#what does that mean? i don't know man i don't know.

[apple-onigiri]

a distillation of adolescent rage within bonnie

as promised, here's a bit of an analysis of bonnie, specifically of how much their character is defined and fueled by anger, where that anger is coming from, and how much exactly of it is genuine and how much is there just to feel a bit more safe and a bit less confused. because man, bonnie is so well-written, it needs to be talked about more, and this aspect of them is especially handled really well

i also love them deeply, there's that. okay let's go team

to establish the facts: bonnie being angry is really the first thing we learn about them, and what siffrin's first association with them is at the point where we meet the party. it's even in their first memory's description. see? right there.

and i mean, they have a full right to be, don't they? the country is in a crisis. and while they've grown close to the rest of the party, the reason they're traveling with them in the first place is because they had to run away from their town, which they probably don't remember ever leaving beforehand, and leave their sister behind because she got frozen in time.

this is some scary stuff, especially for a kid, whose peace of mind relies on stability and familiarity. any turmoil introduced into even something as small as a daily routine can seriously mess them up, much less a separation from their one trusted guardian and a displacement of such a degree. i shudder to think what their thought process was when they were running from the curse before siffrin spotted them and the party took them in - they must've been so scared. i can't think about that too long or i feel like crying tho let's move on ok

bonnie is obviously mad at the king. they're so angry. well, who wouldn't be? he's the cause of all this. they want vengeance, they want justice, they want to help take him down! and doing only things they're limited to by the adults in the group feels like it's not enough.

this is a bit of a sidenote but this conversation hints at just how anxious bonnie's attachment style is. we know nille ran away with them from home and are given not much detail besides that, if only because bonnie was tiny and doesn't remember much of that, but both the fact that you don't have to remember something for it to shape the way you are and the fact that nille is probably pretty busy keeping both herself and her little sibling alive may be the reasons for bonnie's fear of abandonment and need to be useful

bonnie's entire friendquest stems from them needing to feel like they're contributing more, that's why they ask siffrin to teach them how to fight. and they ask siffrin specifically because they, despite their strained relationship at the moment, hold him in high regard and trust him to say if something is actually off-limits because, in their mind, he doesn't baby them needlessly.

that's rare for a kid, to not be overly coddled.

ok, back on track from the attachment style tangent, rise rise rise where is your rage back on

bonnie is even more mad at the king when they finally are facing him. and he's crying and despairing, and having the gall to act all pathetic. and bonnie can't take that. they have been so brave, keeping it together this entire time, and this guy, the cause of all this despair, dares to act like that? what gives him the right?

kids often default to expressing simpler emotions they can fully process and understand when an unexpected feeling corners them or when their defense system kicks in and deems an emotion too harmful yo fully experience; they round up to the closest emotion they can and go with that. bonnie is, of course, angry, but they're also full of fear about everything that's happening that's getting tuned out for their own self-preservation, and they feel a lot of indignation and confusion about this adult that doesn't even have the decency to have his shit together to the same degree bonnie does. bonnie doesn't understand him or why he did what he did, and it feels unfair that they were staying strong and the king can just fall apart like that. but anger is easier, so it all gets rounded to that.

recognizing the layers of bonnie's emotions and how one is caused by another is key to understanding them as a character. but honestly, the king isn't the strongest example we've got to show this, however - siffrin is a better one.

we're introduced to bonnie with them acting distant towards siffrin. only in act 1 are we able to experience what the natural dynamic between those two has been ever since siffrin lost their eye, and it's genuinely a little heartbreaking. it's a lot of siffrin being awkward and jumpy, unsure how to approach bonnie, and bonnie being huffy and disconnected, not really playing into the conversation.

things are tense and neither of them is equipped to diffuse the situation. it's so, so sad because context clues tell us they used to be close - siffrin was the first one to call bonnie "bonbon" but he doesn't do that anymore, bonnie avoids even just eye contact with him, and the way they're acting is clearly something siffrin believes to be a sign of bonnie decidedly not liking them anymore.

(this "being hated" is a surprise tool that will help us later)

while we don't know why things are the way they are at first, we later learn that it's because siffrin doesn't see getting hurt while protecting bonnie as a big deal. and bonnie is upset that he got really, really seriously hurt to the point of losing an eye and he's just waving it off. there's a few things at hand here that go into bonnie's seemingly simple reaction.

the issue here largely comes from siffrin's avoidance of talking about their internal state. because they waved things off, not wanting to talk about it, bonnie didn't have the chance to talk things through either, and process them healthily. the guilt, fear and sadness stemming from someone you care about getting hurt because they kept you safe all go unaddressed.

additionally, there's a cognitive distortion that kids often suffer from where they think everything happening is their fault, even when they were in no way involved in causing it, may play a part here. because their world is just so small, if kids can't pin the blame on something else (since it may be something they're not aware of or too vague), it doesn't compute, so they immediately place the blame on themselves.

there's of course an additional doom spiral of bonnie acting closed off, siffrin taking it as them hating him, and bonnie taking that as siffrin drifting away, and the cycle perpetuating because no one in the party wants to budge into this. everyone is allergic to communication.

the crux of it is, bonnie isn't really angry at siffrin, not in the way he is at the king. it's just easier for their preteen brain to categorize what they're feeling as anger, as a defense mechanism, and point those emotions outwards instead of keeping them inside. it's easier to lash out than regurgitate those feelings and let them eat away at them. so they act out, and scream, and call siffrin stupid.

and we have one than one example of bonnie lashing out with anger because that's the easiest option. it's certainly easier than figuring out what emotions they're exactly feeling and dealing with them without admitting they're a kid that doesn't understand how to do it alone.

among them is of course the way they act when they overhear the others talking about what to do if anyone dies, and the connected rotten adults event. after that safe room, bonnie is remarkably closed off, and if you go to the poem room, they read the book on funerary rites and then pointedly pretend to not do so when asked what they're doing.

it's an incredibly exemplary interaction, i think. because they're surprised, we get an almost step by step for their thought process, and it goes a bit like this:

i didn't mean for you to see me look at this and i want you to not know about it -> stop talking like you know what i was doing because i don't want you to know about it -> i want you to think it's nothing important so that you're not more interested -> i'll tell you i'm okay because that may make you think you don't need to look -> it's not working, so i'm going to tell you directly to stop looking at what i'm doing, or at me, because, again, i don't want you to know i'm in distress -> i'm feeling a lot of things so i need to expel them in some way, "shut up" -> this is isn't working, i need to deflect and give you something else to focus on

this avoidance and giving over the reins to anger instead of processing anything is something bonnie resorts to a lot when overloaded by a lot of different emotions they can't deal with

in bonnie's mind, talking about it is bad because it's distressing, and scary, and makes them think of awful scenarios they don't want to come true, and not talking about it means not feeling all that, and that's surely better. there's also that defense mechanism at work, the externalizing of negative emotions and pointing them outward instead of letting them hurt the inside. and it kicks in on full throttle when siffrin tries to comfort bonnie.

anyone who's been in an adolescent age in their life can recognize this emotion. wanting someone to just go away, leave you alone, stop talking about something or doing something. to bonnie, if you don't talk about something, it's not real, and siffrin comforting them a. anchors the cause of their state in reality, b. confirms they don't have everything together because they needed comforting in the first place. and that's no good! so they act out. it's like a deimatic behavior, a tactic to scare off something that you would otherwise have no choice but to give in to. they're not unlike a cat hissing and puffing up to seem bigger. you know those spicy kitten videos where they just do firecracker noises at a human hand closing in on them? yeah.

and it works!! to an inordinate degree because the object of it was siffrin who a. is extremely prone to believing people hate him, b. entered a time loop because he cares so much about these people and staying with them. told you that surprise tool would come back. in bonnie's defense, people usually don't rewind time when you do that, and just back off until your emotional state is calm enough that you can talk without feeling like imploding.

it's alright, siffrin just needs enough time to assemble their own thoughts before approaching bonnie again. and when he does, we see how to overcome the obstacle of an adolescent attempting to avoid a conversation concerning unpleasant feelings.

siffrin just gives bonnie space to experience those big feelings safely and explains calmly why something happened in the first place. when they try to avoid a conversation, he just gives them time to think about it instead of giving them any sort of pep-talk, and they talk it out calmly, and make a promise to reassure bonnie that they're both gonna keep each other safe. siffrin genuinely does a remarkable joke here. no one does it better than them nothing awful will ever happen. fans of love and friendship don't think too hard about end of act 3

to drive the point home, we get a bit of an awful reprise of bonnie lashing out as a self-defense tactic in act 5 because they're overwhelmed by just how upset siffrin made them by risking getting hurt on purpose just so they could be stronger. they do the same thing as before, resorting to throwing out hurtful words to scare off the source of all those intersecting negative feelings, and, since they can now, run away.

it needs to be understood that bonnie is not a kid pointlessly angry at nothing in particular and everything around them. their anger is in direct response to too many things happening at once and them having trouble processing all of it, and instead resorting to simplifying their emotions into one very primal one, and expelling it outwards in a form of them lashing out. they're going through an already confusing time of changes you're forced to go through during your adolescence - and a national curse-related crisis is not helping. when given the tools and space to process in an environment they feel is safe, they're not nearly as wrathful.

i guess the tl;dr is this - while they have a bit of a fiery personality and some of their rage is fully justified, bonnie for the most part acts out in anger because it feels like it's keeping them safe and allowing them to not bottle in things that are too confusing to them; it's already a scary world out there for a preteen entering the world of more complex emotions, and being far away from your sister and mid-way through a national crisis is making it even worse.

it might be a bit less noticeable because they spend most of the game upset at siffrin, so we don't see a lot of their sweeter side in one-on-one conversations as much, but honestly, they're such a sweet kid. so cute too, they're extremely endearing. it's no wonder the party is hell-bent on protecting them no matter what.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Don't Be Sorry

rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

You show up to Eddie's house looking for a good time and when you realize that that's not what you want, Eddie is nothing but a sweetheart about it.

cw: MDNI (18+) nipple play

You have no idea why you’re standing on Eddie Munson’s doorstep. You know it’s silly since his invitation really didn’t mean anything. He was just trying to be polite by flirting with you and giving you his number, right? Taking you home in his very expensive car was just generosity. Just something to make him look good in front of the paparazzi. Sure, he might have invited you over and had even given you his address along with that phone number, but this is what he does. To him, you’re sure that you’re just a hookup, but you’re willing to be whatever he wants you to be. 

The door opens and there he is, no shirt, rubbing sleep out of his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon. You think he’s going to send you away but a bright smile appears on his face as he opens the door wider. He ushers you inside and you have to stop to take in the place. Your entire apartment could fit into the foyer alone. 

While you’re looking around at the place, Eddie is staring at nothing but you. You’re at his house and he doesn’t even care that you showed up unannounced. He’s just happy that you’re here. He’s been trying to get himself to call you since you changed numbers the other night but every time the phone rings, he chickens out and hangs up. 

This has never happened to Eddie before. He’s usually so confident, but there’s something about you that makes him feel like his shy teenage self again. He’s been out with more women than he can count, models, singers, actresses, women who you have definitely heard of, so why are you the one who makes him nervous? 

He thinks it’s because for once, he has no idea who he’s with. He didn’t know who you were prior to your meeting and that scares him. He tried to google you, but all that came up was your social media that he couldn’t get himself to follow. He didn’t want to come off as obsessed even though he very much is. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you since he watched you walk into your apartment building. You’ve taken up every inch of his brain and he doesn’t ever want you to leave.

The house is decorated so elegantly that you’re wondering if he hired someone or he’s just that good at it. Neither would surprise you, to be honest. 

“Can I offer you something to drink? I think I’ve got some wine in the cellar.” Cellar? That’s only something you’ve seen on TV so the fact that you know someone who has one is a little mind boggling. This man lives a life you have only dreamed about. 

“Oh, no thank you,” you shake your head as he leads you into the living room, inviting you to sit on the couch with him. You do so hesitantly, keeping space between the two of you, but Eddie is quick to close it, his bare thigh pressed to yours. 

Neither of you seem to care that he’s only in his underwear, but if you’re lucky, he won’t be wearing them for very long. You turn to face him, picking up a lock of his hair and twirl it around your finger as you lean in closer. He’s quick to follow and he leans in but stops when your faces are only inches apart. 

“I can believe you’re here,” he smiles. “I was too nervous to call.” 

“You get on stage in front of thousands of people every night and I make you nervous?” You ask, your lips so close to his. 

“Incredibly,” he replies, closing the space as his lips slot between yours. Your hands slide into his hair as his move up your dress, resting on your thighs. You shamelessly slip your tongue into his mouth as he pulls you into his lap, straddling his waist. 

His hands move further up your dress and in a flash, it's in a pile on the floor and now you’re on top of him in just your underwear. He unhooks your bra with ease and you can’t help but think about how quickly it’s all progressing. But all your thoughts leave when he starts kissing down your neck, sucking on the skin as you lean your head back, letting him go for your chest. 

Eddie can’t believe this is happening. He’s got the prettiest girl on his lap and your moans are only making him harder, especially when you begin grinding against him. 

He slides off your bra and lets it fall to the floor, taking in your naked upper half. Drool pools in his mouth as he thinks about how badly he wants to take his hard nipples into your mouth. And he does exactly that, feeling himself getting even more hard as you continue to grind against him, his lips wrapping around your nipple as the prettiest moan falls from your lips. 

You’re perfect, he thinks, as he continues to lick and suck, deciding that he could do this all day, loving the way you taste mixed with the pretty sounds that are falling from your lips. He’s done this with more women than he could count, but this, this feels different. 

