you ever truly noticed how strong Bucky could be.

"Bucky...baby, you have to get up." You called out to him as you tried to loosen his grip on your arm. The more you tried to fight his grip, the tighter it got. "James!" You cried out loudly as you watched your wrist starting to bruise under his hand. Relief flooded your body as you see Bucky's blue eyes flutter open. Horrific gasps fall from his lips when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Dropping your arm quickly, he stumbled out of the bed just as fast. You cradled your arm and looked up at him, leaning against the shared dresser that was across the room, trying to think of a way to reassure him that this was a complete accident.

"Doll...I-" He choked on a sob; his eyes can't focus on anything other than your injured arm. An injury his arm caused... and injury he caused. You watched from the bed as he fell to the floor, crying harder than you've ever seen before. Cautious for your injured arm you got up to go sit beside him; "James I'm okay, it's okay" You rubbed his back softly as you continued whispering affirmations in hope to calming him down. Once he started to breathe calmly again, he finally found the courage to look you in the eyes. His heart broke seeing the eyes of the one he loved more than anything. Those eyes usually brought relief, and now they brought guilt.

"I hurt you..." He mumbled in disbelief; his head was spiraling, but your soft touch was still the one thing to bring him back. "I'm really okay, it's not broken." You moved it around so he could see that you weren't in too much pain. "It's a little sore, but nothing serious, and I'm still breathing. You're still breathing. We're okay, baby, I promise." He shook his head at your reassurance. "I could've..." a shake breath falls before he could finish the sentence and tears fill his eyes all over again, "I'm too dangerous for you to be around" He tried to sound confident saying that, so there was a better chance that you would listen, but it came out weak and tearful.

It was your turn to shake your head at his words. "You are not a dangerous man; you are not the winter solider anymore. Baby, tell me who you are, " you asked, knowing his name would be able to bring him back to reality easier than you could. He took a deeper breath in before responding to your question. " I am James Buchanan Barnes." He visibly relaxed after repeating those words a few times.

"I still hurt you, doll. I don't care how bad it was this time it could've been worse...it might be worse next time." He said while staring at your bruising arm. Seeing you hurt by his doing made him realize what he needed to do. "I can't let this happen again." Your eyes widen at his words, and for the first time that night, fear coursed through your veins. "What do you mean?" you whispered, scared he'll answer with wanting to break up.

Standing from the floor, he turned around from you before removing his arm and laying it on the dresser you were still leaning against. "I can't hurt you as badly with just this old thing," he said with a chuckle as he held his right hand out to help you up. Taking his hand with your non injured arm, the two of you made eye contact.

Unspoken words that were clear for the both of you to read were exchanged in your glances. Unspoken vows that the two of you will get through this tough spot together.

"How about we get to bed, huh? It's way too early to be up." He muttered into your hair line as he kissed the crown of your head before leading you to the bed. Now, for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt safe sleeping next to you. And against what he believed, not having his arm on made him feel more like the man you deserved and less of a weapon that he needed to shield you from.

Tagging a few people who's been waiting for this:

@jtthompson

@19blackbutterfly97-blog

@calengalad

@toomuchbucky

@buckyinmyuniverse

[captain-huggy-bear]

Marks on Your Skin

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Smut/NSFW

Summary: Clayton is a big fan of that particular lipstick you always wear, the one that leaves red marks all over his skin. He particularly likes kissing it off of you

Notes: This wasn't supposed to be NSFW but it just led that way, still not confident in my smut writing so fingers crossed its not shit.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

From the first moment that Clayton Keller met you, you'd always worn red lipstick. It was such a constant part of your everyday attire that he grew concerned when you didn't wear it. The days you didn't choose to put the red lipstick on were always the days that he knew you were feeling self-conscious, maybe body dysmorphic, not wanting the attention that a bright red lip would draw. On those days he always knew he needed to give you more tenderness, more compliments, more affection and love.

He was fond of the red lip look you always sported. Fond of the fact he could use it to tell your mood, that a dark red lip often meant you were feeling a little more angsty and 'vampy' as you'd put, a bright red lip showed you were more confident that day and no red lip a bad sign entirely. He was fond of the way the red looked against your skin, how it seemed to make your eyes pop and he was fond of the way you smiled more when wearing it.

Most of the time you wore a red lip that was almost impossible to budge, the sort of red lip that never left much of a mark behind when you kissed his cheek. But, sometimes...sometimes you wore his favourite lipstick on you. A true red that wasn't too bright or too dark, a red lipstick that wasn't immovable, a red lipstick that left marks behind whenever and wherever you kissed him.

Call it some sort of silly infatuation, a quirk of his or call it some sort of prideful desire to have your affection visible and littered across his skin, but whenever you wear that lipstick he can't help but goad you into kissing him, into pressing marks into his skin. It's like a switch flips in his head so that the only thing he can really focus on is that you're wearing that lipstick and how fucking good it looks on his skin.

The truth is it's not just Clayton who enjoys the perfect crimson lip shaped marks left on him. You only keep that lipstick for him, for the express purpose of leaving red lip prints across his skin. You'd have thrown it out ages ago otherwise. It was impractical, always rubbing off, leaving smudge marks around your mouth whenever you ate anything. You kept it for him. knowing that he'd coax you into kissing him the moment he saw you wearing it...not that he needed to know that. He'd be far too smug about it if he knew.

It was nicer instead to enjoy his reaction whenever he saw you wearing it. Like right now. Clayton had assumed when you said you were going to touch up your lipstick after dinner that you'd meant with the same lipstick, the bright red one that never seemed to budge except when you ate something particularly greasy. He hadn't expected the lipstick to replace it.

You could track the moment he clocked it as you sat back down at the restaurant table you had been having dinner at, how his eyes seemed to narrow on your mouth before blowing wide, pupils dilating like he'd seen his favourite dessert. Part of you wonders, as you try to hide your smirk, if you had managed to create some sort of Pavlovian response in him, trained him to expect kisses and marks whenever he saw that lipstick.

"Everything alright, Clay?" You're smirking as you see his reaction, unable to help it. It's hard not to feel a little prideful when someone like Clayton, your boyfriend, is staring at your lips so intently, looking at you with blown pupils all because you're wearing a silly lipstick.

"You didn't want dessert, right?" He doesn't even really wait for you to answer before his hand is in the air calling for the bill and you know he's got one thing on his mind: kisses. Silly red smudges across his skin that he'll refuse to wipe off until the morning when the red will have transferred onto his pillow and he'll have to get it dry cleaned to remove the marks.

"Maybe I wanted dessert? There was a very tasty look cheesecake on the menu." He's got his card out already, barely looking at the price of the meal before paying, perks of being an NHL star. It amuses you, how focused he suddenly is on getting you both out of the restaurant and home.

"I'll door dash you a cheesecake later, baby." It's an absent sort of comment, offhanded, as Clayton shrugs on his jacket before making his way behind your chair to help you into your own.

"What's the rush?" You put your arms through your jacket as he helps it onto your shoulders, not having a chance to reach for your bag before he's picking it up and handing it to you.

"You know exactly what the rush is, baby." His large hand is already pressing into your lower back to urge you forward and towards the door. Clayton leaning down as you walk to whisper into your ear, trying to keep a modicum of respect in a public place.

"Maybe I don't?" Your coy answer has his hand sliding from your back, over your hip and around your waist until he can pull you tight against his side as the two of you keep walking, "The rush is that lipstick." His breath is warm against your ear, the sort of temperature change that has goose bumps rising on your skin, a little shiver falling down your spine as a strand of Clay's hair tickles the skin of your neck.

"This old thing?"

"Don't play fucking coy, baby. Ass out the door, in the car, now." Clay's voice is low and gruff and while it sends a thrill through you, a wave of goose bumps across your skin, you can't help but laugh at him, a laugh that earns you a sharp swat to the arse the moment you're out of the restaurant and onto the quiet street.

"Clay!" You hiss at him even though no one is around at this time of night and all it does it earn you a second, harder swat that has you practically trotting to the car.

You learnt years ago not to even bother reaching for the door handle, waiting patiently by the car door even as you glare at your boyfriend for manhandling you.

"In, baby." Clay has the door open wide, tilting his head towards the car seat, gesturing you in. He's not smiling, too fixed on his goal, the sort of look you often see when watching him play out on the ice. All he's missing is that godforsaken mouthguard to chew.

"You're so bossy, Clayton." You say it as if it bothers you, as if you don't love the dynamic the two of you have where he's the decision maker, the one in control and you get to sit back and reap the rewards. You say it as if it's a chore and not one of your favourite things about him, that he's so natural at taking charge of any situation, so good at leading you.

"I thought you liked me telling you what to do, sweet girl?" The smirk he directs your way makes you freeze, warmth flooding your face because fuck, he's hot and you really, always manage to underestimate his ability to fluster you.

"Shut up." Your response only widens his smirk, a confirmation that he has in fact won this little tete-a-tete as you sink into the passenger side seat.

You practically hold your breath when he dips inside the door to buckle your seat belt for you. Clayton's so close as he does so that his hair grazes your chest, warm breath falling across your skin. His blue eyes have practically between swallowed by his pupils, damn near black to the naked eye.

The moment Clay is in the driver's seat his large hand finds the bare skin of your thigh, long fingers dipping under the skirt of your dress to feel your warm skin. His ring is cold against your skin, bracelets pressing in just as his fingers do, squeezing like he's contemplating leaving a mark there. There's something delicious about watching the way fingers flex, the tendons on the back of his palm shifting as he grips you.

There's a heavy sort of tension in the air, anticipation swirling around you and making you breathless or maybe that's because Clay's fingers wander at every set of traffic lights, fingers dancing higher up your thigh before easing back down. The sort of light, teasing motion that has goose bumps covering your skin and a shiver running down your spine.

It doesn't help that he's smirking the whole time, dimple on one side of his mouth prominent, eyes dark and lidded. He doesn't even have to look at you because even from his side profile it's enough to send a flash of heat through you, a sort of restlessness that fills you causing you to shift in your seat.

That doesn't help, if anything it makes things worse as the fabric of your panties catches and rubs against you, slick pooling between your thighs and he hasn't even done a single thing. The arrogance you know is going to fill him shouldn't be attractive, but fuck, you love Clay when he's a little less humble and little bit cocky. When he actually recognises how good he is. Because he is good, he's really fucking good at so many things and in so many ways, one being how he takes care of you.

"You alright there, baby?" It's the smirk in his tone that makes you squirm more, the overconfidence that tells you he knows how wet you are when all he's done is touch your thigh and drag you from a restaurant.

"Mmhmm..." You hum, not trusting your voice not to shake as his grip tightens on your leg, fingers dancing just a tad higher again as they slip under the skirt of your dress.

You're clamping your legs together before he can go any further, a laugh bursting from Clay because he doesn't need to feel you to know you're soaked for him. It's all there in the way you breathe shallower, the way you stop him from advancing, how you wriggle in the car seat like there's ants in your pants.

He doesn't try to wriggle his hand any higher the rest of the ride home, he doesn't need to, you're squirming enough without him touching you and he's more interested in getting you in, on the couch and kissing that lipstick off you.

There's a controlled sense of urgency to each of his movements as he pulls the car into the garage, turns the engine off and reaches for the door handle. His steps are quick and sharp as he makes his way to your side of the car, hands unbuckling you with efficiency before pulling you out and ushering you in front of him towards the house.

"Ass in the house, baby." Another swat to the ass has you gasping for third time, a glare sent over your shoulder even as it makes your centre tingle with want. Part of you wonders if his aim is to leave a hand print on one of your cheeks.