“Oh my god,” you whine as he bites down, your nails digging into his scalp and he moans against you, doing it again and again until you throw your head back, an orgasm coursing through you as another loud moan falls from your lips. God, you don’t even know how badly he wants you to moan his name. 

He gives one more bite as he slides his hands into your panties, getting a handful of your ass as he tries to slide them down but as good as this feels, you don’t feel comfortable continuing. You’re out of practice and not sure how it would all go. Maybe in time you’d be able to work up the courage to sleep with him, but not today. 

“Stop,” you tell him and he immediately backs off, his hands sliding out of your panties at record speed. Eddie pulls back to look at you with a panicked look on his face. 

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks and he starts to panic even more when he sees tears streaming down your face and he’s quick to wipe them away. You feel horrible letting him think that he’s the reason why you put the whole thing to a stop so you know you have to set the record straight. 

“No, no,” you shake your head. “You did everything right. I-I’m just not ready. I’m sorry.” You look so hurt and he hopes that you don’t think you’re disappointing him because you’re not. He doesn’t mind at all that you’ve cut it short. He just wants to spend time with you.

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head before pulling you into a kiss. “We can go upstairs and cuddle. I actually just got some sheets.” All of the other guys you’d slept with had been so horrible when you’d stop them from proceeding. It’s not surprising that Eddie is nothing but sweet about the whole thing. 

He can tell you feel bad about denying him so he’s quick to inform you that he doesn’t care what you do, just as long as you do it together. And if you want to leave, that’s perfectly fine too. He just wants you to be comfortable and would hate crossing the boundaries that you’ve very clearly set. 

He helps you put on your dress since you seem to feel exposed then he leads you up the stairs to his massive bedroom that’s just as tidy as the rest of the house you’ve seen. He has you sit on the bed while he pulls out a t-shirt that’s been freshly washed and it still smells like the dryer sheets he uses. 

You let Eddie help you put it on and he puts on one of his other shirts before the two of you cuddle in the center of the bed, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. You watch TV as he orders more food than the two of you could ever need. 

Sitting there with him as you pile plates high with various food items, you decide that there is no place you’d rather be. Eddie’s quickly becoming the sweetest man you’ve ever met and clearly all of the articles have been so wrong about him. You know you’ve only hung out with him twice, but it’s clear that everyone was totally wrong about him. 

This is something you could get used to, a pretty man and anything and everything you could ever ask for. It’s a win-win in your eyes and there’s no way you could ever turn back knowing what he’s willing to give you. You could see yourself falling in love with him and when he bats those brown eyes at you, you’re beginning to think that you already are.

[bumblingbabooshka]

I love Vulcans we need to get more into the emotional lives of Vulcans without imposing Human standards onto them. "The way you feel is wrong/repressive because it's not the way it's "supposed" to be from my perspective as an alien called Human" is boring to me especially when it's treated as correct. I wanna know how the aliens feel about their alien way of life. Vulcans are so interesting to me when written AS aliens and not as analogous to repressed Humans. I think about Tuvok's description of attachment to his family and how that isn't the emotion 'love' but something else, something that he feels no shame about having and sees as normal, as naturally Vulcan and I love it and I love it because there aren't any Humans there to go "Um actually checkmate you Vulcan s.o.b - that's emotion!" and he isn't being influenced by anything. These are his authentic thoughts. He sees his children, his family, as part of him. They were at times illogical, incomprehensible, and it was extremely rewarding to be in their lives. He thinks about them every day. They were well behaved. As teens they were contemptuous of authority and convinced of their own superiority. His youngest son loved one 200 verse story so he sang it to him. He'd rather die than betray his wife even in spirit. He's incomplete without them. It's obvious through Tuvok that Vulcan life is not inherently devoid of pleasure, comfort, or love and thus Human life (I think) should not be portrayed as inherently having something greater, deeper, more meaningful. I'm not talking here of society but of...emotional life. Interiority. There's this sense that all Vulcans are the same and miserable for it. That they hold themselves back and are indistinguishable and antagonistic to the self, repressed and wrong. That to be Vulcan is to suffer endlessly and Humans are all about Freedom Man and I don't know, I like that Tuvok's existence sort of challenges this as much as I acknowledge that Vulcan society is in fact repressive and unwelcoming to those who don't fit neatly into it. I'm not saying Vulcan society is a utopia, I'm questioning the perception of Vulcan emotional control - that way of life - as being inherently bad, devoid, or lacking. That Vulcans walk around with 'empty cups' and are only deluding themselves that to be that way is good. If only, Humanity moans, they could taste how delicious life could be! Tuvok is an average Vulcan. He does not struggle with emotion, he is not mixed species, he was not raised atypically, and yet he has a family he cares about and a wife he's loyal to and friends he values and none of these things seem to be Un-Vulcan to him. If Vulcan life was truly devoid of love and care, Tuvok wouldn't think of his family. They're not here, so why bother? When his pon farr came, he'd be trying to find the most compatible mate rather than risking his life by trying to meditate through it out of loyalty to T'Pel. T'Pel would also have just given Tuvok up for dead instead of waiting and his children wouldn't have traveled all the way to the most holy temple on the planet to say prayers for his safe return. I think these things are interesting and I wish they'd been explored more. The fact that caring about your family, caring about your friends, is not Un-Vulcan. The fact that Tuvok at no point longs for Humanity, sees nothing better or of interest to him in it. (Even in his teenage rebellion he only says he's sorry he was born Vulcan which reads less as Vulcan v Human and more like 'I hate this goddamn family' ykwim?). I want to know more about how Vulcans interact with each other, how they care for one another, what it means and what it's like to be Vulcan in more of an everyday way rather than what it means to be Vulcan vs Human.

[bitchface24-7]

Could I request smut headcanons for Arcane Viktor, Jayce, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko reacting to his female s/o accidentally turning him on please?

HEADCANON - ACCIDENTALLY TURNING THEM ON

ft. Viktor, Jayce, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko

synopsis: you didn't mean to. Honestly! You weren't doing anything special, anything intentionally, it just… kind of happened? It’s not your fault your boys are obsessed with you!

warnings: accidental teasing, purposeful teasing, banter, semi-public sex, fingering, oral (m/f receiving), dry humping, thigh/ass kink, wearing his clothes, praise, degradation, cumming in pants, squirting, marking, smoking, argument (not between R or the boys, some random dude), voice kink, Grammarly as my beta

genre: m/f

p.s. Thanks for being the first request for headcanons! A few of these characters I haven't written for before so I hope I get their characterization down. Love ya! Xoxo

VIKTOR

He's never had the biggest libido. Being so focused on his work he forgets basic necessities. Eating, sleeping, the whole shebang.

But when he does remember… oh boy you're in for a wild ride.

Literally.

You don't know what the hell happened. All you know is you went to the lab to drop off a packed lunch for Viktor. You're certain he hasn't eaten breakfast so he must be starving, even if he himself hasn't clocked it yet.

You wore a simple sun dress in your favourite colour, highlighting your beauty. Your hair was up and out of the way, and you can't t remember if you have any makeup on or not. Simple flats dawn your feet. You're comfortable.

You're insanely beautiful to Viktor.

He didn't hear you enter the lab, but he saw the lunch pail lightly drop down onto his desk, and when he lifted his gaze, all he saw was your cleavage.

Soft skin he's intimately familiar with. Skin that bruises wonderfully and that makes you gasp in a way that makes Viktor's ears warm.

He sees your mouth moving, but doesn't hear anything coming out of it. Oh your lips look so lush. So soft and biteable. Glossy too. He wonders if they taste like your favourite fruit.

Before he knows it, there's a tight feeling in his pants and his cock aches against the restricting fabric.

One thing led to another and here you are; spread out across his desk. Your panties in his pocket as he eats you out viciously. The tip of his nose, his lips, and his chin covered in your essence.

You gasp and moan at the familiar sensations. God. You two may not have a crazy sex life, but it is always mind-blowing.

You can see one of Viktor’s arms moving up and down desperately as he eats you out, he's jerking himself off as he devours you.

That realization is what sends you over the edge as you cum on Viktor’s tongue. Your thighs clench against his beautiful face and he moans brokenely into your sex. A slight whimper escapes him when he's done.

You're left panting on the desk as Viktor casually states, “Thank you for the meal. I greatly appreciated it.” as he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

You laugh incredulously as he takes the lunch pail off the desk to see what you brought him.

What the fuck just happened?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

JAYCE

Jayce is a simple man. Everything about you is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. He's surprised he has enough blood in his body to keep him functioning with the amount of times you've made him hard.

This morning is no different.

Jayce wakes up alone in bed and pouts at the cold spot you left behind. There's a whisper of warmth, indicating you got up maybe ten minutes ago.

He drags his feet to the kitchen, his slippers sliding against the floor as he yawns and scratches his bare stomach.

The yawn gets caught in his throat when he sees you humming lightly in the kitchen, casually making two coffees to start your day.

Your hair is a bit messy, but that doesn't bother Jayce. It’s what your wearing that gets him.

Jayce runs hot. He always has. So when it’s time to go to bed, he takes his pyjamas off and sleeps in boxers. When he wakes up he puts the pants back on, but he was wondering where the shirt was.

It’s on you. It’s way too big, coming down to about mid-thigh on you. It’s a rich red colour with some gold embroidery. On the chest pocket is the symbol of House Talis.

You need something on the top shelf and get on your tip toes to get it as you reach up, and with that, Jayce sees the entirety of your thighs and your ass. Your underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Jayce feels as if he got punched in the gut as all the blood in his body rushes to his dick.

He comes up behind you quietly and puts a hand on your hip, the other reaching up to grab the other mug for you. Jayce likes putting your favourite cups too high up so you have to ask for his help, it's working in his favour at the moment.

“Jayce!” you gasp, a smile painting your pretty face. He can't help but grin back at you and kiss your cheek as he places the cup down on the countertop.

You tilt your head to the side to give Jayce more room, he takes it gladly. Kissing down your neck, nipping as he goes. You moan quietly.

Your moans amp up when you feel his massive hard on rubbing against your ass incessantly, “Really?! Jayce!”

He moans out a laugh, “Don’t judge me! I can't help it, you're so beautiful.”

You turn around and kiss him properly, a hand cupping his erection, he whines into the kiss.

Your coffee is forgotten as he pins you down onto the countertop, his pyjama pants lowered just enough to release his cock.

He ruts agaisnt your clothed pussy, the underwear giving great friction for the two of you.

You can't help but moan at the feeling. Your panties are ruined with your slick and Jayce's precum. The tip of his cock bumps against your clit deliciously, and his length keeps the pleasure going.

Before you know it you're cumming, soaking your underwear, and Jayce follows suit, ruining your underwear even further.

Your thighs and ass have fingerprint-shaped bruises. They'll be there for the next few weeks.

Guess you'll have to start wearing Jayce's clothes more often…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

STEB

Steb is a sweetheart. He's very kind and caring, if a bit quiet. He doesn't speak often, but his facial expressions and body language give him away easily.

So imagine his surprise when he wakes up with a raging hard on and you none the wiser as you continue to drift off in dream land.

His face heats up in mortification as he tries to pry you away from him. Gently detangling your bodies, in doing this, the nightgown you wear to bed has shifted as well.

Your breasts damn near spill out— wait you moved again your tits are out. A clear shot of your soft breasts and lightly pebbled nipples is all Steb can focus on. Then his gaze shifts against his will.

His eyes trail your waist, your barely covered hips and there she is. Your pussy is out and playfully saying high. Your pubes are a bit bushier than normal due to the amount of tossing and turning you do.

God you're displayed like a delicious feast and Steb wants to sink his teeth into you.

But you're sleeping, and you work long hours. He doesn't want to bother you.

So he uses your image to jerk off.

He's a bit clumsy, and he tries his best to not make noise. He's unsuccessful.

Pants, moans, and whines escape the pretty fish boy. He gets loud enough that you wake up, and what a sight he is!

Face flushed, lower lip bitten in desperation, a large hand pumping his cock, fingers deftly playing with the ridges on his shaft.

You moan lightly at the sight and Steb freezes. “Don’t stop on my account darling. I was just starting to enjoy the show.”

Steb’s face erupts into a bright red as a shuddery moan escapes him. You bite your lip at the sound, Steb very rarely speaks, so hearing his voice all debauched has made your pussy dripping wet.

You open your legs wide and start to play with your pussy, dragging a finger through your wetness, three fingers rubbing casually rubbing your clit.

A look of astonishment is what you get from Steb, especially when you take his free hand and bring it to your breast, squeezing it harshly. Steb’s motions speed up, as do yours. Seeing him so ruined at the mere sight of you is ramping up your ego you're not going to lie.

Eventually, the two of you cum, it happens when the two of you kiss sweetly enough. Steb’s panting in exhaustion as you just lay him on your chest, tracing his features with your fingertips.

“… Thank you.” Steb says quietly, his voice smooth and sweet. You smile at your handsome boy, “No problem sweetheart. Now, shall we go back to sleep for a bit? Your shift starts in a few hours.”

Steb groans and buries his face deeper into your chest and you can't help but laugh at him.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

VANDER

You've been helping Vander out at the Last Drop ever since you were a teen and he was in his twenties.

You helped look after the kids, and helped count inventory. Vander is the face of the bar, both as the bartender and as the owner.

Now the kids are teens themselves, you're in your late twenties and Vander is pushing early forties. The eleven-year age gap now not as obvious as it once was.

You've always kind of had a crush on him. He's gorgeous, kind, caring, and has this gentle dominance about him. He's never scared you— he's the one you go to when you're scared.

Especially now that you bartend with the man. “You're family” he said, “The kids don't need an eye on them 24/7 now, let them grow a bit on their own. But I still need you. Come bartend with me. I'll teach you all the tricks.”

Now, how could you say no to that?

You couldn’t, so now you’re a well known face at the Last Drop

A very well known face

A very pretty one

But there’s an unsaid rule, You’re Vander’s Girl. No if’s, ands, or buts.

Some patrons don’t understand that.

One in particular is making you want to commit murder. He’s rude, touchy, and disgusting to look at.

At one point when you turned around to grab a bottle of booze, the son of a bitch slapped your ass, in retaliation, you swung around and smashed said bottle of booze into his face.

He fell flat on his back, glass stuck in his face as it bled profusely. Other patrons of the bar became silent. A pin drop could be heard in the once lively bar.

“You Bitch!” The man gargles out, oops looks like you broke his jaw. You sneer down at him, “You’re lucky I’m the one who hurt you, instead of Vander.”

“The ladies right. Now get the hell out of my bar.” Vander states as he enters the bar from the back room, wiping his hands with a towel, before tossing it onto his shoulder.

The hurt man stumbles up and leaves, his tail between his legs. Your anger hasn’t subsided, as you pant in frustration. You want to rip your hair out, destroy the bottles of liquor lining the wall. Stab someone. Anything to get this anger out.

Vander clears his throat, “Benzo, you mind watching the bar for a bit? Gotta calm the Little Miss down.”

Benzo just nods silently as Vander takes your hand and drags you to the back of the bar, into the stock room. There’s a multitude of bottles, barrels, cold fridges, and a table with a few chairs, so that you can count inventory comfortably.

Vander sits you down before sitting next to you. There’s a small silence between the two of you, but it’s a comfortable one.

“I’m proud of you.” At that statement, your head whips around to look at the handsome man. “What?”

“I’m proud of you. A decade ago you would’ve let it slide, not this time. You stood up for yourself. I’m proud of you.”

You snicker, “A decade ago I was seventeen and worried about how others thought of me. Not anymore. Who gives a shit if some people don’t like me? I can’t please everyone.”

“I forget how young you are sometimes. The Lanes… they change you. They change everyone.”

A small smile erupts across your face, you hand coming to rest on top of one of Vanders. God damn his hand is so much bigger than yours.

“You’re young too you know? You’re only thirty-eight. Oh the horror, you’re almost forty!” You tease, a giggle in your voice. Vander rolls his eyes, “I was eleven when you were born.”

“Now I’m a grown woman.”

There’s a silence between you two again, but this time it’s not as comfortable. There’s tension there. Undeniable tension.

Vander clears his throat after some time, “So, you feeling better? Not gonna kill one of my patrons?”

You purse your lips, “Honestly. No. I’m still angry, and I know if I go out to bartend again without dealing with it, I probably will snap, and at someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

With that, you stand up and place yourself in Vander’s lap. The older man gasps at your audacity. You smirk, “One thing that’s always helped me calm down is a good orgasm.”

Vander’s hands go to your hips, they completely encompass them. “I can’t Lass. You’re… you’re too young.”

“I’m twenty seven. Like I said before, I’m a grown woman.”

“I’ve known you since you were a teen.”

“And I’ve wanted to fuck you since then. Be happy I’m seducing you now rather than when I was a teen.”

Vander says your name sharply when you start to rub yourself in his lap, “I know you want this too Vander. I see how you look at me. At my ass when I bend over, at my tits when I lean against the bar, at my lips when I bite them. I see how much you want me, and the guilt that follows.”

A groan escapes him, “We shouldn’t… it’s wrong.”

“Then why does it feel so good?”

Vander smashes his lips against yours and you moan at the feeling, the very large bulge rubbing against your pussy isn’t helping.

You both pull apart from the kiss, panting as you stare at one another, “We can’t fuck here. I need time to prep you. My fingers good enough for now lovely?” Vander asks, eyes dark with want. You nod desperately as you lick your lips, god you taste just like him now. His pipe, his favourite whisky, and mint from when he brushed his teeth. Its addicting.

Vander pushes your pants and panties down easily, your bare pussy soaking Vander's pants. His fingers are huge, god they're gonna feel so good fucking your pussy.

And they do. They're massive. Curling against your g-spot effortlessly. They even bump lightly into your cervix which sends a zing of pleasure down your spine.

You have to cover your mouth with your hand so as to not let Benzo or he patrons know what’s going on.

Before you know it, you're cumming aggressively. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you squirt. A squeal escaping your parted lips.

Vander hushes you as he prolongs your pleasure, almost pushing to overstimulation.

A sweet kiss is places onto your temple as Vander gets you presentable again. He pops his fingers into hai mouth and you groan in embarrassment.

“What? You taste as sweet as you look.”

A shy smile is what he gets in return, “What about you?”

Vander smirks at you, “I'll get my fill when the bar closes. That way you won't have to hold back your pretty moans.”

The large man then leaves the storage room and you're left there panting in satisfaction. You can't wait for the bar to close.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

SILCO

You and Silco have a give-and-take relationship. It’s worked well so far.

As a madame of a brothel, Silco ensures security is at your house— both for your girls and yourself. In return, you gift Silco multiple things.

The finest cigars, bourbon, and the greatest gift of all.

Yourself.

You're Silco’. No-one questions you. Not when you want into his office, not when you go places others are prohibited, not when you input your opinion on one of Silco’s plans.

It's especially apparent as Silco casually smokes his cigar as you enter his office in a blazing glory. All you get to your entrance is a quirked eyebrow.

“Where’s Allistar?” You snarl, your eyes blazing and hands clenched at your side. Silco sighs out a ring of smoke, “He’s guarding the club patrons.”

You roll your eyes and push your tongue into your cheek, “Get him up here. He hurt one of my girl and decided not to pay.”

All Silco does is nod once, calling Sevika over and whispers something to her. She looks at her boss, at you, and then silently leaves the office. In no time, the little weasel is inside The Eye of Zaun’s office, trembling.

Before he can do anything, you twirl one of your knives from their holster on your thigh and slash across his face; a nice clean cut from a corner of his forehead, across an eye, his lips, and to the opposite corner of his jaw.

A shout of pain is all that's heard in the silent office as you snarl, “That’s for hurting one of my girls! I'll make you hurt a lot more if you don't pay me my owed money.”

He scoffs at you, and you see red. In a flash, you've got him on his back, you've slammed your foot into his crotch, and you lean over, the tip of your knife digging into his throat.

His cries have turned into whimpers, you're quite certain you've popped one of his balls. Oh well.

He shakily pulls out a pouch of coins and hands them to you, “Thank you darling.” you say, your words a smooth purr.

Allistar just nods quietly before looking at Silco, who just sighs and states, “You may go now.”

He runs as fast as he can out the door. It's more like a frantic limp but you get the idea. The door slams behind the rat and the office is plunged into silence again.

You’re cleaning your blade casually before Silco calls your name. You look up and smirk at the sight. Silco looks hungry. His one blue eye darkened, his pupil overtaking his iris. His jaw is clenched and his hair is a bit messy, as if he was running his hand through it as you cleaned your knife.

He ushers you to him silently, a single crock of his fingers. You sashay to his side and your smirk widens when you see the substantial bulge in his pants.

“Oh Silco… did my violence excite you?”

“Get on your knees.”

You do so without hesitation.

In a few short moments, Silco’s cock is down your throat and his head is thrown back in pleasure.

“Fuck, look at you! A dangerous woman who most people in the Lanes fears, on her knees sucking my cock like one of her working girls. Such a whore for me.”

You moan around his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Silco chuckles at your reaction, “You like this. You like defiling yourself for me. You like being my personal cock sleeve.”

Your hips speed up on the tip of Silco’s shiny leather boots, and you shudder as you cum in your panties. You shove your head down until your nose is tickling the trimmed pubes at the base of Silco’s cock and swallow.

Silco groans deeply in his chest. A rumbly sound that makes you shiver as he cums deeply down your throat.

You pull away and inhale deeply, wiping your mouth and nose and you catch your breath. You sniff lightly as you put Silco's cock back into his pants. You crawl up from the floor and Silco kisses your cheek.

“So… should I be more violent in your presence?”

“You should just be in my presence more often.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

EKKO

Being Ekko’s right hand woman as leader of the Firelights can be very difficult.

It can also be very rewarding.

When Ekko found out you saved not only your team of firelights but all the zaunites from the enforcers trying to cause trouble to illegally put them into Stillwater, he never loved you more.

Seeing you tired, dirty, and bruised caused an unintentional pulse in his cock. Oh no. No. No. No! This can't be! No!

Fuck you look amazing.

Knowing the reason why you're so dishevelled and seeing you so unbelievably gorgeous makes him want to drag you away to a random private room and give you all the pleasure you deserve.

He doesn't even let the firelight team debrief the mission, he doesn't hear anything as he drags you away to his room.

“Ekko! What's gotten into you?” You squeal, you voice light and full of confused happiness.

The handsome boy just stays quiet as he whips open his bedroom door, slams it, and locks it.

All the firelights look to one another before coming to the same conclusion. Leave those two alone for a while unless you want to be traumatized.

As your firelights warn one another, you and Ekko are just passionately making out. Grunts, groans, moans, and whines are all that’s heard in the room. Ekko pulls you desperately into his lap and ruts against your clothed sex. You whine loudly into his plush mouth.

“Ekko! Seriously, fuck what's gotten you so revved up?”

Ekko groans that you stopped his kisses, “You did. You're amazing, I'm so lucky you're mine and fuck you look so good.”

You go back to kissing and the rutting intensifies. You're tempered to strip down and get Ekko’s lovely cock inside you but the rutting is too good. The layers of clothes causing amazing pleasure to your pudgy clit and Ekko’s engorged cock.

You two paw one another like horny teens rather than young adults, but it feels too good to stop.

In no time you cum harshly into your pants, your underwear sticky and soaked to your sensitive pussy. Ekko groans deeply and you feel him rutt desperately into your pussy as he cums too.

The two of you pull away and pant deeply.

“Did that just happen?” You ask, tone full of disbelief. Ekko laughs and nods.

There's a small bitog silence between the two of you before you calmly state, “Can my team and I debrief you now?”

The look of embarrassment that crosses Ekko’s face makes you laugh so hard you snort, and Ekko punches you in the shoulder.

All you can hope is that the other firelights didn't hear you…

(they did. Oops.)

I hope y'all liked this! I accidentally made Vander’s longer than the others due to exposition. It was a bit hard to write for this many characters but I think I did well! Love ya xoxo ❤️

[jungwildeandfree]

I recognize silley fun post but I am going to add to it with real RPG thoughts as though this were a real person.

First of all, if the DM has just fully invented the name "Sam Smorkle" out of whole cloth, this DM rules. That's a hilarious name and it has a lot of character. No wonder the players want to engage!

We got a lot of description of the other person--but no name at all (probably because the DM wants the party to Engage With This Mysterious Guy). But we don't know him as well as this goblin whose name we've just heard and now fallen in love with.

Second of all: Clearly the man "wearing a crown of bone and blade with three sentient rings of fire and an arm made of steel" is meant to be the quest-giver NPC.

Probably, given his vibe, some kind of badass who recruits the party into the fold to help him carry out some minor task while he takes a break from murdering demon lords. That's awesome. Good for you. However. The party is not interested in that guy. The party is DEEPLY interested, right from the jump, in Sam Smorkle.

This is presented like it's a problem, but it's absolutely not. The story hack here is--quest givers, and the interested parties in quests, are all fungible. They can be perfectly exchanged without losing the original quest. This means that if you are paying attention to your players, you can turn the whole campaign 90 degrees in a second without having to give up any of your prep.

Let's assume my guess is right, and Mr. Crown Of Fire is there to give the party some eldritch quest. Let's say he needs to steal a magic item from a local wizard, but his magic is SO powerful that he can't even enter the wizard's tower without all the wizard's enchantments exploding simultaneously, so he needs a bunch of level 3 schlubs to go in and steal it for him.

It's REALLY important that the PCs get the quest from this guy--because all I (the DM) have prepared today is a four-story vertical dungeon crawl in a wizard's tower. I'm new and I'm not ready to go off-book. I don't have the stats! I don't have the prep!

Not a problem. We've got this.

Step one: fuck that crown guy. Uninstall his admin privileges from the campaign. He's now a random NPC who happens to also be in the bar. Why? We don't need to know. All the attention is on our new hero.

SAM SMORKLE is now a goblin who needs to steal a magic item from a local wizard. Everything else about him is instantly all the plot-relevant stuff from the edgelord at the bar. Sam's incredibly powerful. He's willing to pay a substantial sum of gold, which he carries on his person in even the sketchiest bars. He's the true king of Avernus.

But JWF, you say, there's something else about the bone crown boy specifically which is HIGHLY plot relevant! The crown of blades he wears is the key to the NEXT quest, which I also already prepared! His three rings of fire are ESSENTIAL clues to the endgame! No problem. Let's hook him back in.

The guy with the metal arm is now related to Sam in some capacity. Maybe he's Sam's bodyguard, or his husband, or his adopted son, or his father-in-law. They are now inextricably entangled--they are both the questgiver.

What does this accomplish? Well, most importantly--you've taken note of your players' interest. You have to at ALL times be tracking what your party is interested in. That's where fun is happening. But that's only maybe 70% of the fun.

The other part, which is less important for pure fun but no less important for an RPG, is that you've now hooked up your story to the player's attention. They're invested in Sam Smorkle, and by extension, they're invested in whatever he has to say next.