You're evidently not moving fast enough through the house for him because Clay's gripping you by the waist and all but tossing you onto your back on the couch as soon as a lamp has been turned on to provide a modicum of light.

"Clay!" You can help but laugh when he practically dives onto you, forearms resting besides you to keep most of his weight from body slamming you into the couch cushions. Still, your laughter is short lived, one of his hands curling around your calf to pull your leg over his hip as he settles himself between your legs and against you until you can feel him pressing into your centre.

"Clay..." You always get like this, whatever bravado you started the night with drifting away to be replaced by a shy sort of coyness, looking up at him underneath your lashes, cheeks filling with warmth, body squirming from nervousness. It's the intensity of him that does it, the way he stares at you so intently, blue eyes fixed on yours as he crowds you against the pillows so your world narrows to Clayton and Clayton alone.

"I want my kisses, baby," He's smirking at you, lips a hairsbreadth away from your own, his breath warm against your lips, nose brushing against yours. It's not like you didn't expect things to go this way when you put that lipstick on, but there's something about how direct Clay always is that makes you bashful every single time. The direct intensity when you were always so used to talking around the subject instead.

"Clay..."

"Need you to mark me up, baby," He pulls at the collar of his shirt to expose his neck more, chains on full display against his collarbone and you know there's no getting out of this. He's determined to have you cover him in kisses, to mark him in red lip prints until it's obvious who he belongs with. Not that you really want to get out of this, you can't help but love covering him in kisses, seeing your mark on him, knowing he's so proud to display the fact he's taken.

You're hesitant at first, amusing to him really, how you reach up to press a kiss to his cheek like it's the most scandalous thing happening right now, like he's not practically grinding his hard on into you or had his hand up your skirt tonight. Like you're not soaked. Still he closes his eyes and revels in it, in the feeling of your confidence growing as you press lipstick marks down his jaw, across his chin before hitting his neck.

Clay's always loved marking you up, but he can't help but shiver into the sensation of you doing the same to him, lowering himself till he's resting his weight against you. Groaning when you decide kiss marks aren't enough, confidence filling you at his reaction as you suck on the skin by his adam's apple until a deep purple hickey is left behind.

It's really like a switch flicks in your head when he groans like that, low in his throat, amorous. The feel of him hard and throbbing at your centre has your legs locking behind him to pull him closer, rocking against him, your hands finding their way to his hair, tugging probably a little roughly as you attack his neck with bites and kisses, sucking on each free patch of skin, laving over it with your tongue.

He practically has to tear you away from him, and when he does his skin is a patchwork quilt of purples and reds, his face littered with lipstick marks. Your lipstick is thoroughly smudge and worn away, red marks around your mouth, your eyes are hazy and blown and the way you pull him against you in an attempt to relieve the ache between your legs is enough to have him taking your mouth roughly with his own.

Clay bites hard on your bottom lip, hard enough you gasp, mouth opening on instinct and like he can't help himself his tongue slips in. He kisses like he plays hockey; hard, rough, passionate, biting and chewing on your lip like you're his mouth guard and you really can't complain, not when it has the warm feeling in your gut tightening like a knot.

He can't help it really, you've made him a Jackson Pollock painting and it's only natural that he wants the same for you, that he wants everyone to see you and know you're his, irrevocably and completely. It's only natural that once your lips are swollen and kiss bitten and you're squirming under him, that he turns his attention to the smooth and fresh expanse of your neck.

The whine you let out the moment he bites down on your neck, tongue laving at a spot until it comes up purple and bruised? That whine has Clayton grinning into your skin, rock hard in his pants as he grinds harder into you until you're moaning under him, because fuck...fuck, you're it, you're everything and it's nigh on impossible for him not to practically maul your skin, hickeys on every section until you match him. You can't stop moaning under him, whining at the way his mouth sucks marks into your skin, breaking blood vessels until he's written his status as your boyfriend on you in hickeys rather than ink.

"Clay, need you, please...fuck," You're soaking, slick between your thighs and you know your panties are sopping from the kisses that have littered your skin, from the grinding of his hips into your own. You feel hazy and dreamlike, moving on instinct against him at any moment.

The way one of his hands, the one with that goddamn ring slides down your chest, between your breasts and over your navel, makes you tug at his hair harder, his mouth still sucking hisses into your throat. Clay hitches your dress up around your waist without hesitation, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, to find you absolutely dripping.

"Fuck, sweet girl, this all for me?" He sounds wrecked, voice deep and gravelly as his fingers slide through the wetness at your centre, thumb just barely grazing your clit, fingertips circling your slit until all you can do is moan and there's a thought there that he could cum in his pants like this, like a fucking teenager because Jesus are you hot.

You can't find the words to respond, broken moans and whines as he slips one of his thick fingers inside you, thumb circling more purposefully around your clit and the feeling in your tummy, that coil of need winding tighter and tighter.

Clay pulls back from where he'd been practically nibbling on your neck to watch your face because shit, it might just be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth open, slack, moans and whines falling out like you can't help it, your neck littered in marks, a Monet of his affections...Shit, he wishes he had a camera on him.

One finger turns to two, twisting deliciously into your centre, thumb moving just slightly to the left in the way he knows makes your moans breathy and shallow as you struggle to catch your breath.

"Fuck, baby, gripping me so tight..." There's no way for you to respond, not when he's building you up higher and higher, closer to your release.

You practically arch of the bed, keening when he finds that spongy spot within you, then again, determined to hit it on each thrust of his fingers. When you manage to open your eyes, just slightly, he's smirking down at you, free hand reaching to grip your throat, not tight, just holding, thumb caressing just underneath your jaw.

"Cum for me, baby, you can do that right? You can be a good girl and let go for me, can't you?"

That's really all it takes for your vision to go white, your body to tense before completely relaxing, going boneless as you orgasm. Just his voice, gravely and over confident in your ear, the way he takes your ear into his mouth before nipping behind it. Your nails digging into his shoulders so hard he's sure he's going to have half moon circles imprinted there.

"There's my good girl...did so good, baby..." Clay presses kisses to your temple, your forehead, over your cheeks as you come down from your high, trying to catch your breath.

You wince a little, oversensitive, as Clay removes his hand from your centre and he's quick to press more kisses to your cheeks, "I know, baby, too sensitive, huh?" It's one of those nights where he can see that that's enough, your body not currently comfortable for more. One orgasm more than enough for now.

"But..." You start to protest but he knows it's not because you want more, it's because you feel guilty that he's still throbbing in pants, not having cum.

"I'm fine, baby, don't worry about it."

"But, you haven't cum, yet..." He's still hard against your thigh and you go to reach for him but his hands are gently grabbing your wrists pinning them by your head with a soft smile.

"You can make me feel good later, baby, if you feel up to it." It's his compromise because he knows you're oversensitive right now, can see it in the way you wince when your hips shift. He knows if he tries to get inside you right now you won't enjoy it and there's one thing Clayton cares most about when it comes to sex and that is your enjoyment. He'd rather die than have you uncomfortable in an effort to please him.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, baby" He laughs, smiling down at you, "Just want to get you comfy and cuddle, yeah? I'm good." The smirk from earlier, the cocky overconfidence is replaced by softness, the sort of smile that makes you feel warm and fuzzy, his dimples on full display. His chain and a few strands of his hair dangling between the two you, making him look perfectly dishevelled, like it was planned.

"Okay..." It's the soft smile you give him that reminds him how easy it is to make those choices, to put you first because God, you're so grateful every time like it's not the least he can do. Like prioritising your comfort and wellbeing isn't the standard.

It reminds him that not every man you've been with has treated you the way you deserve and it's what makes his touch oh so gentle when he guides you up off the bed and helps you get changed for bed. Every move he makes is tender from the way he slides your dress off to the way he helps you step into your favourite pair of sweatpants. Even the care he takes him helping you wipe your make up off is slow, gentle to the extreme.

He helps you brush your hair, you insisting you look in the mirror at the same time, complaining that you look like he's mauled you to which Clayton laughs and simply gestures to his own neck, just as littered in hickeys. He doesn't even try to wipe red lipstick marks you've left on his skin off, smirking happily when he notices them.

You whack his arm when you notice the smirk and all he has to say in response is, "I like everyone knowing I'm yours, baby." The sort of response that has you unable to respond, too flustered as he pulls you into bed and against his chest.

As wriggle back against him, cocooned in his arms, he can't help but think he needs to have you mark his skin every day, so there's never a moment he goes without a mottled collection of hickeys across his skin. So that he's always got your mark on his skin.

[hotchnersangel]

YOUR LOVE IS MY OXYGEN

Aaron Hotchner

You and Aaron had been in a relationship for a few months and it was getting to the point where conversations of your relationship were becoming serious and really authentic and genuine. After a case, Aaron is sat in your living room, watching the tv, some silly reality tv show he claimed to despise- yet, he always kept watching them with you, even opting to put them on without prompts from you. Simply because he knew you loved watching them.

It was a routine, you watch, he finds something to complain about and you give him a kiss and suddenly he can stand it again.

Today was no different, Aaron was on the sofa when you went to sit besides him, now in comfier clothes. You sit on the edge of the sofa, Aaron side eying you to catch your attention but you don't look at him. He sighs, again another move to try and encourage your attention. Though, you refuse to give into his antics and you watch the show kick off into drama.

Another sigh escapes Aaron's lips, slightly louder now but you ignore him again, which he evidently did not like as you feel the couch dip and hands slide under your thighs and your back as he pulls you softly across the sofa and into his lap.

"Is that what you wanted?" You smirk at him amused as he gives you a faux cold glare. "Seriously? All that fuss for me to sit on your lap?"

"Yes, maybe if you had just done it there would not be so much 'fuss'." He muttered into your hair, pressing a kiss to your crown.

You move back, looking over his face directly and smiling at him. You love every detail about this man. The way his hair eventually loses its gel throughout the day and returns to become fluffier and more enticing to you hands to run through it. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and his eyes always dart to catch yours when he makes a joke or sees something funny, making sure you saw or heard it too. The way his eyes softened when he stared at you, whether it was during more intimate times or just in general, he made sure you were always taken care of before even himself. Every small detail about him, his heart, his body, his personality.

You even loved how he fake hated reality tv to encourage you to kiss him, he could just ask but it became an unspoken tradition by now.

You continue watching the show until one of the stars cause a fuss and create drama and Aaron sighs. "Seriously, I don't understand how you can enjoy this."

You stay silent knowing he will keep talking.

"This is crazy, it's the same thing over and over. Jenny kisses Alex and Maura gets upset. It's the same situation as Olivia and Jaques getting together when she was still with Liam."

You smirk at him, noticing that he does pay attention to the goings-on.

"For gods sake, look at George and Lana's body language, clearly they don't even like each other- I bet they just want the money. You know what, we could go on this and just try win the money because I'm sure as hell we would win considering we are in an actual relationship and these absolute degenerates are all faking their relationships so they get lots of money." He huffs after he lets out a rant, you staring at him as he can't depart his eye line from the tv.

"I'm actually angry just watching this." He scowls at the tv before turning to see you smiling delicately, you eyes roaming his face. Immediately upon seeing your smile, he grins at you. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing just my boyfriend." You shrug, continuing to look at him.

"I like it when you call me that." He replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Both your heads turn as you continue to watch the show once again and you look at Aaron once more, just wanting to stare at him for the rest of your life.

"I love you." You blurt before you could even process what you said. You widen your eyes as you see him do a double take with a wide smile on his face.