Moreover! Simply by changing the name of your questgiving NPC, you've not only kept their attention--you've instantly made your world unique! The campaign module might have bone crown guy. We've all seen fantasy stories that have bone crown guy. But only YOU, the DM, have a campaign where SAM SMORKLE is willing to pay you to punch a wizard.

You can do all the prep and worldbuilding you want--none of it is going to make your players be interested. So wherever their attention goes, you follow. And the good news is--while that's not always as easy as in this example--it's also not hard.

So go into your notes, Ctrl+H to find and replace every appearance of "LORGAZAR THE MERCILESS KING," write "Sam Smorkle" there instead, and get back in the game.

[chimielie]

unicorns and pomegranates

summary: Suna x F!Reader. "Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."

"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him.

word count: 1.4k

cw: angst to fluff, friends to lovers, mild objectification, suna has strange inclinations, intoxication, one or two references to sex, …hand mention

a/n: i almost titled this "stop picking fights with knights and come wear tunics with the eunuchs"

You can't believe you were actually looking forward to this team dinner. It's the stupid fancy gala EJP Raijin puts on annually, in a stupid beautiful venue covered in white marble and stupid crystal chandeliers. You'd been so excited when Suna said, offhandedly, I get a plus-one, you wanna come with?

You should've known it would end up like this, feeling self-conscious in your expensive clothes while Suna stands far away and doesn't pay attention to you at all. He's not your date, you're his plus-one, gifted a glimpse into the world of professional athletes for one night only. He expects you to mingle with his friends, maybe even get yourself a real date to the next team event. It's such a stupid, cruel joke of the stars that he's the only one of these talented, handsome men that you want.

You take a sip of champagne and try not to think about it. He'd come to pick you up in his ridiculous fancy red car and stared at you with his inscrutable features and said I don't know, I'm sure it's fine, when you asked what he thought. Glowing praise, you thought, sitting among models and Olympians.

Across the room, Suna is trying to pretend that he is a eunuch. Eunuchs don't throw their best friends over their shoulder and carry them home and make sweet, sweet love to them all night long.

"There's something wrong with your face," Atsumu says.

"Do you ever feel like you were born to serve and die for someone in glorious battle," Suna says, valiantly failing not to flick his eyes back to you. You're frowning at your drink, trying to pick a particle off its rim with a nail. "Sexually, I mean."

"You are not normal," Atsumu tells him, "but yeah, I get the feeling."

They lapse into silence for a moment. One of the guys who came stag walks up to you and jumps into conversation. Suna imagines spiking a ball into his face several times.

"Are you feeling like that because of—" Atsumu starts, but Suna cuts him off with a violent slashing motion across the throat.

"If you say the words out loud, they become true," Suna says. "Shut your fat mouth."

"She does look good," Atsumu muses. "Nice necklace."

"Don't look at her," Suna says. "I actually don't even know who you're talking about. She's wearing a necklace?"

He glances back. You aren't, which soothes his concern that he'd been so distracted by the generous amount of décolletage revealed by your top he'd missed major details of your appearance, which he planned to burn into his memory and then never speak about until he died. His last words were probably going to be "the top button was undone."

"Maybe you would be failing less miserably if you actually talked to your date," Atsumu says. "How did you ask her to be your date without actually dating her?"

"It takes a lot of skill to put yourself this deeply in the friendzone," Suna says. "Someday you'll understand."

"I hope not," Atsumu says with feeling. "Hey, look, they're doing shots."

The rando who’s talking to you is clinking his glass against yours, making unnecessarily intense eye contact. Suna frowns; staring at you like a weirdo is his job. You glance away from your drinking partner for a second, your gazes connecting, and that’s all the invitation Suna needs to cross the room in the space of a split second. He snatches your shot from you with two long fingers and tosses it back, grinning widely at the other man when he’s swallowed.

“That was mine,” you say without vitriol.

“That was vodka,” he says, feeling the warm buzz of it in his belly. “You’re allergic.”

“Not allergic,” you roll your eyes, “just a lightweight.”

It’s true. Vodka gets you way too drunk, way too fast. Why hadn’t you said anything to this other guy? You only ever drink such hard liquor when you’re upset.

Are you upset?

“I’ll buy you another drink,” he promises. He’s glad he took the drink from you. It’s having a strange, dizzying effect the longer he looks at you, your darkened eyes, your parted lips. He reaches up and sweeps the back of his hand just over the curve of your neck, a light touch. He’s pleased when it leaves goosebumps in its wake, a short-lived mark he can leave on you.

“It’s an open bar, dummy,” you roll your eyes. The guy you were talking to has faded into the distance, though you don’t even notice.

He’d meant to stay away from you tonight. He’d meant to be a respectful friend, one who didn’t steal glances at you that he shouldn’t, one who didn’t want to punch out anyone else who looked at you with lust on their face. Every time he steps away, though, you seem to be tossing back another drink, giggling and leaning on a new shoulder, and he’s back at your side, plucking your hand away and glaring at whoever tries to talk to you.

Finally, he follows you down the hall to the bathroom, where you spin and lean heavy on the wall, facing him. Your eyes are bright and teary, all the gloss rubbed off your downturned lips, but he still wants to kiss them, for some reason (because he’s a creep, he scolds himself).

“What are you doing,” you sigh, and he blinks, taken aback.

“Just watching out for you, I guess,” he says. You pout.

“You don’t even care,” you say, voice catching. “You’re hovering like a jealous boyfriend and I don’t even know why.”

“I’m not,” he protests lamely.

“I know!” You explode, pushing away from the wall and wobbling dangerously. He clamps a hand down on your arm and supports your body with his; you are a bamboo shoot and he’s the stake. “I know. You think I’m ugly, you’ll never like me. I get it.”

“What?” Your skin is warm to the touch, and you smell a touch sweet, a touch spicy. He wants to lick the skin behind your ears, where your perfume is spritzed strongest. You couldn’t be more wrong if you declared that Atsumu was going to win a prize for scientific achievement.

“This is stupid,” you say, and oh, oh, no, there are tears welling up and streaking down your face. He pulls you in firmly, playing with the short hairs on the back of your neck. You cry into his chest, even though he’s the reason. “I want to go home. I just wanted to have fun.”

“I know,” he says, voice low, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, “I’ll take you home.” For some reason this encourages a fresh bout of sobbing. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“I just wanted you to think I was pretty,” you hiccup on the last word, and his heart stops.

“I think you’re so pretty,” Suna says. “I think you’re gorgeous. You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“I know I’m pretty,” you say, and he keeps trying to step back, walk away, pull himself out of a situation he has to be misunderstanding. “I thought you did, too, enough to invite me to this stupid thing, enough that I was so excited to pretend we were together or maybe that we would be together for real someday. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not,” he begs you to believe him.

“I thought just because you’re beautiful and you look at me—sometimes—like you want me or something and you touch me all the time, it might mean something. I am an idiot. And a bad friend. I even like your hands, Suna, you’ve made me so crazy I can’t even look at your hands without thinking about your fingers—”

Suna grabs you before you can finish a sentence that will surely land you pressed up against the wall with one of the hands in question in your pants. He says your name, serious, voice grating against all his instincts.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you insist, looking like you’re going to start crying again. “I—fuck. I love you, Rintarō.”

It’s the final nail in the coffin.

“I’m going to enter noble and valorous combat to prove my worthiness,” he says instantaneously. You peer up at him, expression simultaneously baffled and cutting.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Suna says hurriedly. “Let’s go home. You should lie down, and tomorrow I need to clear some things up, repeatedly. Possibly for the rest of our lives.”

[moldycheezeit]

Prologue

Before You read I'm letting you know again this is the first time I've ever written fan fiction so if it sucks I'm sorry. :(  This does have swearing and mentions of death and blood. Also I think I'm just going to make batsis just a mix of Nami and Uraraka b/c idk how to incorporate Mitsuri into her. And if you watch mha or one piece I'm sorry if I don't make batsis accurate to both characters, even though I've watched both shows I feel like I'll mess it up somehow.

By the time you were born Bruce Wayne and his wife, your mother, had adopted Richard Grayson also known as the first robin or Dick. Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time and about to pop. But when the birth happened about a month later something went wrong, she lost too much blood and did make it. Overcome with grief Bruce nor Dick could look at you, because they couldn’t see a daughter/sister all they would see was the thing that killed somebody whom they loved. 

This caused Alfred to be the one who had named you because no one else would, so Alfred picked the name (y/n). He can remember how much your mom loved the name. But let's interrupt the sadness if you had to talk about your run in with your so called “family” it would be like this…

Dick would talk to you but it’s not like he enjoyed or wanted to so he made excuse after excuse to get out of talking with you. Like how he’d said “ I’m sorry (y/n) but Damian asked me to help him study you know how it is.” you knew he really meant training with Damian. another lie he'd say was “oh I’m busy at the moment i'll catch you next time.” which was never.

Jason was a great brother. keyword was, when he first joined he loved to hang out with you even if you couldn’t do much because you were a toddler. When he died no one told you well Alfred tried to explain that Jason would never come back but all it did was confuse you and made you start looking all around the manor for him hoping he would appear. When he did return you were 10 and wow was he an ass. When you tried to talk or bond with him like you used to he’d yell things like “go the fuck away” or “stop being such a whiny princess” God that man got irritated easily.

Tim, well you didn’t really talk to him. I mean you tried to, he seemed to like similar things to you, like building and inventing gadgets. But all he did when you tried to talk to him was just look at you with disgust in his eyes. Well screw him too. 

Now Damian what to say about this demon you're related to. The first time you met him was when you were 16, you were 2 years older than him. And kinda excited to meet someone other than Bruce you're related to by blood. God how blind you were. Damian had walked into the library while trying to find his way around the Wayne manor.

“Oh hello I’m (y/n) you must be Damian, Alfred had said you were to arrive some time today.” you had happily said to him. But he took one look at you and had the impression of who you were. “Tch.” Was all that was said but you knew instantly he thought you were some weak defenseless bimbo.

Bruce, god how you hate being related to this man. As you could tell he practically seemed to blame you for your mothers death. Like how is it your fault, you couldn't control if she was going to live or die. Anyways the man seemed to not care for what you do and where you are. The media doesn't even know about you so why bother acting like he cares. But why do you care about what he thinks you can practically have done everything on your own. Some father he is.

Lastly Alfred. He's the man that practically raised you. He was there for you when you were younger but the older you got the more you pulled away from him. You love him but anytime you bad mouth any of you “family” he instantly defends them.  You also have to remember he serves the whole family, not just you.

YIPPIE I FINALLY FINISHED IT (≧∇≦) hopefully you guys liked it. Well thats it for rn buy :)

Taglist: @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz

[muqingslover]

hiii, can you please share more goofy habits caleb has while sharing a bed with u 💝

[ By popular demand i'm here to share extra thoughts on Caleb's sleeping habits! Kinda of a part two to this, in case you missed! ]

-----------------------------⁠✿⁠⁠✿⁠⁠✿⁠--------------------------

Oh boy there's so much to unpack here. We all know Caleb has experienced a loooot of bad things and has not worked through them in an actual healthy way at all. He is also a master at hiding it from you, but you can get a glimpse of how damaged he truly is during bedtime.

First of all, you will rarely, if ever, catch him sleeping on an actual bed. Or sleeping at all to be honest. What Caleb does is take power naps whenever he can on his couch at the office or when he's at your place waiting for you to. The one to (partially) blame for this is his chronic insomnia. I like to believe Caleb has always been a very light sleeper and it's only gotten worse throughout the years— The sound of a door opening is enough for him to be wide wake in a matter of seconds. Trust issues anyone?

When he wakes up, if alone, his go-to activity is working out. He'll do push-ups or leave the house for a loooong late night jog, anything that will tire his body out since he's wired up. Then, he takes a freezing cold shower to reboot his system and either starts to work early or sits down to solve some calculus problems to prevent his mind from thinking about anything else since it's 98% of the time never anything good.

To add to that, the main reason as to why his insomnia is so bad is the fact he has nightmares on an almost daily basis. They're often about you in some way and he wakes up panicking about where you are, how you are, if you're with someone else, why you aren't here with him instead and if you plan on leaving him. That's why it's so crucial for Caleb that you stay somewhere he can see you whenever he needs to. Otherwise, his anxiety will gnaw at him until he just shows up unprompted on your front door in the middle of the night.

On the topic of nightmares, next thing on the list is a more...sensitive one: His reactions to nightmares that involves the abuse Caleb himself went through. I say sensitive because this man is a trained soldier and he wakes up in very high alert which, sometimes, means he might hurt you by pure reflex similar to retired war veterans.

The first time you woke up with his hands tightly wrapped around your neck you seriously thought you were a goner. The sound of your voice calling his name was fortunately enough to make him snap out of the haze he was trapped in, believing he was under the threat of the ghosts of his past and had to defend himself before it was him the one who would end up dead. You have always been his anchor, it was not a surprise that you were the only one able to pull him back even in a moment like this.

Regardless if he had been in control or not, Caleb would blame himself until his last day on this world. He wouldn't sleep (Key word being sleep because he will stay in bed with you, he just won't *sleep*) on the same bed as you anymore after this and instead spends his nights on a mattress on the floor next to you. The sight of your bruised neck and the tears in your eyes because of his hands, because of him, only serve as fuel for his nightmares. He doesn't even want to imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been able to speak loudly enough to wake him up.

"Caleb is a big spoon!!" people yell at me and I agree! However! If you want this man to have some peaceful sleep then the only way to achieve that is to have him laying on your chest where he can both listen to your steady heartbeat and feel your warmth as he holds you. Run your fingers through his hair and promise him you'll be right there when he wakes up to soothe his anxieties as much as possible and he might just sleep throughout the entire night.

Moving on to more sweet thoughts so we don't end on a bitter note— He has serious beef with the plushies you own, specifically the ones you hug to sleep. I mean, he's right here? Hello??? Why would you want to hug that fat ass bear of yours. If your plushie goes missing one day through suspicious means don't be sad because you can just cuddle him! He promises he'll behave this time!

Another silly thing is Caleb cannot keep his hands to himself when the two of you are sharing a bed. Literally. His hands have a will of their own and they must be touching you at all times in some way. That also means he will bother you by torturing tickling you non-stop until you're on the verge of tears. He loves the sound of your joyful laughter and how red your face gets while you try to escape the evil tickle monster so I'm afraid there's no way to get him to actually stop.

[xxactlyperfect]

Holy yap. Alright, I'll bite on the bait.

It's a public female bathroom. Public for females. Public means it's accessible to anyone of the specific sex whether it's at the mall, park, etc.. It is not accessible to males, as it is private. For example, muslim women can walk into the female bathroom to fix their hijab by the mirror because that is a private space.

2. Look point number one.

3. Sex is not something you can change, your chromosomes are ingrained in almost every cell in your body. It's your DNA. Whether you want it or not, humans have the ability to automatically take guesses on what someone's sex is based on how they look and sound. Anyway, going to the bathroom should not be a guessing game. There are male and female areas for a reason and people need to respect that. Women have been getting paranoid over who's trans and who's not in the bathrooms mainly because trans-identifying men have no respect for our spaces.

4. It quite literally does. "Why do you insist on invading the privacy of women?" Since it sounds like you skipped a few lessons involving logic and critical analysis in school I'll break it down for you; "privacy of women" refers to it being a female bathroom, which implies that the trans flag colored person sitting on the toilet is male, aka a trans woman.

5. I don't know why you placed "if" there. It is objectively correct. Trans women are male, trans men are female. Females are way less dangerous to other females than a male is towards them. Also, I think you don't understand the idea here. Men aren't pretending to be trans, they are genuinely believing they are female and entitled to our space. This has been shown and proven again and again, for example the Girl's Spot gym who's owner is facing severe harassment and bullying due to it not being welcoming to any male. No men and no trans women. And you just explained the entire point there anyway. These trans-identifying men just waltz into the bathroom and women are pretty much helpless because the law is telling us all to shut the fuck up and be inclusive.

6. Yes, I actually do. Also, these things are not comparable. There are no cameras in the bathrooms, unless you pull your phone out. If a trans woman walks in and out, no one can identify that person. If a maintenance man or cleaner assaults you, the place could easily track them back down. Either way, I've only seen a maintenance guy in the bathroom once in my entire life. I waited outside, he did his job, left, and I could walk in. And when it comes to cleaners, I don't know about where you live, but they usually just shut the bathroom so the cleaning person can do their job as well and leave without anyone coming in the way. And about the children; I've seen a mother bring her two very capable and old enough sons to the female bathroom once at an airport and I did in fact have a problem with it. Do what you want with that information.

[yanderedrabbles]

Helloooo! I just loved the old west gang. Traumatized? Yes. Curious? Yes. But specifically the Lakota wrangler caught my attention, and oooh this part:

"""Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation." He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again.

"I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you? ""

VAL, TELL ME WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT'S HIS STORY? WHAT'S HIS DEBT?

OH MY GOD HIS PART IS SO 💕💕💕💕

TELL US THEIR BACKGROUND PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹

Yandere Outlaws - The Wrangler's Past + the gang hearing about you for the first time

I think the wrangler probably has one of the most interesting backgrounds. We all know that the Wild West era was no fun at all for Native American tribes. Manifest Destiny and all the terrible things done in it's name saw Native tribes being confined to smaller and smaller reservations, with stricter and stricter rules. Bison were disappearing, the railroads were cutting across hunting lands, and permanent settlers were coming west in droves.

I think in the face of all that, the wrangler felt like he had to adapt or die. Set out on his own and try and make it in the white man's world.

I reckon he falls in with the boss after a nasty bar fight. Him against some cowboys who feel like a Lakota on "their" turf is blasphemy.

Things don't look good at all. He's a strong fighter but numbers almost always trumps skill. He's going to end up dead in the mud and no one will give a damn.

Well, until the boss arrives. Maybe the boss is an old quick draw and when the smoke settles the cowboys are down for good. Or maybe the boss just has that look to him, that keen eyed glare that makes dumb cowhands think better of their bravado.

Either way, he hauls the wrangler out of the mud and offers him a job.

"Need a man for my horses. I'll pay you good to stick with us for coupla weeks."

The wrangler agrees. Because hell, what else is there to do? And if the older man looks hard edged and hard eyed, how much does that really matter? This is the West. You either get tough or get buried.

I think one way or another, the boss earns his loyalty. He gives him a sense of belonging he hasn't felt since he set out on his own. Gives him a purpose. And well, robbing banks and derailing trains and sticking it to old Uncle Sam is about the best he can do to make up for what his tribe has been through. Just one more outlaw pricking Washington in the thumb.

And as for you, sweet thing that you are, oh, you're what he's waited for all his life.

A girl to call his own. Soft and kind, to keep the cold away. Looking in your eyes makes it so easy to forget all the shit he's been through, all the shit he's done. He's been through his share of trouble and then some. He deserves a place to rest his head, a person to call home.

So what if you aren't willing? The world has gone out of its way to take what should have been his by right. The bison, the land, the open sky and flowing water. All of it divvied up and fenced off. He's not letting anyone get in the way of the one good thing he can finally call his own.

I think the thing that initially attracts him to you is the story of you and the second in command. The second is Chinese and he hasn't had it easy either. He could either work the railroads or die in a ditch. Not the best options, but just about the only ones open to an immigrant's son.

If you were anyone else, you'd have screamed your head off when you found him bleeding in your barn.

You didn't. Instead, you put him back together and kept him safe from your pa.

When he first heard the story, it was a cold night out on the planes. They'd just pulled off a job and were sleeping rough, trying to throw the law dogs off their trail.

The second kept looking out to the west. Maybe he was keeping an eye out for pursuit, but they'd pulled their job off back east. Marshals would be coming from that direction, if at all.

Finally, he gave in to his curiosity and asked the man what the hell he was looking for.

"My girl," he said simply. "My girl stays out that way."

The outlaws grew quiet around the fire.

"I didn't know you had one," the boss said, elbows on his knees as he sharpened his boot knife. "Is that where you go off to when we're in town?"

"Mm-hmm. I like to check in on her."

The gunslingers leaned forward then, as in sync as coyotes.

"She must be one hell of a girl, if she can put up with your ugly mug."

"Is she pretty? Got those nice eyes that look up at you all sweet?"

He ignored them and went back to looking west, like he could somehow see over all those miles.

"Do you love her?" the wrangler asked suddenly. He didn't know why he asked that, just that it seemed important.

"More than I thought possible. Every time I see her it's like my heart is breaking. If I can't have her, I think I'll go mad."

The boss looked up for a second, blue eyes catching the firelight. "You gonna marry her then?"

The second laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. "She doesn't even know I exist."

The boss stopped sharpening his knife. "How do you know you love her, if you ain't never talked to her?"

"She saved my life. That's how I know."

The wrangler looked up at the sky and wondered who would go out of their way to save an outlaw.

The boss stuck his knife in his boot. "Tell us the story."

Maybe if anyone else asked, the second would have refused. You were his girl. He didn't want to share even the memory of you with other men.

But you don't say no to the boss.

When he was done telling it, the outlaws were quiet. Lost in their own thoughts. All of them thinking how sweet it would be to have a girl like that. Feeling for a second what he felt every time he thought of you.

It was the wrangler who broke the silence, only half aware he was speaking. "I'd do anything to have a girl like that. Someone so kind..."

The dark skinned outlaw leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "She sounds too good for either of you."

"And you're any better?"

He didn't get to answer. The green eyed gunslinger cut in, his voice low and mean.

"She sounds real innocent. Kind of girl who'll cry when you fuck her for the first time."

The second in command stood with a snarl, already reaching for his rifle.

"Don't."

The boss, quiet but no less dangerous for being so.

"We're all men here. We're all gonna think somethin' like that when you tell us 'bout a girl so...untouched."

The second sat back down stiffly, his jaw clenched tight.

The boss continued, "Ain't like we're gonna steal your girl from you. Let it go."

The wrangler didn't let it go though. Not even when they were back in their hideout, a whole lot richer than they were a week ago.

He stopped the second in command when he was saddling up his mustang.

"Take me with you. I want to see this girl of yours."

If it was anyone else, he'd have said no on the spot. But the wrangler had a quiet gentleness about him that made the second agree.

They watched you from a hill overlooking your father's ranch. Just two shadows against the setting sun.

One of your horses had taken sick and you were walking it around the corral. Stopping every little while to stroke its neck or rub its nose, whispering encouragement. You were patient, gentle. The hem of your skirt tucked into your belt and showing off a sliver of thigh as you moved.

The wrangler sighed and stroked his horse's neck.

"I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you keep looking for her, even if you're a hundred miles away."

As they rode home, he found himself doing the same thing. Looking over his shoulder like he could somehow see you one last time.

And the first time he saw you up close? Backed up against the kitchen table, corned like a vixen at the hunt? That's when he realised exactly what you were.

You were his reward.

The one good thing he'd struggled all his life to find. You were going to be his peace. His home.

And the first time he had you? On your knees, kissing his cock, your eyelashes still wet with tears? That's when he decided he'd keep you, no matter how cruel it was. No matter that doing it would strip him of any claim to goodness. A good man wouldn't get hard seeing you cry. A good man wouldn't fuck you when all you wanted was to go home.

But then again, how could he stay a good man in a world that hated him? That wanted him dead and gone?

When he kissed you, he signed away his last bit of honour. It doesn't matter that he holds you so gently, that he touches you like a lover.

He'll never let you go. And ain't that just a bitch?

[landoughnut]

Green Light, Red Flag

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - max likes you, but it takes the strong feeling of jealousy to admit it

♡ warnings - jealous max, angry-ish love confession, fluff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.1k | du du du du

"To Super Max!"

The cheer echoes through the private room of the Monaco nightclub as champagne flows freely. Another win, another celebration, and you can't help but smile as you watch Max try (and fail) to dodge the shower of bubbles from his teammates.

"Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired of spraying champagne after the podium," you mutter to your friend, Hannah, who's watching the chaos with amusement.

"Bold of you to assume they ever get tired of it," she laughs.

You've been part of the Red Bull team's PR department long enough to know she's right. Your eyes drift back to Max, who's now arguing with Checo about something, gesturing wildly with his hands the way he does when he's excited. His face is flushed from the champagne and victory, hair still messed up from his helmet, and you ignore the familiar flutter in your stomach when he catches your eye across the room.

"Oi!" He calls out, making his way over. "Why aren't you celebrating properly?"

You raise your barely-touched glass. "Some of us have to work tomorrow, Verstappen."

"Tomorrow's problem," he says, dropping into the seat next to you. His shoulder brushes yours, and you pretend not to notice. "Today we celebrate."

"You mean you celebrate. I just watch you lot make fools of yourselves."

He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm wounded. Here I am, trying to include you in my moment of glory—"

"Your fifteenth moment of glory this season," you correct.

"—and you're just standing here judging me." But he's grinning, that competitive spark in his eyes that you've come to know so well.

"Someone has to keep your ego in check."

"That's what I keep you around for," he says, and something in his tone makes you look at him sharply, but he's already being called away by Christian for photos.

You watch him go, trying to ignore Hannah's knowing look. "Don't start," you warn her.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it very loudly."

The night progresses in a blur of music and laughter. You're in the middle of a conversation with GP when you feel someone tap your shoulder.

"Excuse me," says a voice you don't recognize. You turn to find a rather handsome man in an expensive suit. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. I'm James."

"Oh, um, hi," you manage, caught off guard by his forward approach.

"I'm with the Mercedes hospitality team," he continues smoothly. "Would you like to dance?"

Before you can respond, you feel a presence behind you – familiar, solid, radiating tension.

"She's busy," Max says flatly.

James raises an eyebrow. "I believe the lady can speak for herself?"

You turn to give Max an exasperated look, but the words die in your throat. You've seen every version of his competitive face – the focused pre-race stare, the triumphant victory grin, the frustrated post-DNF scowl. But this? This is new. His jaw is set, eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like jealousy.

"Max," you say carefully, "I can handle this."

"Can you?" he snaps, then immediately looks like he regrets it.

James glances between you two, understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see. My apologies, I didn't realize—"

"There's nothing to realize," you say quickly, at the same time Max growls, "Yeah, you should apologize."

"I'm just going to..." James gestures vaguely and makes a tactical retreat that would make Toto proud.

You round on Max. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" He's doing that thing where he pretends to be completely oblivious, which might work on journalists but has never worked on you.

"That whole caveman routine! Since when do you care who I dance with?"

"I don't," he says, but he won't meet your eyes. "I just... don't trust that guy."

"Right, because clearly I can't make that judgment for myself?"

"That's not what I—" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Can we not do this here?"

You glance around, suddenly aware that several people are trying very hard to pretend they're not watching this exchange. "Fine. Outside. Now."

The Monaco night air is cool against your skin as you step onto the club's terrace. The city glitters below, the same streets Max was racing through just hours ago. He's standing at the railing, knuckles white where he grips it.

"Max," you say softly, "what's really going on?"

He's quiet for so long you think he might not answer. Then: "I don't like seeing you with other guys."