"Sorry what?" He asks amused and you bite your lip, laughing in shock.

"I didn't mean to say that." You admit but shake your head, "Not that I don't mean it, I just-" You ramble but his hand lifts to your cheek.

"Say it again."

"I love you." You repeat.

"Again."

"I love you." You say again, giggling this time.

"Again."

"I'm in love with you." You grin softly, looking at him nervously as you see a twinge of pink caress his cheeks.

"I hate that you've just ruined my plans." He says with a grin but you look confused so he carries on. "I scheduled you to receive some flowers this weekend, I planned a whole thing out to tell you that."

You blush and look to your hands then back into his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, but somehow I think it's very endearing that you couldn't hold it in." He grins kissing just below your eye now, then moving to your cheek, then forehead.

"Loving you is like breathing to me honey, I don't even have to think about it to know it keeps me alive."

[crusty-chronicles]

Valentine's Day Special

Featuring HxH, YYh, and for a limited time Death Note

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Hunter x Hunter

Knov 👔👔👔👔👔

It's a hard no for him

He won't even entertain the thought

“You're not a worm.”

“But if I was, would you love me 🥺”

“No.”

“But what if-” and he cuts you off with a heavy sigh.

“I love you just the way you are. You're perfect. And if you want me to prove it to you, we'll go on a date right now. Anywhere, no matter how far or how expensive.”

He moves forward to cup your face sweetly.

“Is that a satisfactory answer, my dear.”

You can't help but take a little advantage of the situation. A cheeky grin on your face 

“You're taking a month long vacation with me.”

“So be it.”

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

Kurapika ⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

He has to do a double take first, letting the words process for a moment.

When he does, he rubs a hand to his temple.

“No.”

He's very much exhausted, so he doesn't take the question all that seriously.

Not like it was a very serious one to begin with.

But he notices you pouting after he gave his answer.

So he ends up laying his head on your lap when he gets the chance.

“I'd love you no matter what. You know that right?”

And the vulnerability of his confession makes your heart melt.

“I know. I was just being silly….But if you were a worm I'd still love you.”

You can hear him let out an amused huff.

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

Kite🪁🪁🪁🪁🪁

Poor thing is so confused.

“No?” He said unsure.

He genuinely can't tell if you're being serious or not. 

And the last thing he wants is to make you upset from his answer 

But this isn't serious, it can't be. So if he answered you honestly, you shouldn't be mad.

He notices you trying to hide back your laughter seeing him struggle to formulate a proper answer.

He knows for sure then you're messing with him.

And he's embarrassed he gave it any thought at all.

“You're such a pain, you know that?” He tried to hide his flustered expression.

But you followed next to him persistently.

“You love me~”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Not as a worm I won't.”

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

Morel🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬

He can't help but laugh at the question.

It's so bizarre. And he thinks he's getting too old for this crap.

But despite it, he humors you.

“You know what? Sure.”

“Really!?! You’re so sweet!!!”

The way your eyes light up almost makes him feel bad for his next choice of words.

Almost.

“Yeah. Good source of protein.”

You give his arm a swat with a glare.

“I take it back. You're a jerk.😠”

Before you can slip away, he's wrapping his arms around you to pull you close.

“You could've just asked me normally, you know.”

Asked if he loved you point blank and simple.

 “The answer's still yes by the way.”

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

Ging🎣🎣🎣🎣🎣

He smiles at you, but it's not a lovey dovey soft one.

Oh no.

It's mischievous and playful.

Not a very good sign for you.

“I'd tie you to end of my fishing pole and use you as bait. Then when a fish tries to eat you, I'll pick it up and tell it to unhand my girlfriend/boyfriend.”

You can't help but facepalm at his very obvious attempt to get under your skin.

“You know what? Forget I asked.”

“What!?! You wanted to know!”

“You're supposed to say, ‘Of course I'd still love you. I'd love you in every life and every form.” 

“Ha! Screw all that sappy crap.”

You turned your head away from him and crossed your arms.

“C’mon. Don't be all mad. The fact that I'm here means I care about you.”

“Care?”

“I'm not gonna say it.”

You flash him and unimpressed look that makes him give in.

“Fine. I…Like …You.”

“Keep going.”

“The way…That … you are.”

“Was that so hard?”

“I'd rather tell my son where I am.”

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

Leorio 🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺

He gives you a deadpanned look. One that says the answer should be obvious.

But in case it isn't, he explains anyway.

“Babe, you're the only one who's genuinely shown interest in me. If you think being a worm is gonna get you out of this relationship, you're dead wrong.”

You do your best to hide your smile.

“So it's a yes then?”

“I wouldn't care if you were a fly or a pile of crap. You're mine, you hear me!”

Maybe a little crude, but he gets his point across nevertheless.

You reward him with a smooch on the cheek. Watching in amusement as his face heats up.

“Oh stop, my beating heart!”

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

Wing👓👓👓👓👓

It doesn't even take him a second to answer.

“Of course I'd still love you.”

You knew what he'd say, how could you not. But you wanted to tease him just a little.

“How would you even know it was me though?”

He looked in thought for a second, lighting up when he figured out his response.

“Your body language! You'd probably inch your way towards me, and I'd know.”

But he wasn't done there.

“I could pick you out in a sea of thousands even now. How would I not recognize you?”

You don't think you've ever been anymore in love.

Listening intently as he listed off everything he knew about you.

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

Knuckle🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕

Now, he knows what he wants to say.

It'd be a yes obviously.

But he thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

You'd be so tiny. So fragile.

He didn't want to hurt you accidentally.

So he proposed something better. Much better if you might add.

“We could be worms together 👉👈”

He's so sweet, you think you might just melt.

“Of course we could be worms together.”

“Really? I'd fight off all the other worms so they'd know you were mine!”

“I'm sure you would, sweetheart.”

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

Yu Yu Hakusho

Hiei ⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

“No.”

You must think him a fool to ask something so ridiculous. 

He doesn't want to give it any thought at all. But you wouldn't give up so easily.

“What do you mean no!?!”

“Why the hell would I love a worm!?!”

And then he has to do a double take of what he just said.

“No, why the hell am I actually taking you seriously. Maybe I am a fool after all.” He grumbles under his breath.

Unaware of you beaming at him. That is, until he heard you speak.

“Because you love me 🥺 even as a worm.”

“I'll kill you.”

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

Kurama 🦊🦊🦊🦊🦊

He wants to say no, but he won't do it. 

He doesn't want to hurt your feelings.

And he knows you're not being serious anyway.

“Yes. I'd make a garden for you.”

“With roses?” You prompt.

“With roses. I'd make sure the soil has the perfect pH for you.”

He enjoys the playful smile on your lips. But he adores the softer ones even more.

“In all seriousness, I couldn't imagine my life being the same without you.” He starts before leaning his head against yours.

“I revere you. Regardless of what form you take in this life or the next.”

You reward him with a kiss, which he eagerly returns.

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

Yusuke 💥💥💥💥💥

His answer honestly depends on what mood he's in. If he's in a really good mood, he'll give a small laugh. 

Calling you weird before answering honestly.

“Hell yeah! I'd put you in a cup and take you everywhere. Then if a bird tried to swoop down, I'd barbecue it for you!”

He means it, too.

He's already gone through hell and back to keep you safe.

If you think he'll love you any less because you were a worm, you'd be dead wrong.

“Aw babe, you'd fight for me even if I was a worm?”

He's all smiles describing the way he'd show off to defend you from threats.

Threats being frogs, lizards, birds, the occasional snot nosed brat.

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

Jin 🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️

“A worm, huh? Aw. You'd be so tiny. But I'm afraid I'd lose ya. Flying about and all that.”

It's actually surprising he's giving it as much thought as he was. But it endears him to you all the same 

“You could tie me on a string.” You suggested.

He swoops you in a hug and swings you around.

“See? That's why I love you so much. You're so smart.”

“And you have a heart of gold. My sweet boy,” you coo.

You can see his ears start twitching, a telltale sign he's happy.

“So you'd still love me then?” You ask once more.

“I'd love ya even if you were as gross as Bakken. And that's saying somethin.”

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

Death Note

L 🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰

He doesn't spare you a second glance from the computer screen in front of him. 

“Why do you always ask the most ridiculous of questions?”

“So you wouldn't love me if I was a worm?”

“No.”

🥺

He can tell you're pouting.

At last tearing his gaze away from the brightness of the screen in front of him.

He can see your somewhat dejected posture.

And if you're upset, you're not focused. Which means he's not focused. The effect you have on him is strange. 

It's something he both hates and likes.

“Is this one of those questions lovers ask each other when they're seeking out validation? Or do you want me to prove my devotion through words?”

 “Maybe.”

He gives out a small sigh before speaking.

“Fine then, I'll play along. Yes I'd love you if you were a worm.”

“Liar. I know you don't mean it.”

“You're right I don't. Anyways-”

You think that's the end of that. That he won't give the interaction a second thought.

You were wrong.

He leaves a piece of strawberry cake by your bedside the next morning.

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

Ryuk 📓📓📓📓📓

“What's that?”

You show him a picture of one.

“Oh? Ew gross.”

“What do you mean gross ☹️”

“Yeah no. You're on your own. I'd probably step on you for fun.”

He's laughing at you, so you decide to spite him.

“You know what? No apples for a month.”

“Wait!!!!! Of course I'd love you as a worm. Worms look delicious.”

“Now you're making it weird.”

“Well whaddya want me to say?!?!”

“Something normal???”

“Well I ain't normal. I’m a god. The only things I love unconditionally are apples.”

“Fine. Would you still love me if I was an apple?"

He actually gives it thought for a few seconds.

“I'd do my best not to eat you. But we both know you wouldn't last five seconds. So I guess I'd still love you. Probably more than I do now.”

“Hey!!!!! 👹👹👹”

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

Misa 💅💅💅💅💅

“Oh my gosh! YESSSS!”

She genuinely gets so excited by the question.

“Only if you'd love me back if I were a worm.”

The two of you start feeding off of each other's encouragement.

“We could make a heart!”

“And live in our own little soil house 🥺🥺🥺”

“Babe!!!! We could wear cute little leaf outfits!!!!”

“And match!!!!!!!!!!”

“We'd be the most fashionable, cutest worms to ever exist!”

“We'd totally be a power couple!!!!”

Y'all are just giggling with each other, planning out your worm future.

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

An: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!!

[servndipityz]

I love the stuff you write on namgyu! I was wondering if you could write something like a jealous namgyu x reader? Maybe reader has something going on with one of the players and namgyu finds himself cursing at it daily, he finds reader and whatever player kissing at night and he decides to do something about it? I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense. English is not my first language. :( 💓

a/n ── ugh i'm not too happy with how this one turned out... anyway thank u sm for requesting and being patient, i hope u really like it! as for everyone that has requested and hasn't seen me post it yet, TRUST i will, i'm just extremely busy, so it'll take some time :)

ALLIES AND ENEMIES

warnings ── jealousy? dae-ho and reader are exs

word count ── 3.6k

────────────────────────────────────────────

"you okay?" you asked dae-ho, your gaze lingering on the small bloodstain on his shirt.

"uh… yeah," he let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "nothing a marine can't handle." he smiled, his tone light, though the smile didn't quite hold. it was an awkward kind of conversation, after all.

"that's good," you replied curtly, still smiling. "well, uh..." you trailed off.

"do you wanna stay and eat with us?" he interrupted, glancing toward the group he'd played the pentathlon with. "young-il's a bit grumpy, but he's nice enough when—"

"thanks, but no." you shook your head, already thinking about your own grumpy team, who were probably watching from across the room. dae-ho's gaze flickered for a second. "i think it's better if we keep our distance."

he nodded slightly. you'd talked about this before, and you were right. these were life-or-death games—you weren’t about to team up with your ex. if what they said was true and only one person could make it out in the end, maybe the best you could hope for was that the other got taken out before either of you had to watch. as cynical as it sounded.

"okay… take care," he said, still a little unconvinced but knowing it was the best option.

"yeah," you muttered, turning to walk over to thanos, se-mi, min-su, gyeong-su, and nam-gyu on the other side of the room.

you weren’t sure what was weirder—playing children’s games to survive or running into your ex here. you and dae-ho had dated a long time ago, back when you were in high school and could still afford to dream.

now, you couldn't afford anything, really. that’s why you were here.

you and dae-ho had ended on good terms—high school ended, he enlisted in the marines, you went on with your life, which clearly hadn’t ended well for either of you. you’d almost not recognized the scrawny boy you left behind when you ran into him at the games. but even though you didn’t love him anymore—if you ever had, you were seventeen—you still cared. a lot.

he was a good person. so you’d resolved to check in on him when you could. and keep your distance. just in case.

"hey," you said as you reached your group, plopping down on one of the stairs where they were eating.

"heyyy," thanos said in a sing-song voice, wiggling his eyebrows. you frowned.

"what?" you asked, though you had a pretty good idea.

"oh, nothing, nothing." thanos smirked, glancing at min-su. "right, min-su?"

min-su shook his head frantically, eager to go along with whatever thanos was up to. thanos dapped him up while you rolled your eyes.

"you know him?" se-mi asked, resting her head on her palm, looking at you without much interest. she pointed toward dae-ho with her chin.

"uh, yeah." you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"you shouldn't talk to him." nam-gyu spoke up, not even looking at you—just staring at dae-ho in the distance, his tone flat and dismissive.

"why? he's a friend," you huffed. as far as you were concerned, any ally in this place was a good thing.

nam-gyu just turned his head away further, like talking to you was too much effort.

"i bet he's more than a friend," thanos said, clearly entertained.

you frowned. "well, maybe if you didn't bet so much, you wouldn't be here," you shot back, annoyed—though you weren't sure if it was because he was right.

gyeong-su scooted closer. "how do you know him?"

"uhm, we dated for a bit..." you started, but nam-gyu cut you off.

"great. that's exactly what we need," he muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

you turned to him sharply. "and what's that supposed to mean?"

he still wouldn’t look at you, calmly turning his whole body the other way.

"isn't it better to have allies?" you asked, looking around at the group for back up.

"sure," nam-gyu finally said, standing up and meeting your gaze. "maybe just not ones you’ve fucked."

and with that, he walked off toward the bathrooms—or god knows where. you didn’t care, as long as he disappeared from your sight.

you were shocked, but not exactly surprised. he'd been like this ever since the games began. sometimes, one could almost believe he cared about you—or something close to it. the way he always kept an eye on you, always stayed close during the games. but that was only sometimes, and it had to be a false impression, because the rest of the time he did nothing but pester you.

especially whenever you talked with dae-ho.

he’d been lucky enough to witness your reunion, and though he hadn’t said a word about it until now, it was clear he wasn’t amused—far from it. every time you checked on dae-ho, or so much as looked at him, nam-gyu’s mood seemed to darken, if that was even possible.

why? you weren’t sure. dae-ho had never even spoken to him, yet nam-gyu seemed insistent on keeping him out of sight. you'd understand if dae-ho had tried to sabotage your group during the games, started a fight, anything—but he hadn’t. not once.

maybe nam-gyu was just too paranoid for his own good. maybe it was the drugs.

but if you thought it was bad, that was just the beginning of it.

it started small. a little comment here and there. a sarcastic remark when you walked back from talking to dae-ho. a passive-aggressive glance when he caught you looking his way. nothing big, nothing worth fighting over.

then, it got worse.

like the way nam-gyu started questioning your every move in the games, as if checking in on dae-ho made you a liability. like the way he made sure you were always next to him when plans were made, like he didn’t trust you on your own anymore.

nam-gyu saw things differently than you did. he couldn't afford you getting distracted during a game and getting yourself—no, the whole group—killed. he told himself that was the only reason his blood boiled the way it did. because dae-ho was a threat. and what if you decided to switch teams and go with him? then nam-gyu's team would be too small, and who knew what chances they'd have at survival.

that's what he told himself.

besides, he didn’t see what you saw in him. long hair? nam-gyu’s was long too, and he didn’t need to wear a fuckass ponytail. and sure, dae-ho was a marine, but so what? he had a tattoo for it—big deal. nam-gyu had a tattoo too. maybe not of the marines, but… who cared?

he found himself wondering when you had dated. was it recent? had he broken your heart? had you broken his? not that he cared. but at least it was something to think about while lying awake at night.

the first time nam-gyu really thought about killing dae-ho, it wasn’t even in a game. he was just watching. just sitting there, chewing a stale piece of bread, listening to you laugh at something dae-ho said. it wasn’t even a good laugh—the kind you let slip when something actually got to you. it was just polite. half-hearted. but it was still too much.

nam-gyu didn’t get it. it wasn’t just that you were too soft about this whole thing—too trusting, too willing to think anyone was still a “friend” in a place like this. it was that you were soft about him. dae-ho. the ex-boyfriend. the marine. the guy who, for some reason, you still cared about.

it was annoying. distracting. unnecessary.

and, if nam-gyu was being completely honest with himself—which he wasn’t—it made him feel something dangerously close to jealousy.

not that he cared who you talked to. he just didn’t want you getting attached to someone who might, at best, drag you down or, at worst, be the reason you didn’t make it out. that was all. that’s what he told himself as he sat on the floor, arms resting on his knees, watching you with narrowed eyes.

you weren’t paying attention to him. of course not. you were still sitting with dae-ho, still talking like it was a normal conversation and not a literal countdown to one of you getting eliminated.

and nam-gyu hated that he noticed how easy you looked with him. like being around him still made you comfortable. safe.

you didn’t act like that around nam-gyu.

you acted like he was a headache. like he was some problem you had to deal with. a nuisance, at best. and sure, he was an asshole, and he knew it, but that wasn’t the point. the point was you didn’t look at him the way you looked at dae-ho.

and for some goddamn reason, that pissed him off.

but what pissed him off even more—if that was even possible—was when dae-ho voted X. he voted to leave the games. what did he think, that he could just walk out the easy way, money in his hand and a pretty girl under his arm?

not pretty—average. or whatever. it didn’t matter. anyway, even though half the players had voted to go, nam-gyu didn’t particularly care for any of them. except one.

“you’re fucking joking,” he snapped, turning to you as the screen flashed blue, adding yet another X vote.

you frowned. “what?”

he looked at you like it was your fault. “your fucking boyfriend voting to go.” he rolled his eyes, tone dry and cutting. “has he convinced you too? you gonna betray us?” he stepped in closer, gaze sharp.

your jaw tensed, fire flashing in your eyes as you took a step forward too. you were getting pretty tired of nam-gyu's antics when it came to dae-ho. “how can you be such an asshole?” you shot back, voice firm. “i need the money too, idiot. i’m not going anywhere. and he’s not my boyfriend.”

nam-gyu let out a scoff, but there was something too quick about it, something brittle. “who knows, you spend so much time with him, he may as well have manipulated you.”

you rolled your eyes. “oh, please. not everything is some mind game, nam-gyu. maybe he just doesn’t wanna fucking die.”

he let out a bitter laugh, stepping even closer. “yeah? and what, you think i do? none of us wanna die. but some of us don’t get the luxury of walking out.”

“i never said i was leaving.” your eyes bore into his. “you’re putting words in my mouth just so you can be mad.”

he scoffed, shaking his head. “yeah? you sure about that? ‘cause you sure looked real cozy with him earlier. whispering, giggling—what, were you planning your great escape together?”

you groaned, rubbing your temples. “oh my god, you’re impossible. i was talking to him because, unlike you, he actually listens instead of just picking fights for no reason.”

his nostrils flared. “for no reason?”

“yeah! no fucking reason!” you threw your arms up. “i swear, it’s like you want me to be the villain here just so you can feel justified in whatever weird, possessive meltdown you’re having.”

nam-gyu’s jaw clenched. “possessive? oh, give me a fucking break.”

but he didn’t deny it.

you gave him a look. “just be thankful i’m in a shit load of debt, because if this is your way of convincing me to stay, you’re making me wanna go so i don’t have to look at your stupid face.”

his mouth twitched, something sharp and wounded flashing across his face before he masked it with irritation. “whatever, i don’t wanna fucking see your stupid face either.”

he took a step back, eyes lingering on you for just a second too long before he turned sharply, heading toward the beds. his shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

and on his way, he made sure to bump into dae-ho. softly enough to seem like an accident, but strong enough to hurt. just the way he was.

you scoffed, shaking your head as you turned away from nam-gyu. there was no point in arguing with him when he was like this—irritated, petty, practically looking for a reason to fight. you weren’t going to give him one.

instead, you exhaled through your nose, pressing down the frustration bubbling in your chest. it was late. there was no reason to be wasting energy on this.

soon, the voting was over, and one by one, the others shuffled off to their beds, some mumbling half-hearted goodnights, others just collapsing into their bunks without a word. you did the same, settling in before trying to drift off and rest for the next day.

but you couldn't sleep. after what felt like an eternity, you shifted your eyes across the room. you weren’t the only one still awake.

on the other corner, dae-ho’s group looked tense. some were whispering, others just staring at the floor, lost in thought. it made sense—most of them had voted to leave, and now they had to survive yet another day. it was hard to blame them for being anxious.

dae-ho himself sat a little apart from the others, elbows on his knees, gaze distant. something about the way his shoulders slumped made you frown.

you sighed. even after everything, you still cared. it wasn’t something you could just turn off.

so, you got up, padding quietly over to him. the room was mostly dark, save for the dim emergency lights casting a sickly glow over everything. everyone else was asleep—or at least pretending to be. well, everyone except one person.

you could feel nam-gyu’s eyes on you.

you ignored him.

“hey,” you murmured as you sat down beside dae-ho.

he blinked, then turned to you, lips pressing together in a tired smile. “hey.”

“you alright?”

he let out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “as alright as i can be in a place like this.”

you nodded. “yeah.”

a beat of silence stretched between you two. it wasn’t uncomfortable, though. it was familiar. dae-ho had always been like this—never rushing to fill the quiet, never speaking just to speak. it was one of the things you’d liked about him.

"don't you wanna leave too?" he finally asked.

you wanted to say that you did, of course you did. but it wasn't like you had a choice. "i can't." you just said.

he nodded, looking away momentarily.

“i don’t regret voting to stay,” you said eventually, voice soft. “but i do regret that you’re still stuck here.”

you turned your head slightly to look at him. his expression was unreadable, eyes locked on yours in the dim light. you should’ve looked away. you should’ve changed the subject, should’ve stood up, should’ve—

his lips were on yours before you could think twice.

it was sudden, unexpected, and for a second, you froze.

it wasn’t that it was bad—it wasn’t. it was familiar, and maybe in some other time, some other place, you would’ve leaned into it. but not here. not now.

you pulled back, your hands finding his chest and gently pushing him away. “dae-ho—”

“sorry.” he barely let you finish before he was shaking his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “that was—sorry. i wasn’t thinking.”

you swallowed, nodding. “it’s fine. just… not right now.”

he exhaled, giving you a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah. i get it.”

from the other side of the room, you heard a sharp scoff.

you turned just in time to see nam-gyu standing up. his face was unreadable, but his movements were stiff, tense. he didn’t say anything as he walked straight toward you, but you could feel the weight of his stare.

before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to your feet.