Your heart stutters. "Why?"

"Because!" He turns to face you, and there's that intensity again, the one that makes him such a force on track. "Because every time some guy looks at you like that, I want to... I don't know. Put up a safety car or something."

A laugh bubbles up despite yourself. "Did you just make a racing analogy about your feelings?"

"Shut up," but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Sorry, sorry." You step closer. "Please, continue with your vehicular emotions."

He groans. "This is why I never said anything. You make everything into a joke."

"Says the king of deflection." You're close enough now to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "But if you're being serious... I don't like seeing you with other people either."

His breath catches. "No?"

"No." You reach up to straighten his collar, letting your hand linger. "Kind of ruins my plans to eventually marry you and steal all your trophies."

The tension breaks as he laughs, real and warm, his hands finding your waist. "That's your master plan? Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Well, I was going to be subtle about it, but then you had to go and get all jealous and dramatic—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, and oh – this is nothing like the Max the world sees. This is soft and sweet and just a little desperate, like he's been holding back for as long as you have. You melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt.

When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "Just so we're clear," he murmurs, "this means you're not dancing with anyone else tonight."

"Possessive much?"

"You like it."

"Maybe." You steal another quick kiss. "But only because you're cute when you're jealous."

"I wasn't jealous," he protests automatically.

"Sure, and you also 'don't care' about breaking Seb's record."

He pinches your side playfully. "You're impossible."

"Yeah," you agree, sliding your arms around his neck. "But I'm your impossible."

His smile – soft and real and just for you – is better than any podium celebration. "Deal."

When you eventually return to the party, hand in hand, no one looks surprised. Checo hands Hannah what looks suspiciously like betting money, GP just rolls his eyes fondly, and Christian mutters something that sounds like "finally" into his drink.

Max doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night, and if he holds you a little closer when James walks past, well – you're not complaining. After all, some victories are worth celebrating more than others.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of this one where Price is your neighbor and falls in love with you but whoops you have an awful gross boyfriend :/

John is a man who embraces his flaws. He knows each and every single one of them by heart, and if he doesn't put time into fixing them, he works long and hard to make them into something useful.

And thank goodness he does, because it turns out that his competitive streak and his slight obsessive tendencies -- the urge to devour the things he loves, to feast on them endlessly until he's either consumed it all or been consumed himself -- would come in handy in his mission to win you over and away from your useless leech of a boyfriend.

For days, every time he sees you, the boyfriend is attached to your side, a parasite sucking all the light and life from you, and it almost hurts John to watch. To see such a pretty little thing like you get used -- because it's obvious to him, from the heart-to-heart you'd had all those weeks ago, as well as just from simple observation, that that's what was happening -- when he could be making you smile, making you happy ... it's a struggle.

But he wants to bide his time. He knows if he comes in to your rescue, guns blazing, it could backfire, that even if he knows in his bones that you are meant to belong to him, it might seem overwhelming and presumptuous at best to make such a declaration so early.

"I'm glad he's back," you tell him the first time he gets you alone -- a Wednesday night in the laundry room of your shared apartment complex. "I think things are working out better this time, I really do."

"Is that so?" he replies in a carefully measured tone. He shoots you a tight grin that he knows good and well doesn't meet his eyes as he moves his clothes from the washer to the dryer.

You give him a look, one that tells him that you know he knows you're bullshitting, and he lets out a small laugh.

"I don't mean to rain on your parade, love, truly, I don't," he tells you. "But I seem to remember you being none too happy about the man. You didn't exactly paint a happy picture when you spoke of him, yeah?"

You sigh as you take each individual piece of clothing from the dryer, folding it neatly and placing it in your basket, and he tries not to notice how much it gets under his skin to see your lovely, careful hands smoothing out your boyfriend's clothes before mixing them in with your own.

"I know," you admit softly. "But he's here, and he's trying ... well, trying for him. And maybe that's better than being alone."

John wants nothing more than to pull you away from the machines, to press you against the wall and kiss you until all that sad resignation was gone from your voice. He wants to hold you until you understand that you deserve more than the scraps of a pathetic man too stupid, self-involved or both to realize what a treasure he had in you.

But he's playing the long game now. So instead, he hums thoughtfully, then says, "You ever think that there's another option?"

You grin, and it's a shot of warmth to his chest, a cozy little feeling that spreads out and over him and god, he wants so much more of that.

Before you can respond, a buzzer goes off -- your second load of laundry, ready to be dried. It breaks the moment, but that's all right. John is a patient man. He can create another.

A week or two later, he's heading out for a bit, a quick trip to the shops to pick up some groceries. As he's walking to his parking spot, he hears raised voices, and when he pinpoints one of them as yours, he walks faster.

He sees you standing by your car, looking as cute as ever wrapped up in your winter coat, and your boyfriend kneeling on the ground by your rear right tire. It's flat, and there's a jack and a tire iron lying on the pavement near it, but no real work done on repairing the situation.

"Look, it's not a big deal," John hears you tell your boyfriend, the frustration apparent in your voice like this is your fourth or fifth time repeating this same line. "I'll call someone to come fix it, it's --"

"I can fix the fucking tire, Jesus Christ," the boyfriend barks, and for John, that's quite enough of that.

"There a problem?" he asks, a bit of the Captain coming out in his tone as he glares down at the other man.

"Just a flat tire," you tell him. "Someone is pretending they know how to change it, but --"

"For the last time, I know how to change the goddamn tire, your piece of shit car is just --"

"Let me have a go then," John interrupts, his lips in a tight line.

The boyfriend rises, moving to stand in front of John. He has an inch or two on him, and he clearly tries to use them to intimidate John, which is a ridiculous enough move that both men can hear you bite back a laugh.

It's a pissing contest, pure and simple, but John is playing to win. He stands his ground, staring steady until the boyfriend sighs and gestures to the tire, inviting him to take over.

As John goes to take over the job, the boyfriend purposefully brushes against his shoulder with his own, leaning in to growl, "She's not going to fuck you for changing her tire, old man."

The remark was just low enough for you to miss up, but pointed enough for John to imagine a number of scenarios in quick succession, most of them involving the tire iron and shutting up the boyfriend's rotten mouth for good. But again, John is all smooth control, so he just pats the man's shoulder before he gets down on his knees and begins, with little trouble, the process of changing the tire.

It's at some point before the new tire is put on that the boyfriend storms back inside, muttering some feeble remark about not feeling like going out anymore. When he leaves, you move closer to John, watching him as easily continues the job.

"Thank you," you say softly. "You didn't have to do this."

He smiles up at you quickly before his eyes go back to the tire, and says, "Quite all right, sweetheart. No trouble at all."

When he's done, he packs everything back up for you, tucking it all in your trunk. You protest, trying to grab the tools from him, but it's easy enough for him to out-maneuver you. He holds the tire iron up high, out of your reach, and you laugh easily, all earlier tension gone, and the difference in you when you're with him, when it's just the two of you, is almost enough to make him ache with longing.

You thank him again, tell him again that he didn't have to help, and a bit of his resolve snaps. He doesn't want much more time to go by without you knowing that you deserve that kind of help, those simple, easy little acts of kindness.

"Tell you what," he says, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "If it makes you feel more at ease, you can pay me back for the labor."

"Yeah, sure," you reply earnestly. "How much?"

"One cup of coffee. That's my rate."

You gift him with another bright smile as you pick up on the offer, but he sees your eyes glance towards the apartment building.

"I maybe shouldn't," you respond. "My boyfriend is --"

"Not here," John finishes the sentence for you. "And I, the man who just slaved away to do a repair on your vehicle, am."

"... So you are."

He grins, lowering his voice just a smidge more, adding "Quite thirsty too."

You laugh, then gesture for him to get in your car -- an agreement, for coffee, at least.

It's a small victory, but as John well knows, that's how wars are won.

[juststicktoit]

answering these for shits n gigs :3

1. we don't currently have any insys romantic relationships but mark & i (ster) are the "we knew each other in source and we're gonna be suuuuper annoying about it" duo. funnier when you realise we have a relatively small headcount (there's 9 of us that i'm aware of) so our brain was like "well, shit, this game show meant way too much to us during our trauma, so i'll pick... these two idiots"

2. see above regarding 'couple' but kian and connie are the unlikely duo. sunshine & black cat energy or whateva.

3. WEIRDLY ENOUGH. ALSO MARK AND I. we have very different energy. the same sense of humour, but different energy. extreme opposites on the introvert-extrovert scale; i would be hyped making plans with everyone we know and mark would just be like "what the fuck what if i front during that"

4. shiiit good question. vinnie, maybe? or the one syskid that we don't feel comfortable naming.

5. okay so. we live in a city. a really fucking big city (as far as big cities go in our country). most of us have adjusted well enough to this that we'd consider ourselves city folk by default. even mark, who has been lovingly described as a "slightly socially inept personified anxiety attack", fucks with the city we live in.

6. that being said, a lot of us yearn for The Countryside (trademark). when i say we live in a city, i mean we live in a city but we grew up in the part of that city that's mostly fields and farms. the alters that are known to have been around for a very long time - notably ezra, connie, and graham - are defo country folk.

7. probs vinnie with their crunkcore. crunkcore sucks. love you, vince.

8. MARK. i know i keep mentioning that kid's name but wtf is a "social alter but only in specific situations and also he is almost exclusively the alter that fronts for therapy and also he's like 3 addiction holders at once". mate, pick a struggle. love you, mark.

9. kian is finnish. everyone else is either british or straight up don't have a solid enough sense of their nationality so they say they're british

10. collectively all of us i guess. but kian especially is a little goth freak (lovingly). floris is somewhere between emo and punk but he's the host and he's the one that drags us to hardcore gigs so

11. i leave post it notes everywhere. everyone else hates that i do that. graham draws on our arm. mark, specifically, hates that graham does that, but i don't really know why because it's not like mark fronts to shower anyway.

12. me. or graham. hopefully me! i'd like to think the transfem tim key factive who ended up naming himself after the british currency was a surprise.

13. connie KNOWS gardening. i don't know if that counts but she's somehow better at it than the rest of us.

14. also me LOL or maybe ez...? or maybe the syskid actually. but he doesn't use our phone unless he's watching youtube. not because we limit what he does or anything, he just doesn't give a gaf about social media lmao

15. Mark, bless his little cotton socks, does have a particular tendency to write in proper English with near-perfect grammar when he is writing in his own diary or our notes app. This does not apply for when he is sending direct messages to our dear friends or using social media, as he is an anxious little man and subconsciously masks to act more like our host.

He also speaks slightly more sophisticated and articulated than the rest of us, and it is, in fact, hilarious. His source isn't even that posh; I don't quite know why he's like that.

also we have auto caps off and capitalising is rlly fucking annoying why do u do that to urself mark

– sterling x

SYSTEM ASK GAME!! FOR SYSTEMS OF ANY ORIGINS!! SYSMEDS DNI!!

Which headmates are the iconic couple

Which headmates are the unlikely couple

Which headmates were enemies at first and now best friends and/or a couple

Which headmate is the most different from the body?

Which headmates are city folk

Which headmates are country folk

Which headmates have the most unique music taste?

Which headmate has the most specific role?

Are there any headmates from a specific state/country/etc different from the body?

Which headmates are emo/punk/goth etc?

What are some pet peeves headmates have about other headmates?

What headmate was the biggest surpise?

What headmate has a skill that the body doesn't usually, but when they front the body gets it (or almost gets it)?

What headmate makes the most typos?

What headmate has the weirdest (/pos) way of talking/typing?

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ HELP: i think my flatmate's a pervert...?

— a bllk fanfic // where a mistake in your lease gives you... yuukimiya kenyu as your roommate?!

synopsis: [college au!] someone as smart, capable, and self-sufficient as you could never make the mistake of not reading the fine-print of your new apartment's lease... however, just this once you made this mistake, and now, your uni's (possibly maybe definitely perverted) star-striker's housing with you! how fuuun! pairing: afab!reader x pervert! yukimiya kenyu [aged up.] cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. NOT PROOFREAD, BABES. yukimiya is a MAJOOOR pervert. includes: dub-con. manipulation. dark content. panty-stealing. penetration, fingering, mirror sex, praise, cock!drunk, slight bimbofication. m.list

"okay, no! this is not okay!" your voice shook ever-so-slightly and you hated it — hated how your hands tightened around the papers you were holding, how your eyes fidgeted between your two brokers standing in front of you, haaaated how you could be so fucking stupid.

"okay, listen..." you tried again, "i really didn't know i'd be housing with a-" your eyes scanned the broker's face once, "a guy. not that it's a problem, it's just— i didn't read the conditions... and—"

"—ma'am," one of your brokers rubbed his temple, "i understand your concern but the entire process has been done. you've signed the papers, the lease has been made in your name — everything's done. you cannot back out now... i mean, unless you want to lose your security fee."

right. the goddamn security fee.

the owner had asked you to pay up three months' rent in advance, claimed it was security fee so you wouldn't cancel last minute. you had given it little to no thought and complied. now that same security fee was biting your ass.

"but i don't even know him!" you cried out in frustration, "what if he's a pervert, or a serial killer— or worse, like a finance dude-bro?! aren't you concerned for my— a-a woman's safety?"

"ma'am," the shorter, older broker spoke up, "we've run a security check on this guy. his background's clear. infact, he comes from a very good family. he's in your university too, so, you would be able to bond!"

great, your roommate was also in your university! what was next, he was the most popular jock on campus or some shit?!

you huffed one more time, trying out your doe-eyes in a last-ditch effort for salvation, "there's seriously nothing you guys can do?"