“what the hell?” you yanked your arm back, glaring at him.

“you're going to bed.” his voice was low, quiet, but firm. he didn’t look at dae-ho. not once.

you scowled, glancing back at dae-ho, who just sat there, jaw clenched. the tension between them was thick, suffocating. the last thing you wanted was for it to escalate.

so, you let nam-gyu pull you away.

his grip loosened once you were far enough from the others, but you could still feel the heat of his hand against your skin as you walked beside him. the flickering emergency lights cast dim shadows on the floor, stretching between you, neither of you speaking as you passed row after row of beds.

the second you reached yours, you yanked your wrist from his grip and crossed your arms. “you always do this.”

he didn’t stop walking until he was at his own bed—right next to yours. he sat down heavily on the edge, elbows resting on his knees, but his eyes never left you.

“do what?” he asked, like he was uninterested in whatever you had to say.

“act like—” you huffed, shaking your head. “like some guard dog whenever dae-ho’s around. it’s weird, nam-gyu. it’s fucking weird.”

his eyes flashed, something sharp behind them. “oh, i’m sorry. didn’t realize i was interrupting something important.”

“you weren’t.” you frowned, glancing over your shoulder. “i just—”

“just what?” nam-gyu’s voice was low, tight. the sharp cut of it sent something cold down your spine, though you refused to let it show. “just needed one last moment with your boyfriend before he gets himself killed?”

your hands clenched at your sides, frustration burning in your stomach as you turned back to him. he sat there, his knee almost brushing against yours, the dim light catching on the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for something, hold something, break something.

you exhaled sharply through your nose, fingers curling into your sleeves as you turned back to him. “you’re fucking insufferable.”

he scoffed, crossing his arms like that somehow made him look less defensive. “and you’re naive. you think he wouldn’t throw you under the bus the second it benefits him?”

“he’s not like that.”

“oh, please.” nam-gyu rolled his eyes. “you’re smarter than this.”

your jaw tensed. “you don’t know him.”

“and you do?” he tilted his head, tone mocking. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like he already walked away once.”

the words hit harder than you wanted them to. you felt your stomach twist, your throat tightening around something bitter. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—how things ended, how fast they fell apart. but it wasn’t the same. it wasn’t—

“fuck you.” your voice was quieter now. “you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to act like you give a shit.”

nam-gyu’s expression flickered, for just a second, before that familiar frown slid back into place, sharp and infuriating. “you think i give a shit?” he shook his head. “trust me, i don’t lose sleep over your little romance novel.”

your stomach burned with frustration, your nails pressed half-moons into your skin as you leaned forward, close enough that the space between you barely existed anymore. his gaze held steady, unreadable, but his fingers twitched again, gripping the edge of his blanket like he needed something solid to hold onto. “then what the fuck is your problem?”

nam-gyu didn’t answer. he just stared at you, unblinking, like he was waiting for you to figure it out yourself. and you hated that. hated the way your heart beat too fast in your chest, the way his gaze made your skin too hot, too tight.

“i get that you’re an asshole,” you continued, voice dropping lower, more controlled. “but you can’t actually be such an asshole. you push me away, you pick fights, you act like i’m some liability, but then you’re always fucking there.” your hands clenched at your sides. “so which is it, nam-gyu? do you want me gone, or do you want me close?”

his throat bobbed. he looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable shifting in his expression. and then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his posture shifting just slightly—less rigid, less closed off.

“i don’t want you to die.”

it was quiet. almost too quiet, barely above a murmur. but you heard it. and judging by the way he tensed right after, so did he.

you stared at him, heartbeat drumming against your ribs, searching his face for some kind of joke, some kind of smirk, some kind of—

but there was nothing. just him. just this.

nam-gyu clicked his tongue, turning his head away like that would somehow erase what just happened. “forget it.”

you didn’t move. you just watched him, the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands curled into fists like he was angry at himself. and maybe he was. maybe you were too.

but for once, you didn’t feel like fighting him.

so you sighed, shaking your head, before laying back on your bed. the mattress dipped as you layed down, the rough fabric of the blanket cool under your fingers. “you’re impossible.”

nam-gyu didn’t answer. he just exhaled sharply through his nose, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. instead, he shifted, turning away as he laid down on his bed. the faint rustle of fabric filled the quiet as he pulled his own blanket over him, his back facing you.

but as you settled in, you felt it—just barely. the subtle creak of his mattress. the shift of his weight as he scooted back, inching just a little closer to yours.

────────────────────────────────────────────

© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[shadowthesim237]

matt had planned you a surprise date for the valentine, he made sure everything was perfect for you, the restaurant reservation the flowers, even the dress you're going to wear. but that didn't exactly go as planned.

because to your bad luck, you woke up with an uneasy feeling, then you got hit in the face with the harsh reality. today is the first day of your cycle.

skipping forward

you can't even open your eyes from how bad your cramps are. matt did everything he could to make you feel better but it was of no use.

he went to the store to get you your favorite snacks just for you to throw up after a couple minutes, he prepared you a heating pad but it still made you feel uncomfortable. he didn't know what to do and the sight of you whimpering in pain broke his heart.

now you are laying next to him on your bed calm and asleep but and then you said "i hate this". he patted your shoulder gently though he was surprised you were awake.

"I thought you were sleeping baby"

"I can't" that's all you managed to say with your brain too foggy to think or speak. but then your eyes started to tear up, you can't help that guilty feeling. today was supposed to be perfect but instead of the fancy dinner date all you got was painkillers.

"I'm sorry, i ruined the day" he hushed you and kept whispering sweet things to you so you can try and relax wich eventually worked.

you were finally able to sleep, you looked so tiny and innocent in matt's arms. he smiled softly and kissed your head. matt didn't care about anything and just having you in his arms right now equals the world.

he wrapped you in the blanket to help making you warm and comfy. then brushed a strand of hair that was covering your eye, he stared at your resting face, the complete opposite of the irritated one you had an hour ago.

your eyes opened slowly and saw his blue ones staring back at you.

"Is something wrong?.." your voice was low and sleepy.

"no.. go back to sleep baby" he gave you a soft peck on the lips, the atmosphere in the room was cozy and felt safe. you moved closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, and with that you went back to dreamland with nothing to worry about.

devider by: @bernardsbendystraws <3

a/n: sorry guys I'm suffering right now so had to write this i know it's way too short 😔 HAPPY VDAY I LOVE Y'ALL SM 🥹 (english isn't my first language)

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[strawberryblue-blog]

PABLO GAVI fluff were he comfort the reader after their big argument please love your works 💫

Thanks💓

Our home —Pablo Gavi.

summary: request.

warnings: none. a little of angst, fight, discomfort, cute, soft, clingy.

words count: +2k.

#SEXYNOTE: Happy Valentine's Day 💌 Enjoy it, love you 🎀

The sound of your snort clashing with the overwhelming silence in the living room, interrupting the tranquility of the night. You're standing by the kitchen, hands on your hips and frowning as you stare at the pile of dirty utensils you haven't stopped noticing since you got home. Gavi, he doesn't even look at you. He's sitting on the couch, remote in hand and TV on, seemingly oblivious to your frustration.

"Really?" you ask aloud, turning to him with your arms crossed. "How many times have we talked about this?"

He looks up turning to look at you, surprised, but quickly his expression changes to a mixture of tired and defensive.

"I will do it later" he says nonchalantly as he resumes playing again.

"Yeah, like always" you mutter starting to pick things up. You shake your head as you turn on the water.

"I'll always end up doing it myself anyway" you whisper angrily.

"What are you talking about now?" he replies, setting the controller down on the table and turning to you again.

You ignore him, starting to wash the dishes in the sink. You don't answer because you know it will be in anger, you'd rather shut up again.

"Are you saying I never do?" his voice sounds closer and you can feel his presence.

Making him get up from the couch when he's playing video games is a reward for you.

"That then you don't do shit" you spit loud and clear. "You always say the same thing about the dishes, the laundry, everything you always leave lying around" you reply, pointing to the sink with an exaggerated gesture.

"That's not true" he shriek angrily. "I said I would do it later..."

"When were you going to do it, huh?" you ask interrupting him. "After I do it? Tomorrow when you finish training? When?" you shout.

Gavi frowns but you can see his features look angry. But angrier are you. You're not overreacting. These last months living together has become difficult, you fight constantly, Gavi doesn't help you enough and you understand that he's tired after training or whatever, but you also have your job and that's not why you leave everything like that.

This morning you had left with all the mess, dishes from last night, clothes on the floor next to the washing machine, garbage cans full and when you came back, everything was still the same. And Gavi had the day off today. You expected at least the simple, basic housekeeping. You didn't expect him to deep clean, just tidy up. But he'd clearly spent the day playing videogames.

"I can't handle this, you know? I work all day, I come in exhausted, and the last thing I want is to see the house a mess because you can't do your part."

"My part?" he retorts, stepping closer and facing you with open arms. "And what do you think I do all day? I'm not just sitting around doing nothing. I'm also exhausted when I get home."

"But I'm always the one who has to take care of everything," you say, feeling frustration rise from your chest to your throat. "The dishes, the laundry, the cleaning? When was the last time you even tried to pick anything up?"

He rolls his eyes and that gesture fires you up even more.

"Don't exaggerate the situation. It's not like I never do anything. I may not be as obsessive as you, but that doesn't mean I don't help," he says pointing at you.

Oh no. He didn't just call you that. He didn't just make everything worse.

"Obsessive?" you repeat, in disbelief. The word hits you like a slap in the face. "It's not obsessive, it's wanting our home to be a place where we can be comfortable, where I don't feel like I'm living on a battlefield." It comes out as an angry scream.

You can't believe it. Now you are the obsessive and exaggerated one who wants some basic order in your own home.

"It's not like that!" he replies, raising his voice. His tone is defensive, but also weary. "Just because I don't do things exactly the way you want me to, doesn't mean I'm doing everything wrong."

"It's not about doing it 'my way'!" you shout, feeling on the verge of tears. "It's about the fact that I can't handle everything by myself. I'm exhausted, and you don't seem to care."

That shushes him. Gavi turns his head in denial but you turn to continue washing through your eyes fill with tears. All that screaming, the desperation, the anger, it makes you feel bad. You've had a rough patch for a while now and you're afraid this could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. But you are so tired. You just want to finish and go to sleep. Arguments won't get you anywhere but you're exhausted from the same situation.

The atmosphere in the room is tense, charged with unspoken words and pent-up emotions. You don't want to cry because you don't want to look weak but you feel so fragile that if he says anything else, you will cry.

Finally, he sighs and takes a step towards you. You feel him coming closer but you won't move, you just want to finish.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, his voice softer this time. "I care a lot, more than you think."

Just then you finish rinsing and deposit everything in the dryer. You take off your gloves and dry the counter, leaving everything clean and ready.

"Then prove it" you reply, with a lump in your throat, as you turn around. "Because when I come home and see all this, I feel like you don't care about our home or the effort I make or even us."

You try to walk towards the room but he stops you, processing your words. He's still angry about the argument, you can see it in the way his brow furrows but you can't go on like this.