"not for another three months, i'm afraid." the taller one clasped his fingers and the short one nodded, "once you make it through these first three months, you may evacuate."

three months? lord. these were going to be some long, loooong three months.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation open: is my new flat mate a... pervert? evidence #1: did he really mishear you?

"yukimiya kenyu." the man standing at your door gave you a charming smiled, the kind where it seemed like all of the muscles in his face were being used. pushing the rim of his glasses up with his fingerpads, he nodded at you, "i'm- i'm your new flat mate!"

good posture, tall, a mop of curly brown hair atop his head, round glasses, god — greeaaat physique, and polite. overall, cute. he was kinda cute.

well, wait... you shouldn't be saying that about your flatmate before he even walked in.

but well, fuck ethics, i guess?

"—um..." yukimiya paused for a second, and an unruly, weird silence filled the living room till it buzzed in your ears sporadically.

both of you stared at each-other a second before you realized you should probably introduce yourself back.

"hi!" you spluttered, "sorry, i kind of spaced out." you chased the formalities with a smile, "uh, nice to meet you yukimiya—"

"just yukki's fine." he smiled politely and you repeated, "okay, yukki... uh, well your room's down the hallway to the left, okay? i have the one on the right... and um, if you need anything, just let me know."

"yeah, i will." the man dragged his suitcase in, "thank you so much."

the next you heard from yukimiya kenyu was a loud shriek.

you found yourself running, your footing on the wooden floors a quick pitter-patter as you made it through the living room and into the hallway that contained both of your rooms.

your mind felt scattered; did he fall down? did he find some sort of pest? was he having some kind of an emergency medical thingy first thing as he showed up?!

"what's wrong?!"

your eyes widened when you saw yukimiya standing on the door to your room rather than his. his eyes were transfixed on something inside your room, and his hand was frozen on the doorknob. he seemed... dazed.

"yuki-miya?" you called out experimentally, and found that the man appeared to give no signs of being cognitive. stepping closer, you put a hand on his shoulder and called out again, "yukimiya..?"

and then, it clicked.

"that's uh—" you gulped, suddenly remembering that all the lingerie you had just washed and dried were probably still sprawled on your bed haphazardly... and your cutesy vibrator that you had used last night and not tucked back in your drawer.

you laughed, trying to mask the obviously awkward situation, "that's um... my room."

"i—" you found yukimiya unable to meet your eyes, "i... sorry, i thought you said my room's on the right. i must have... misheard."

"it's um- all good." you nervously laughed, tittering-tottering your way to your door to pull it shut. pointing to the room directly opposite to yours, you nodded, "that one's yours, yukimiya."

and you may not have noticed in your panicked state, but yukimiya kenyu's breath seemed strained... his gaze never met yours as he quickly shifted his pants and hastily dragged himself to his room.

how odd.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"oh my god, not only are you flat mates with the fucking striker of the uni's football team but he also saw your panties—?"

your eyes widened at your best friend as you snapped your neck to see if anyone around you heard you, "—anri, shut up! there are people around."

your voice grew feeble as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, "and i didn't know he was the striker, okay? i'm not a football nerd like you."

"i know, i know." she grinned, "but this is fantastic. he's totally hot! aaand single, i've heard... i think karasu mentioned it once."

"let's not jump ahead of ourselves." you looked up at her from your phone before drawing your gaze back to your instagram, "he's polite, he keeps to himself, and i don't think he is interested in me like that."

"hush, it's been like what? two days." anri grinned again, your love-life akin to a game for her, "give it time. who knows maybe he'd fall head over heels for you...? ooh, maybe he's like possessive?"

"ugh, you gotta stop reading all those stupid books." you rolled your eyes, "you sound insane."

"just saying!"

possessive? hah, right!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: is my flat mate a pervert? evidence #2: do we have the same preferences..?

smack! you hit the shampoo bottle against the palm of your hand, and again, and again and again once more for good measure.

"oh my god," you hissed, your shower growing cold with each passing minute, "i swear to god this had some left the last time i checked."

or did you misremember?

you smacked it once more, but to your dismay, there was no more than two lonesome droplets left.

you sighed, finally giving up. "guess i gotta go shopping later."

when you stepped out of the shower, you found yukimiya sitting in the living room, scrolling on his phone. his bicep flexed mindlessly as he stretched an arm over his head and yawned.

"hey, yukimiya?" you called out and he looked up, "oh, hey."

were you hallucinating or did the star-striker yukimiya kenyu scan your towel-clad body up and down through his glasses...?

you gulped, trying to change the topic before your mind raced to unbearable fantasies, "i... i was thinking i'd go to the supermart tonight. gotta restock on a few things. do you want me to get you something?"

"oh," his brows furrowed, his speech slurred as if he was breaking out of a fantasy of his own. the player stuttered, "i don't know— oh. yeah, can you get me one of those uh- lavender diffuser things? i like that fragrance a lot."

"oh? lavender?" you repeated, "okay, sure."

and when you realized — while restocking on your favorite shampoo — that it was also lavender scented, you grew a bit confused. oh, maybe you and yukimiya just had similar taste?

what a coincidence!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: is my flat mate an actual pervert? evidence #3: um, my thong's missing.

"okay," you mumbled, looking through your drawer the nth time, "one, two, three, four..." you sighed, growing wary of the same outcome, "one's still missing."

now, it could be very well that you just misplaced one pair of thongs, or that you left it at the laundromat. or... well, maybe your roommate had it?

no. you shook your head. no.

yukimiya kenyu was a perfectly well-adjusted individual! he came from a good family, he was the star-striker for your university's football team, and he even modeled on some occasions! he was a polite, well-adjusted man and it was rude of you to think that lowly of your flat-mate!

but... what if?

no. you steeled your thoughts. he never even looked at you inappropriately! and never did he ever make you feel uncomfortable! it was wrong to think he could do something as lowly as panty-stealing.

yeah, you definitely just misplaced that pair.

but then, three weeks later — another went missing.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: i think my flat mate is a pervert! evidence #4: my fav crop-top's gone missing!

"hey, anri." you put the call on speaker, tossing the phone to your bed as you crouched down in front of your wardrobe. pulling out the pieces of fabric hastily, you called out to your best-friend on the other side of the phone call, "uh, did you- fuck..! did you take my top?"

anri seemed to speak through a mouthful, "mhm, which top? your white tank top? yeah, i have that."

"no, no." you stood up, now rechecking the top layers of your cupboard where you kept all your clothes, "my black crop top! my favorite one— it's the one i wore to aiku's party a week back."

"oh that one?" anri hummed in defeat, "nope, don't have that."

"you sure?"

"yeah," she finally stopped chewing on whatever she had been eating, her interest piqued, "did you lose it?"

"seems so." you looked through the giant pile of clothes on your floor once again, growing more frustrated with each shove, "i've checked everywhere and i still can't find it."

"maybe you gave it to someone else? koyuki maybe? oh, maybe sae's cousin that came to visit—?"

"—don't know." you mumbled in defeat, throwing the clothes haphazardly at last, "but that was my favourite top, goddammit."

the woman on the other grew silent, and when she spoke up, she sounded hesitant, "i mean- maybe ask yukimiya? a lot of your stuff's been going missing lately."

"he didn't take it—" but anri cut you off before you could defend the man, "i know but maybe you left it somewhere in your flat? maybe he saw it? just ask him once."

"maybe... okay." you nodded with some semblance of resolve, standing up and walking upto your door, "i'll go ask him. talk to you later, anri. love ya!" beep.

you twisted the doorknob, only to find the door already open... and though you didn't notice this, but your door was just a little bit ajar — enough for someone to peek in without you noticing.

"hey, yukimiya?" you knocked on yukimiya's door and waited.

after a few seconds, the door opened and wafts of thick, lavender air seemed to seep out. your brows furrowed at the familiar smell, his room smelled a lot like your perfume combo.

but before you could ask him about his olfactory preferences, you came face-to-face with a shirtless yukimiya. his face was flushed, no glasses, hair pushed up hastily. he seemed like he had been... busy.

he heaved, "hey, sorry. um, jus'... just was working out." the player gave you an easy smile, "what's up?"

"i—" you solely focused on his flushed face, trying not to gawk at his defined chest and milky skin, taut with muscles you couldn't even name. you swallowed, "i can't find my black top, have you... uh, maybe seen it?"

"sorry," yukimiya gave you a charming smile, his full lips stretching all so prettily, "which top?"

"i wore it aiku's party last weekend..." and you hoped that you reminding him of his teammates party would jog up his memory but yukimiya kenyu was still just as clueless. he shook his head, stretching his hand to lean on the doorframe, "can't recall, sorry."

"oh, well, it's okay." you gave him a tight-lipped smile, "but if you find it, would you tell me?"

"yeah, course."

and obviously, you couldn't see it with the way he was shielding the door to his room, but somewhere between his duvet covers and pillow, there definitely lay a black fabric somewhere.

oh, but who knows? maybe that was one of his shirts.

black is a popular colour, of course.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation resumed: okay... my flat mate's a pervert. evidence #5: all these... strange noises?

tick, tock, tick, tock.

you tossed on your bed once more, dragging the blanket over your body before your body got too hot and you felt like you were being baked alive. throwing the blanket off your body, you found your shirt stuck to your back uneasily.

groaning, you picked up your phone just to see the time to be: 3:07 a.m.

oh you were definitely getting late for the 9 a.m. lecture tomorrow.

"fuuuck," you groaned, finally dragging yourself upwards to sit on your bed. looking around the room, your eyesight adjusted to the darkness and you swung your legs to get off your sprightly mattress. "hm, maybe some water will help?"

walking to your door, you found the door to be closed but not locked; one turn of your metallic doorknob and it'll open to reveal you sleeping inside.

you raised your eyebrows in wicked surprise, you closed it... right?

well, maybe you forgot.

stepping out, you found yourself in the dark hallways and you swear you were just about to take a sharp left to walk to the kitchen when... you heard something.

the sound seemed to be coming from yukimiya kenyu's room and you inched closer to his gate not because you wanted to spy on him or something! no... you just... it was late and he usually had early morning practices... so, shouldn't he be asleep?

usually, he was tucked in and out before you were, so, why was he up at three in the goddamn morning?

placing an ear to his door, you could hear some strange sounds from his room.

"haah, fuck." his muffled voice kissed your ear through the wooden barricade. although the words were smushed, you could make out some things. things along the line of, "god, yeah— fuck, like th-that."

and then, you heard your name.

your eyes widened and you brought up a hand up to your parted mouth. your frenzied gaze ran from the door to the floor and then back to his closed door.

your name?!

no fucking way! you stepped back. was he masturbating?! to... your name?!

you stepped back again, suddenly conscious that yukimiya kenyu could just swing his door inwards and catch you lurking outside his room like some sick, sick pervert!

you took a sharp left, walking to the kitchen as fast as your two jelly-like limbs would allow you. once there, you brought a tall glass of cold water to your lips, drinking down the liquid to parch your throat and your rancid thoughts.

you definitely misheard it! it wasn't your name!

you filled the glass with water again, your face growing warmer despite the cold water past your throat.

it wasn't your name! you rationalized, it was hard to hear through the door, after all. and yukimiya... he wasn't this type of guy — a pervert!

you should probably just forget about this. two weeks more and you could just move out of this place, anyways, right?

he wasn't like that... right?

yukimiya kenyu was not a pervert, right...?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation continued: yes! my flat mate is a huuge pervert! evidence #6: what the fuck?!

"heyy, sae?" you smiled, hoping your politeness was evident enough through the phone call, "do you guys have practice in the evening— like right now?"

the redhead was dry like always, "yeah, why?"

"do you have any idea how long it'll run for?"

"i dunno," the man replied, "maybe like till nine? the championships are about to start, so, it'll drag on."

"oh... and yukimiya's there right—?" but sae quipped up again, "yeah, but why'd you ask?"

"oh, i just had to go out with anri." you laughed mechanically, "and uh, yukimiya's not picking up my calls so, i just needed to know when he'd be back."

"oh? okay."

you laughed again, praying your desperation wasn't on display for the overtly observant older itoshi, "hey sae... uh, don't tell yukimiya i called you, right? he may think it's something serious when it's not."

"yeah, cool." and you could imagine the redhead more than happy to end your conversation, "see ya, bye." beep.

you looked at the time: 7:53 p.m.

you had over an hour to snoop through yukimiya's room without him catching you. perfect!

and it's not like you were enjoying this — this was a necessity!

after that night, you couldn't quite look yukimiya kenyu the same. somehow, everything he did seemed... sketchy.

your door was always open even when you locked it, your shampoo and conditioner somehow ran dry a few uses in, even one of your bras had gone missing — and it was good, expensive, frilly kind!

if yukimiya kenyu was innocent, then, you'd repent for your actions till the end of your mortal life. but if he wasn't... well, you didn't know what you'd do then.

tip-toeing to his door as if he was still home, you turned the doorknob just to find the door close. you breathed in slowly. okay, you prepared for this.

you had noticed that he took one key of his room with him and another, well, that was in a jar kept in the kitchen. technically, you weren't supposed to know this but a little snooping never hurt anyone, right?

once you had produced the key, you tip-toed back to his room.