"If you cared, you would. I get it once or twice, Pablo. But not for months now, it's pure cohabitation, I'm not trying to force you into anything or ask you to be my maid" you spit out harshly, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. "And I won't be your fucking maid either"

You release yourself from his grip and move for your room, looking for some quiet. Your bed seems to be waiting for you the moment you open the door and you quickly strip off your clothes, dressing in your pajamas. You just want to sleep. You crawl into bed and turn your back to Gavi's side, covering yourself with your warm blanket. Tears slide down your cheeks as you think about the argument, how vulnerable you are right now. You're scared, maybe moving in with Gavi was a hasty move and you've been thinking about it for weeks.

You love him. You love everything about him but you can't stand that your relationship is turning into what you hate the most. Maybe you are pushing him a little bit but he lives here too, each of you have your obligations and responsibilities and the only way to survive is to work together.

You're not so angry about the argument, you're helpless. Lonely and scared, what if he doesn't want to be with you anymore, what if Gavi is only acting this way because you are broken? The sobs come out of your mouth and you try to cover them but it's unavoidable.

A faint noise makes you swallow a sob and when you feel the mattress sink behind you, you cover your face with the whole sheet. Gavi comes up from behind and embraces you slowly, carefully, waiting for your rejection or acceptance. You say nothing, just melt into the warmth of his arms embracing you, as you sigh calming your little fit.

"You're right" he admits, with a deep sigh. His voice sounds weak, slowly. "I've been relaxing too much, trusting you to do it because you always do. That's not right and I'm really sorry" his words make your heart shrink.

You didn't want to make him feel that way, you didn't want him to be angry, maybe things got out of place all because of your bad reaction.

"It's not true what I said, you're not exaggerating, you're not obsessive" he murmurs hurt as his hand runs down your body, caressing you. "I care about you, about our home and I care about our relationship" he whispers close to your ear, resting his face in the crook of your neck.

Your heart softens a little at his words, but you still feel the weight of everything built up in your chest. You barely nod. You know he didn't have a bad intention and maybe it was you who took it to another dimension but you really wanted Paul to understand.

"I haven't been around much these days and I understand your approach, Y/n" he whispers again.

Your nose rubs the drops of tears and you sigh searching for air. Su cálido cuerpo comienza a calentar te y solo quieres saltar a sus brazos, como siempre lo deseas.

"Forgive me, okay? Please?" he asks in his hoarse, weak voice.

You turn barely, pulling your body out of the fabrics until you see him clearly.

"It's not just about the dishes or the clothes, Pablo" you confess as tears begin to escape your eyes. "It's because I want this to be a home, our home. A place where we can both be at peace"

"I understand" he says, looking you straight in the eye. "And you're absolutely right. I don't want you to feel like you're carrying everything by yourself. I promise I'm going to get better, I really am"

His hands take your face as you turn to him fully. He takes it upon himself to wipe away your tears, one by one, as he pulls you into his warm chest. Your heart aches for everything but you feel more relieved now.

"I'm sorry for exploding like this too" you admit hurt. "I just want everything to work out, that we don't have to argue about these things. And I thought that..."

Pablo looks at you seriously, confused.

"I thought things between us were breaking up, that maybe your pulling away was my fault and I exploded" you confess as the tears come again.

His eyes hold back the tears as his fingers tighten on your face.

"I would never do anything like that, nothing changed between us, I promise. It's just me, being kind of lazy" he says trying to blame homself but you deny.

"I'm sorry, Gavi" you cry exhausted. "I didn't mean to fight with you like this, just.... I'm tired..."

Your body hurts, your mind does too. Maybe you need more sleep than a day is enough and all this anxiety, nervousness, is driving you crazy.

"You are my home, you are my whole life, I just want to be here, for the rest of my life, with you" he says in front of your eyes.

"You are mine, Pablo" you assure with a laugh.

He smiles slightly and pulls you into a warm embrace.

"Let's promise something" he says, whispering against your hair. "Let's talk before things get to this point. If something bothers you, tell me, and I'll do the same"

You nod against his chest, feeling relieved to hear those words.

"I promise" you reply, clinging to him tightly.

His arms come around you again and you feel yourself melt under his touch. Gavi is soft, gentle and sweet. And you love that.

"And I promise I'll always wash the dishes from now on" he adds, with a touch of humor in his voice that manages to get a small chuckle out of you in spite of everything.

You both stay like that, hugging, letting the tensions dissipate. You know you still have room for improvement but you also know that, as long as you are willing to work together, nothing can affect what you have.

The silence in the room lingers as you are cuddled together. He watches you from above, his fingers stroking your back, your arms, your chest. He leaves little patterns on your skin, running over every nook and cranny of your body. You smile. He smiles back. The two of you look at each other and touch again. It is inevitable.

Your body is on top of his, one of his legs is wrapped around you and your hands rest on his firm chest, caressing his pecs. You talk for a while, then kiss, then just lie there. Pablo keeps running his warm hands up and down your arms, resting occasionally on your hip as he kisses your forehead or hair, then back up your back slowly. If touch burns on your skin, but it's the kind of fire that feeds the flame in your heart.

Then you apologize again, talk, joke and kiss again, in a loop. It's warm, perfect and beautiful. You two love and understand each other, yes, you argue but it keeps you stronger than ever, just like right now.

One of his hands goes into your hair, the other resists on your lower back, massages your scalp while your fingers move on his chest. That starts to make you sleepy, you close your eyes but you don't want to stop seeing Gavi, so you open them again.

He spots you and laughs. You lift your head and his eyes are waiting for you, loving, watching you.

"You can rest, baby" he whispers, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

"See you tomorrow, Pablo" you whisper barely.

"Good night, baby" he kisses your forehead again affectionately.

You settle into his chest again, letting the sound of his heart soothe you. His other hand continues to stroke your hair, and you can feel how his caresses are slow and full of affection, as if he wants to make up for everything he has made you feel. His fingers press your skin to your waist and you feel filled with his love.

And in that moment, even though you know you still have things to work out, you feel that everything will be okay. Because you are together.

[dreamsteddie]

Who Will Catch Me When You're Gone?

Content Tags: Platonic Sobin, major character death, grief, depression, major character undeath

Inspired by this beautiful art by @tarraing

------

When they found Steve, broken and bloody and scraped raw from the bats, all Robin could think about was that Steve's favorite sweatpants were ruined. She'd never understood those things or how someone so obsessed with fashion could wear them, but he'd always loved how comfortable they were. She razzes him about it every time he wears them.

Now they're ruined. Dirty and ripped.

She can hear Nancy ordering them to help her and Eddie freaking out but it's all just white noise to her right up until the moment everything comes flooding back in and the world has never been louder. Her breathing is deafening like she's trying to breathe for both of them.

Steve isn't breathing.

Steve isn't breathing but somehow she still is.

One moment she's stuck watching Nancy Wheeler try to patch her soulmate back together the next she's doing it for her so Nancy can start CPR. Eddie has stopped freaking out, she is dimly aware of him standing behind her, hovering because he doesn't know how to help. Doesn't know if there's any way to help.

Robin knows she's talking but it doesn't matter what she's saying. She doesn't think Steve can hear her. How could anything she says matter when her best friend isn't there to hear it? But she can't make herself stop, just in case.

But Steve never hears her. Nancy pushes on his chest and forces air into his lungs until her arms are shaking and she doesn't have enough strength to move his chest anymore. Then Robin takes over even though she has no idea what she's doing. Even though Nancy and Eddie are trying to tell her it's no use, that they need to go.

Like she could leave him here.

Then she's kicking and screaming because they're trying to pull her away. She's biting down on Eddie's ringed hand and kicking out into Nancy's ribs. She's not leaving, she's not. She can't do that to Steve, would rather lie down next to him, take his hand, and let the bats find her than leave him behind.

The last thing she sees before someone knocks her in the head is Steve's eyes, open and empty and staring right at her.

------

When Robin wakes up she's surrounded by people, but no one says a thing. She sees Dustin, red-eyed and empty standing in a corner across from the couch she's been placed on. Max won't look at her, Erica is glued to her side, Eddie looks lost, and Nancy looks like a block of steel. Steve isn't anywhere to be found.

But then again, Robin knew that. She'd know if Steve was her because their hearts beat as one, but now her chest feels empty. It's Max, brave, scared Max, who breaks the silence. Robin doesn't hear it. Doesn't listen as people start explaining plans around them. Can't channel the righteous fury she sees in Nancy, Dustin, and Max or the barely concealed fear in Eddie and Erica. All she feels is empty.

She's going to do whatever they want her to do because she knows it's what Steve would do. Knows without a shadow of a doubt that if she was the one lying dead in the Upside Down he would be on a war path in her name, so she needs to do the same.

When she launches that last fire bomb into Vecna's ugly head, it's a hallow victory.

Everyone else survives. The Byers move back to Hawkins. The town starts to rebuild. The big bad is gone for good.

But it doesn't mean anything to her. She lies in bed most days without saying a word. She lets her parents dote on her, listens passively as they try to remind her of the college acceptance letters waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Manages to sit up and smile just a little when Eddie brings Dustin and Erica by to see her. Cries with the two of them tucked under her arms, all three of them aware of how vulnerable they feel without a strong pair of arms wrapped around their other side.

Robin asks Eddie to hang back one day and makes a request. The next day he comes by with a clean needle and a pot of ink and Robin sits motionless as he engraves a sunflower inner her wrist, somewhere she'll always be able to see it. She always swore to Steve that she would never get a tattoo, too freaked out by the possibility of an infection, but those fears feel so distant now that the worst thing that could happen has come to pass. She catches Eddie with one of his own to match the next week.

------

A month goes by. She doesn't leave the house, even when Dustin comes by to beg her.

Then two. She can tell her parents are starting to really worry. They've given up trying to get to college and started trying to get her to think about therapy.

Then Five. She started going to work again. She puts on her Family Video vest and thinks about Steve. She walks through the door and imagines Steve leaning over the counter. Keith turns on Back to The Future and she goes home with a panic attack. She doesn't speak unless it's necessary, but she's trying to move forward. She knows it's what Steve would want for her, even on the days when it's not what she wants for herself.

And then Six months pass. There's a tap at her window.

She ignores it, at first. She refuses to go to a shrink, there are too many things she can't say to the ones her parents recommend, and she won't accept anything from those government goons who turned her best friend into a soldier. Into cannon fodder. Instead, she writes letters.

She sits down at her desk once a day and pours her heart out to Steve. She lets herself pretend for a few moments every day that he's just been dragged away by his parents for a few months. He's out there somewhere in the world relying on her to keep her updated on the kids and the drama at work and herself until she can go out and join him, wherever he is. Some days she writes about nothing at all, some days she rages at him for leaving her behind, sometimes she speculates about their future where she goes to college wherever he is and they get an apartment and two dogs. She seals every one in an envelope, tucks them in a drawer, and lets herself breathe in that perfect fantasy for just a moment. It's the best part of her day, and nothing can tear her away from it.

Except the tapping doesn't stop.

And Robin lives on the second floor.

And everyone she knows would just come through the front door.

She turns, so slowly, toward the window. The glare from her bedside lamp makes it impossible to see anything through it, but she doesn't need to.

There are fingers, claws, forcing their way under the sill. She sucks in a sharp breath as they curl upward, crashes to the ground as they start to pull.

She's scrambling back, getting ready to scream and make a run for the walkie she leaves on silent on her desk to call for help. To warn the others that their monsters are back before it mows her down.

But then the window gives way and she stops. Stops everything.

Because the thing in her window is wearing her best friend's face. It's wearing his hair and his moles and his stupid fucking sweatpants.

And at the end of the day it doesn't actually matter what he looks like. It doesn't matter if there are new hinges in his jaw to show off new, shark-like teeth. It doesn't matter mater if he can't say anything besides a hissed, garbled rendition of her name. It doesn't even matter when he latches onto her wrist, right above that little sunflower, and sucks, taking just enough blood to make her light-headed.

Because she can feel his heartbeat pounding along with her own, perfectly in sync.

Because she's not alone, anymore.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Metaphorical in-law sleepover

Barbie dolls: Touya Todoroki m(after war) x gn!reader

Word:1.5k

inspo

Summary: Shoto hangs out at you and Touya's apartment for comfort after his dad yelled at him

Warnings: brotherly love don't be weird, um after rehab and war Touya 🎉 he's my fav I j wanna bite him, sex mentioned in front of family members but it's nothing crazy it's j like a conversation that would maybe happen alin a sex positive household, that you and Touya now are I've made that decision for you, you and Touya would definitely be the couple that show up to the family reunion and hour late and couldn't give less of a shit bc you're so fucking lucky I'm here at all, um probably a little off from canon but Touya says his siblings hid in his room when their parents fought, I've decided it happened, yappa yappa

An unexpected consequence of having an apartment with your lover Touya was the family visits. Fuyumi and Natsuo weren't terribly frequent. They dropped in occasionally to take a break from the family troubles, breathing slowly on your couch as you and Touya watched from the kitchen. Shoto however was an entirely different situation. 

Enji seemed to find him the most angering, their fights were the most frequent. You weren't even sure if some of them were fights, more of Enji yelling and Shoto listening. Before you and Touya got an apartment, the fights ended with Shoto practicing or sitting in his room staring at the wall in silence. Now he threw his things into a backpack and walked to your apartment. It was frequent enough you gave him a key. 

No, you weren't shocked when he was waiting patiently on your couch when you got home but it still made your heart sting. You wished he felt safe enough at home to stay there but you were glad he found comfort in your home. 

Fuyumi and Natsuo joined you three for dinner, all crowded around the small table you had gotten for you and Touya. They didn't mind that their knees and dishes touched, happy they could laugh and feel free even if it was for a minute.

After they left you tucked Shoto into his makeshift bed on the couch, gently brushing your lips against his forehead. You brushed his hair with your fingers, smiling at the relaxed sigh that followed from him. Touya followed after you, smacking his hand on top of Shoto’s head and ruffling his hair around. Shoto groaned and shooed his hand away. Touya snorted and headed for your shared bedroom. 

You gently held Touya's face as you both lay in bed, the blankets pulled over your shoulders. His hand was resting on your back, arm over your side. 

“I'm going to tear your father a new one,” you whispered like a love confession. Maybe it was. Touya slowly opened his eyes, the blue somehow still shining in the dark. He sighed happily. It was a love confession. 

“I would help but it'd probably land me another few months of rehab,” Touya muttered. You hummed in understanding, gently dragging your thumb over the scar under his eye. Touya sighed through his nose, content. 

“I can't believe he treats Sho like this. How can you look at his little face and not want to just squish him and give him candy?” you thought of Shoto's young face. He was too kind and gentle to be treated the way he was. Touya rubbed your back with his warm hand, nodding against his pillow. You pulled your hand from his face, tugging at his white hair.

You still hadn't decided if you liked him more with white or black hair. You liked his scars a little more healed and more moisturized. You never minded them but he looked healthier without them looking so dry. You didn't mind any of the new changes because there was a new sound he made. It was quiet and barely distinguishable.  A breath of air that slowly pulled in before pushing out his nose, a sigh that told you he felt complete. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek, teetering between the scarred and non-scarred skin. 

“When I was younger Sho, Natsuo, and Fuyumi would hide in my room when Mother and Father fought. I couldn't decide if I hated or loved it. I felt worth something when they did but it also felt a little suffocating. I like it now. I like them hiding here.” Touya whispered eyes closed. You realized a few months into your relationship, years back, that he communicated best in the dark with his eyes closed. He never had to face you but you were still right next to him. 

Touya leaned toward you, pressing his nose into your cheek. He tugged you closer, dragging your body through the sheets to press you into him. You relaxed against him, sighing into his warmth. 

Just as you were slipping into your slumber, your bedroom door squeaked open. You lifted your head, staring at the door. Shoto was standing in the doorway, the light from the lamp in the living room making him look like a shadow figure. He was cradling his pillow to his chest and standing like a toddler struggling to make the crib to big boy bed change. 

“Can I sleep in here with you two?” Shoto whispered, scared of letting his words be any louder. Touya lifted his head, looking back at Shoto. You didn't bother waiting for Touya's opinion, you already knew it. 

“Of course, you can stay in here.” You said, watching Shoto. He closed the door behind himself and walked to Touya's side of the bed. He threw his pillow onto the ground next to Touya's bedside table. Touya threw his hand away from you and gently grabbed onto Shoto's arm. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Touya asked, looking down at Shoto’s pillow. Shoto shrugged, looking over his shoulder at you to see if you would say something. 

“Getting ready to sleep,” Shoto said like it was as simple as that. Touya shook his head. He gripped onto your shoulder and leaned over the edge of the bed. He snatched up Shoto’s pillow and smacked it between yours and his. 

“I don't know who you think I am, but you are not sleeping on the floor,” Touya said, dropping his arms from you and scooting back towards the edge of the bed. You scooted back just enough to be more flush with the edge but not to fall off during the night. Shoto stood awkwardly by Touya, staring like he was in trouble or calculating. Touya looked over at him, gesturing for him to move. 

“Get in bed, damn. Can't even fuck my partner in peace.” Touya mumbled as Shoto finally decided to start moving. Shoto wiggled his way up in between you two, slipping under the blankets. You pushed the hair away from his forehead and hummed gently. 

“We weren't fucking, he's just talking. We would ‘partake in such activities’ while you're here.” you said repeating one of Shoto’s phrases. Shoto hummed and leaned into Touya. He pressed the top of his head to Touya's chest. Touya paused and glanced up at you for help. You gestured for him to hug Shoto. Touya gently rested his arm over Shoto’s pajama shirt, rubbing his shoulder with all the comforting abilities of a cardboard box. Shoto didn't seem to mind, humming and slowly drifting off towards sleep. You slipped your arm over Shoto's chest next to Touya's. Touya raised his eyes over to you and puckered his lips up. You leaned over Shoto, quickly pecking Touya’s lips. Touya hummed as you separated and laid back. You glanced down at Shoto to see his eyes plastered open. 

“Gross,” Shoto whispered. Touya scoffed and flicked Shoto’s nose. Shoto’s face scrunched up, his hand flying up to rub at his nose. Shoto sniffed as you pushed his hair from his forehead. He didn’t like it up, showcased too much of his scar. He was similar to Touya in that way. Touya kept long-sleeved shirts and hid most of his skin. The only time you ever saw his body without some covering was in bed for sleep or otherwise. You gently pressed your lips to Shoto’s scar, a soft kiss to push the nightmares away. 

“Goodnight Sho.” He hummed at you, snuggling closer to Touya. Touya groaned like he hated it but wrapped his arm around Shoto tighter. You rested your eyes, holding onto Shoto.

You thought of how you could make another person under your roof would work. The couch could only work for so long. Maybe you could find another apartment. Your brain was working a thousand miles per minute, so split your bedroom in half, though with a teen that wouldn’t work plus you enjoyed your privacy. Sure he stayed in the school dorms most of the time but he should feel comfortable when he comes home. It wouldn’t be fair to make him sleep on the couch on the weekends that’s just inconsiderate. You didn’t have an office which would’ve been beneficial. Maybe you could just get a pull-out couch like Touya mentioned before, it wouldn’t be perfect but it was better than sleeping in the same house as Enji.

You opened your eyes when a rather warm hand nudged your arm. Touya stared at you, a soft smile pulled at his lips. You hummed in question, trying to keep quiet so as to not wake up Shoto. Touya cupped your cheek, arm pulled over Shoto’s chest. He ran his thumb under your eye and knocked your cheek with his knuckle. Touya dropped his hand, intertwining it with yours over Shoto. You sighed and finally slipped into your dream with your mind at peace from Touya’s touch. 

[kkoga]

Masterlist ! next !

WC — 1.72k

Creds to @cafekitsune for the divider!!

Chapter 4 — Do I wanna know?

After successfully walking around for the past 27 minutes, you knew it was almost time.

''It's almost time.'' Sophia softly said, gently caressing your pinky with hers. You bit your lip.

Saying you wanted this to end was for some reason, a lie. You missed Sophia. Greatly. You had no idea why the two of you had drifted away all of a sudden, and now that you had seemingly filled the gap that separated the both of you, you had no intent to ever let go.

''Yeah, we should head back to the booth now. My friends are probably there.'' Sophia nodded, an unreadable expression on her face.

As the two of you walked back to the booth, a loud sound came from the speakers.

''Okay, okay, mic test mic test!'' Karina, a member of the school's band, was currently in the middle of the stage, along with the rest of her members.

''Alright, so today, we'll be closing the event off with a highly suggested song, Lover is a day by cuco!'' You noticed Sophia's eyes shine.

''Time's changed, we're different, but my mind still says redundant things, Can I not think?'' As Giselle sang into the mic, Sophia now had a somewhat bittersweet smile displayed on her pretty face.

'Will you love this part of me? My lover is, a day I can't forget'' It was weird. The both of you had just stopped. Neither of you moved from your position. The timer for your love lock had ring a long time ago.

''Furthering my distance from you. Realistically I can't leave now, But I'm okay as long as you, keep me from going crazy, keep me from going crazy'' You found Sophia's eyes. You've never really thought about how pretty her hazel brown eyes looked. Or how nice and glossy her lips were. You didn't think about how kissable her nose looked either.

As the lyrics kept going on, eventually, Sophia had faced you. She sent you a somewhat sad smile. Why was she sad? You didn't know. A tear welled up, her eyes now as glossy as her lips. You panicked. Why was she crying?

''Sophia?'' You pulled her in with a side hug, ''Are you okay? What's wrong?''

''No, no it's fine.'' Sophia pulled away, away from your comfort. Your eyes fell.

''I just— I have something to tell you, Y/n.'' Her tone was serious, but her voice cracked.

''Okay… I'm listening, Sophia.''

''You remember when you told me you had started dating Jay?'' You nodded as Sophia broke your eye contact.

''You were so happy. So excited. But you know how I felt?''

''Sophia…'' You thought she liked Jay. Did you unknowingly drive her away because you hadn't know she liked your ex?

''I felt angry. I felt sad, even though I had no right to. I can't control who you can and can't date. But a part of me just always wished it was me.'' Guilt clouded your mind as you clutched onto your shirt.

''You liked Jay? Sophia I'm so—'' She met your eyes once more, a tear falling down her cheek.

''No, Y/n.''

''Then why?''

''I liked you, you dumbass.''

You froze. Did Sophia just confess to you? Sophia let out a small giggle, not out of happiness, but out of sadness.

''I— I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold it in anymore.''

''Since when?''

It had been your idea, as most reckless things usually were.

"Come on, just this once," you had whispered, fingers wrapped around Sophia’s wrist, eyes alight with mischief. The classroom had felt like a cage, the teacher droning on about equations you didn’t care for, and Sophia—well, Sophia had been staring at the clock, her mind somewhere else.

"I don’t know, Y/n…" she had hesitated, chewing on her lip.

You had grinned. "Live a little, Laforteza."

And maybe that was what did it. Maybe that was why, after a long moment, she had let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, and let you pull her out the side door.

At first, it had felt freeing.

Skipping across the empty courtyard, giggling as if you’d just committed the world’s greatest heist, brushing shoulders as you whispered about nothing and everything.

Then, of course, the sky had decided to ruin it all.

Thunder rumbled above, and in the next instant, rain was coming down hard.

Sophia shrieked, instinctively grabbing your arm. "Are you kidding me?"

You, on the other hand, had just thrown your head back and laughed.

"You have the worst luck," she had groaned, trying and failing to shield herself with her hands.

"Our luck," you corrected, shaking your head like a wet dog and making her yelp as droplets flew her way.

Sophia had tried to glare at you, but it was difficult when she was completely drenched. Her white sneakers—once pristine—were now soaked through, darkened by the water.

"My shoes!" she gasped, lifting one foot in horror. "Y/n, my shoes—"

"Oh my God, they’re just shoes, Soph—"

"They were a birthday gift from my mom!" she huffed, stomping her foot—only for water to splash up onto both of you.

You had winced. "Okay, okay, I get it. My bad."

She was still pouting, hugging herself to keep warm, her hair dripping into her eyes. And then—just as a peace offering—you had sighed dramatically.

"Alright," you said, shaking your head with a lopsided grin. "One day, I’ll buy you new ones. Happy?"

Sophia had blinked, surprised by your sudden sincerity. "Promise?"

Without hesitation, you reached out, pinky extended. "Promise."

She had stared at your hand for a second before linking her pinky with yours, locking the deal in place.

And in that moment, something shifted.

The rain blurred everything around you—students peeking from classroom windows, teachers too distracted to notice you two standing in the middle of the storm. It felt like there was no one else, just you and her, drenched and shivering but laughing.

And for the first time, Sophia noticed you.

Not just as the reckless girl who pulled her into trouble. Not just as a friend who made skipping class feel like an adventure.

No—she noticed the way your eyes softened when you looked at her. The way you had made that promise without hesitation. The way your grin—so easy, so effortless—made her stomach flutter in a way that felt dangerous.

It was ridiculous, really. Falling for someone in the rain? That only happened in movies.

But standing there, with your pinkies still hooked and your laughter still ringing in her ears—

Sophia thought maybe, just maybe, she was in trouble.

And then—she smiled.

Not her usual polite, composed smile. Not the amused smirk she sometimes threw your way when you were being ridiculous. No, this was something softer, something quieter. Something that made your chest feel too small for your heart.

It was then that you realized: she looked beautiful in the rain.

And it was also then that you realized—

You could never have her.

Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way you sometimes imagined when your mind wandered a little too far, a little too deep.

Sophia was… well, she was Sophia. Good. Smart. Put-together. The kind of girl people dreamed about.

And you? You were just you.

The thought settled like a weight in your stomach, and as she shivered beside you, laughing through the downpour, you forced yourself to laugh with her— like nothing had changed.

''…really?''

''Really.''

''I'm sorry for confessing so suddenly Y/n but, it's been months since we've genuinely hung out. Months since I've started missing your touch, missing your voice, missing you.'' Sophia held your hands, clutching onto them like there was no tomorrow.

''I don't need an answer now, L/n. But I'll need one eventually.'' Sophia sent you a smile filled with pain, longing, and love.

By now, your school's band, Aespa, had started singing a different song.

''Do I wanna know? If this feelin' flows both ways?

Sad to see you go, Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay

Baby, we both know, That the nights were mainly made

For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day'' Karina effortlessly sang, the melody of her voice carried around the campus, thanks to all the speakers scattered about.

You couldn't bring yourself to answer. You desperately wanted to say yes— after all, you had only accepted Jay's confession on a whim, thinking it would maybe, somehow, in some way. help you move on from Sophia.

Sophia took your silence as a need for space. So she turned away, letting go of your hands in the process.

No, you were not about to lose the chance that perfectly presented itself to you— one you've unknowingly been waiting for a long time.

In a split second, you grabbed her hand, and pulled her closer to you.

''Do I wanna know? Too busy bein' yours to fall?'' Ninging clutched onto her mic, pouring her feelings into the song.

You held Sophia's cheek, staring at her with a gentle and hoping smile. As if asking for her permission. She sent you a smile, her way of saying yes.

''Sad to see you go, Ever thought of callin', darlin'?'' Winter sang, as she strung on her guitar cords with great precision.

You pulled Sophia in, with a gentle but needy kiss. Your lips moving against each other, trying to find a rhythm. Screams from your schoolmates could be heard all over, but neither of you noticed. You were in your own little bubble, as if it was only you and her in the world.

''Do I wanna know? Do you want me crawlin' back to you?'' Giselle finished, breathing heavy.

You both pulled away, in need of air. You stared at each other, speechless. You caressed her cheek, and looked at Sophia lovingly. She held your hand, and sent you back a stare as loving— if not more.

''I love you.'' You whispered— loud enough for her to hear, but not enough for others to hear. For they were words you wanted only Sophia to hear.

Tears once again, for the last time today, welled up. The gloss in her eyes enhancing her beauty. It was a sight to see.

''I love you too.'' She whispered back, as she leaned into your chest.

[zaundads]

Ultimate Zaundads Quote guides

All the important Zaundads Quotes

I was reading this post on iconic couple quotes and I realized that this is kinda hard for Zaundads considering they have like two scenes where they actually talk to each other. So it's hard not to do "well, just everything". Still, here are all the best ones, highlightes for my faves.

"I trusted you. And you betrayed me."

"I'll show you what you really are."

"I hated you, but you kept my respect."

"I hated you for what you'd done. But as time passed, so did my hate. "

"What I did to you… I've never forgiven myself."

"Greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive."

"What's the point if we can't raise an ankle biter or two?"

"We shared a vision, Vander. A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but the whole of the underground, united as one. The nation of Zaun. Do you even remember?"

"I had no choice." - "Perhaps. But now you do. Shimmer. We have the power. We can finally realize our dream,"

"Silco. Let her go. This is between you and me." - "You had your chance."

"You'd die for the cause, but you won't fight for one? "

"I knew you still had it in you."

"Ever wonder what it's like to drown? Story of opposites. There's peace in water. Like it's holdin' you, whisperin' in low tones to let it in. And every problem in the world will fade away. But then there's this thing… …in your head, and it's raging. Lighting every nerve with madness. To fight. To survive. And all the while, this question lingers before you: "Have you had enough?" It's funny. You could pass a lifetime without ever facing a choice like that. But it changes you forever. For that, I thank you… old friend."

"Oh, it all makes sense now, brother."

"A thousand times I've imagined this moment. Never like this. All we ever wanted."

"You hear that, Bozo 2? We made it. We're done. Oh, you're sadly mistaken. I'm Bozo 1."

"I've looked everywhere, but… it's clear you don't wanna be found. God, I'm shit at this. I'm sorry. When she died, I lost my head. I told myself what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it. But the dirt was on both our hands. Anyway, you know where to find me. Blisters and bedrock. V."

"If he found this, everything might have been different."

Bonus "indirect quotes"

"Benzo, stay back. […] Wait!" (Vander not wanting Benzo to attack Silco)

"We had nothing. You know what bore us through those times? Loyalty. Brothers and sisters back-to-back against whatever the world threw at us. Now I'm forced to share the air with parasites like you, who leach off their legacies."

"Tonight a harebrained scheme these two bozos cooked up to turn a dank crack in the earth into a thriving, healthy community became a reality."

"So there's a chance for us yet." (Silco to Vander in 2x07)

Merchant: "This is vile." Vander: "You'll learn to love it." (Vander about Zaunite tobacco)

"There's worse things than enforcers out there." (Vander about ?? Silco? Other Zaunite criminals? )

"Fear haunts us all, child." (Silco about ?? The dreams he has about Vander drowning him?)

"Betrayal, that pain that feels like it'll eat you from the inside out,"

"You two are gonna figure this Zaun thing out. I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock, covered in blisters. You're not allowed to fail anymore."

"Nearly forgot. I ran into an old friend of yours. He had some stories. You weren't always the peacekeeper, were you? - Yeah, well, you can't escape the past. Right?"" (Marcus and Vander about Silco)

"You told me a million times. [...] Blah, blah, blah [...]" (Jinx complaining about just how often Silco talks about Vander)

"Silco thinks he made Jinx, with all his rants and his hard-won lessons. "Excise your doubts, Jinx." "Be what they fear, Jinx." Like everything was the same as when Vander left him."

Did I forget any? What is your ultimate Silco and Vander quote?

Bonus:

Full dialogue of selected scenes under the cut:

Silco and Vander in 1x03: S: It's a little crude, I'll admit. The base violence necessary for change. But we both know topside won't listen to anything else. V: Even with your monsters, you won't win a war against Piltover. S: I don't have to. I just need to scare them. They won't dare set foot in the underground again. V: You'll get people killed. For what? Pride? S: For respect. Opportunity. Everything they've denied us. V: You had my respect. The Lanes' respect, but that… that was never enough for you. S: We shared a vision, Vander. A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but the whole of the underground, united as one. The nation of Zaun. Do you even remember? I trusted you. And you betrayed me. V: What I did to you… I've never forgiven myself. You were my brother. S: No, you still don't understand. Can you imagine what it's like? When your blood mixes with the filth and the river toxins eat through your nerves. Oh, I hated you for what you'd done. But as time passed, so did my hate. And I was left with an understanding. The only way to defeat a superior enemy is to stop at nothing. To become what they fear. I hated you, but you kept my respect. Until you made peace with them. Played lapdog after everything we suffered. V: I had no choice. S: Perhaps. But now you do. Shimmer. We have the power. We can finally realize our dream, brother. V: Look at what you've done. Benzo. These kids. In fighting topside, you'd sacrifice everything that we are. It's not the way. Can't you see that? kill me if you have to, but please spare the Lanes. S: You'd die for the cause, but you won't fight for one? V: I'm just… not that man anymore. S: I'll show you what you really are.

Jinx and Silco 1x05:

S: I almost drowned in these waters. J: You told me a million times. S:Vander wasn't the man you thought he was. J: Right, he was like a brother to you, and he turned his back and blah, blah, blah. Did I miss anything? S: I've got a new one for you. That day, I let a weak man die. And another was reborn. Betrayal, that pain that feels like it'll eat you from the inside out, can either break you or forge you into something greater. You need to let Powder die. So the fear of pain will no longer control you. You're strong now. Just like you were always meant to be. Jinx is perfect.

Silco vs Chembarons 1x07: Have you forgotten where we came from? The mines they had us in? Air so thick it clogged your throat. Stuck in your eyes. But I pulled you all up from the depths. Offered you a taste of topside. And fresh air. I gave you life. Purpose. But you've grown fat and complacent. Too much time in the sun. We came from a world where there was never enough to go around, Finn. That is why we fight. Do you remember?

Silco vs Finn 2x09: S: I'm busy. F: When you took Vander out of play, I thought, "Now here's a man who understands what it takes to run an enterprise." The attitude, the instinct, the eye. The whole package, you were. Always two steps ahead. But time's lapped you, old man. S: You're with him, are you? F: You screwed up, Silco. S: You're too young to remember what the undercity was before it became an "enterprise".We had nothing. You know what bore us through those times? Loyalty. Brothers and sisters back-to-back against whatever the world threw at us. Now I'm forced to share the air with parasites like you, who leach off their legacies. F: Today's the day you die, Silco. S: That's a risk I've known all my life. But I still believe in loyalty.

Silco at the Vander statue: S: A thousand times I've imagined this moment. Never like this. All we ever wanted. The boy didn't even haggle. And what do I lose but problems? Oh, it all makes sense now, brother. Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?