8:15 p.m. okay, not bad. forty-five minutes to snoop wasn't bad at all.

as you jabbed the key in, and felt your heart thundering within your chest. one twist of the doorknob, and then you were in.

his room smelt like you — lavender with a hint of sweetness intertwined. but that was probably cause he just liked lavender, right?

at the first glance, his room felt like nothing from the ordinary. his bed was made, the blanket and pillows perfectly placed. right in front of the bed — perched against a corner — was a long, full-body mirror. there were a few dumbbells and restraint bands kept against one wall. and well, his walls were barren except for a plastic hook that held up his previous medals.

no decor, no pictures... what a psycho?!

still tip-toeing, you first made your way to his laundry basket, sifting through his pile of clothes for if you could find anything familiar. even though you sifted and sifted and sifted, you came up empty-handed.

groaning, you walked up to his beside tables next. going through one drawer after the other, all you could find were some prescribed set of lenses, random junk and pennies collecting dust.

last, you walked to his wardrobe. pulling open the doors, you looked through the neatly arranged rows of clothes and jerseys and whatnot, still to not find anything.

with each place devoid of your thongs, or your clothes, your chest felt a little bit lighter.

see! your pysche cheered, yukimiya wasn't a creep! told ya!

once you were done with your inspection, you found one last place to check — under his bed.

the underside of you bed was used to store nonsense. you sometimes chucked your shoes under those, or dirty laundry on days you were feeling particularly lazy. it also had a box full of your old memories — mementos, pictures, slam books, old jewelry for sentiment's sake.

you assumed yukimiya's would be much the same, or barren — like the rest of his room.

and so, you crouched down on your knees.

the wooden floor was cold against your skin, and you grimaced as you bent down and turned of the flashlight on your phone to check the underside.

ding ding ding! a cardboard box. it was the only thing kept under yukimiya kenyu's bed and you assumed that it'll be something personal, like it were for you.

"uh-huh," you nodded as your palms pawed desperately at the cardboard box to pull it outwards.

you finally pulled it out, only to find—

"—what the fuck?!"

your fingers shook as your body settled all of it's bodyweight on your toes. commanding your shaking digits, you put your hands inside the box as if going to pet a rattlesnake.

except there was no rattlesnake in, or even a hamster. oh no, it was just your stuff!

the thongs you had displaced, your frilly, expensive bra that went missing, your lipgloss that you were so sure was stolen at uni! at the bottom of the box sat the black crop top you had come asking yukimiya for... oh god.

"tch, you weren't supposed to see that."

your neck snapped upwards, and your jaw sagged open at the man that stood at the door.

"y-yukimiya..." your mouth felt awfully dry, like each breath had been traded for a spoonful of sand.

"awh, why'd you look so scared?" the man asked in a sickly, sweet tone as he closed the door behind him, "it's my room, darling. did you not expect to see me here?"

"i-" your eyes shot to your phone that lay on the floor next to you, 8:43 p.m.

you gulped but there was no relief to your arid mouth, "y-you weren't supposed to come till—"

"nine?" the man hummed, dropping his duffel bag at the edge of the bed, "yeah, no, i figured i'll come home early. had a feeling you were upto something."

instinctively you pulled your phone up and crawled backwards, "i-i'll tell the police you're s-stalking me."

"oh?" yukimiya smiled and the sweetness in his actions were a stark contrast to the malicious storm that brew in his eyes, "try that, sweets. tell them that your flat mate's got your thongs 'n stuff, right?"

"i r-really will!"

and yukimiya kenyu laughed, stepping closer, "yeah, you should. go ahead, call them."

you flinched as he took another step closer, your bleary gaze shooting up to his face, "wha-why'd you? yukimiya—"

"oh c'mon," he cooed, bending down to meet you at your eye-level, "don't be so scared, dove. i'm not gonna eat you."

a vulnerable whimper fell past your wobbling lips, "y-yukimiya..."

"darling," he brought up a broad palm up to your cheek, "don't act like you don't fuckin' fantasize about this shit, yeah?"

the tears grew heavy against your bottom lash line, "wh-what?"

"i've seen you," he smiled softly, his voice so soothing except it was jabbing you like needles with each accursed word, "i've seen you fucking yourself on your fingers so, so pathetically while crying out my name."

a tear drop fell past your doe eyes and yukimiya leaned forward, catching the drop on his tongue. he hummed at the salty taste and your skin burned where he had licked you.

"wh-when...?" and your cheeks flamed at the thought of him catching you like that.

it had happened a few times... a few nights when you thought he was asleep, you had guided your vibrator to your plush cunt and pretended that the silicon molded toy was him instead. but it was just an innocent fantasy! you didn't... you didn't want him to find out.

"i've seen you." he hummed, satisfied with your expression of pure shock, "c'mon, do you think i'm dumb? so many nights when you couldn't sleep — you called my name, and i heard."

slowly rubbing your cheek, he continued, "and you're not a kid, love. you had your suspicions with the thongs, and the top, right? and yet, you never once actually looked for them."

a cashmere smile, "were you hoping i was the one who had them?"

embarrassment sewed itself against your features, "n-no... 's not like that."

he dragged his thumb from your cheek to your lips, pulling open the plump lips apart, "it's not like that? then, are you actually so dumb that you left the main door unlocked while you snooped through my room?"

a pause, "or did you want me to find you?"

you shook your head, your wet tears falling down in fat plops! down your pretty face. yukimiya kenyu slowly inserted his thumb inside your warm, melty mouth, and instinctively, you sucked at his digit.

yukimiya grinned, "awh, such a good girl but such a terrible fucking liar."

"now, tell me." the man pushed another digit in your inviting mouth, "do you want me to fuck you? or, do you want your stuff back?"

"i-" you couldn't speak and yet yukimiya smiled as if he understood you, "yeah, our lease is gonna be up in a week, right? i'll leave, angel.... unless, you want me to stick around and fuck you like you want me to?"

he paused, a slow, maddening grin on his handsome features, "do you want me to, love?"

and you nodded.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✩ investigation continued: my flat mate's a 100% perverted! evidence #7: [redacted]

"yukimiya—" you batted your lashes at the man perched behind you.

his hot chest was flush against your back. one broad hand of his held your thighs wide apart while his other digits teased your hot core. his slender fingers hovered right above your drenched cunt.

"it's yukki," each word of his was a hot pang! against your throbbing neck, "i told you, love. it's yukki for you, yeah?"

you swallowed, "yeah... y-yukki."

he licked up a fat stripe from the middle of the neck to the shell of your ears and you shuddered against him.

"now," he exhaled softly, "keep looking at your pretty face as i ruin you, yeah?"

you met your shaky vision in the mirror — where yukimiya kenyu had you spread open for him like some exquisite modern art.

you chest rose and fell erratically as the man brought his fingers to your cunt and rub against the rosy, quivering bundle of nerves. his fat girth pushed past the weak resistance of your pussy, your greedy hole gladly accepting each one of his inches graciously.

"oh my god—" heavy tears stung at your lashline as the player brought down your erratic pelvis down, down, down his achy cock. your body buzzed as if yukimiya kenyu was your personal brand of heroine. you bit down you wobbling bottom lip in an effort to control your obscene, animalistic moans, "y-yukki 's so big."

"awh? s-so big?!" the man cooed, his mucles biceps still tugging your pliant body down till his heavy balls twacked! against your supple skin.

"shiiit feel me?" the man grinned and you caught the lewd sigh in the mirror — his index and middle finger circled your clit in frenzied, haphazard figures as his length curved and molded your insides with each salacious thrust. he groaned, "feel me all the way in, hah?"

"yeah..." your eyes caught against the obscene imagery — your roommate sinking his milky, heavy length inside your gaping, bulging cunt with ease.

a hand snaked around your waist, his taut muscles so tightly pressed up against your simmering hot body. leveraging the hold, the man pulled your doughy hips up 'n down his length harsher, faster.

"y-yukki—!" your heart seemed to be stuck in your throat, it's sweet ba-dump! ringing in your ears as the man impaled you on his length.

but the man under you did not care.

his perspired skin clung against yours like it was second skin, his erratic gaze staring at your unkempt reflection in the mirror as if he was stalking you — well, he was.

as your muscles spasmed against the ridges of his lengthy dick, his plump lips parted to let earthy groans that poured over your body like molten fire, "fuuck, y'know— you don't know how long i've been waiting for this."

his thumb pressed against your silt, collecting the syrupy slick on his finger-pads with each rough swipe. you clawed at the forearm against your waist as your eyes rolled back to the back of your skull, "god— i'm gonna haah! cummin'- i-m cumming—"

your irises were practically molded into hearts, pretty lips almost slathered with your drool as yukimiya kept ramming his tip against your gooey, kryptonitic spot — undeterred by your flimsy scratches against his milky forearms or your cries of pleasure.

"c'mon, c'mon." he hummed, and you may have been in a crazed state but you swear you felt the player take in a hefty, hefty sniff of your hair, "smell so sweet... like candy, you 'n your pretty pussy—"

and smell reminds you!

"do you a-actually like lavender?" you tried looking at his face in the mirror, but each messy thrust into your cunt left your shaken, left each muscle spasming, left every inch of your skin buzzing as if bugs were crawling all over.

and though you couldn't quite see him, you heard his laugh. the hot air was hotter against your nape, his voice so smooth that the richness of the baritone set your cunt spasming in feverish quivers, "d'you like lavender, hm?"

you thought for second, well, tried to but it was hard with the way his leaky tip bulldozed it's way into your velvety hole. you swallowed down the thick build-up of drool in your mouth, "y-yes, i do."

"then, so do i."

and though it was childish, you pouted at his twisted answer, "you're hic— you're copying me—!"

"hm?" he grazed his sharp jaw against yours, still rutting into you like an animal in heat, "silly girl."

"'m not si-lly!"

and you were sure your mind was broken because you giggled, feeling the sound reverberate against the gooey puddle in your stomach that simmered with the anticipation of another orgasm.

"since we're playing question 'n answer," the man used his experienced fingers to pry open your syrupy folds again, pressing his fingerpads against every spot of you that could coax out heated whispers of his name, "tell me something, too."

you nodded, your eyes zeroing in at the blurry vision of you getting ruined by yukimiya kenyu.

"you knew i had your panties, right?"

"no..." you bit down your lips, stifling another broken giggle down your throat, "hah... maybe?"

"huh?" and his plump lips stretched to show a lecherous, devilish smile, "and you didn't want them back?"

"i thought you'd—yukki!" you chirped at the sudden thrust up your abused cunt, his tip yet against massaging your deepest, most sinful muscles in such a downright hypnotizing manner.

his deep voice rumbled through every sensitive cell of yours, "finish what you were saying', pretty."

"thought you cou-could use them," you hiccupped, the delirious smile still playing against your misty features, "y'know to... jerk it off t'me."

"ah?" the man cocked up an eyebrow, never halting his pounding even as he pressed a chaste kiss to your pulse before he nipped at the same point, possessed by the animalistic need to mark you as his own, "how fucking kind, darling."

you gasped at the harsh tug against your sensitive skin. his canines delved into your supple skin, leaving indents behind that he soothed with a hysteric drag of his sultry tongue.

"say..." the player dragged on the word, his bruised lips still against your racing, kiss-bitten pulse "what if i return the favor?"

you met your figure in the mirror — your reddened, scrunched up face, you dilated pupils, parted lips, "h-how?"

and yukimiya kenyu gave you a charming smile, the same kind he had given when he had walked in through that door, "fuck you till you cannot walk, yeah? till all you remember is hngh—"

a harsh thrust into your cunt had you cry out, "yukki—!"

"yeah," he grinned, feral, "exactly that. jus' me, juuuus' yukki, yeah?"

you nodded delirious, "fuuck mhm— yukki—"

turns out, your flatmate was a pervert but... so were you?!

✩ investigation concluded: i was right! my flat mate is a fucking pervert! evidence #8: not needed... cause he's rearranging my guts?!

a/n: live, laugh, love yukimiya kenyu! was this fun to write? yes. did i write this one in a single seating? yes. would i do this again? yes. haha enjoy the filth! mwuah mwuah <3 tagging: @moodswing101 @5hoe1 @scara-simp69 @kleosheart @localdumbassinthecorner @gyubeoms @koalaflower @pvrokinetic @spacegyaru @t0mi33

[lily-jaxk]

MC Twin AU - SYLUS'S Darling

"Pretty Dragon, do you have a name?"

". . . Does it matter?"

"Well, since I'm officially a damsel in distress, I should at least know what my cager's name is no? It's only fair!"

The young woman gives the dragon a dopey smile, raising her legs up so she could place her chin on it as she watched him. The dragon's tail idly swayed behind him, until a somewhat familiar word left his lips. "Stayrus."

"Stayrus...." She murmured, allowing the familiar words to fill her mind for the first time in years. She hadn't heard that name since █████. "Stayrus....I like it." A soft sigh leaves her lips and she stretches her legs out. "It's a bit hard to pronounce though. Can I call you a nickname?"

The dragon rises, and his unseen wings stir up gusts around him. "Call me whatever you want. But don't expect me to respond."

A grin grew on her lips. "In that case, Sylus, can I play with the silver tiara I spotted back there?"

"If that's what you wish."

The next time you woke up, you found yourself on a bed.

A very, very, comfortable bed.

You blink up at the ceiling, confusion clouding your mind. What happened? You remember being kidnapped, you remember finding out that it was Luke and Kieran who had kidnapped you, you met Sylus.

. . . . Wait.

You met Sylus.

Meaning. . . . . . .you were currently at Onychinus's base.

You sit up in a panic, wide eyes glancing around the room. Black walls, dark bedsheets, a soft light shining down on you, was that a gun on your bedside???

Yep. This was definitely Sylus's room.

Holy shit, how did this happen?

You hum and place your hand underneath your chin in thought. Ok, so, what even happened before all this? You were on your way home, you wanted to get a little midnight snack, someone grabbed your arm in a flash, and boom you were kidnapped.

What in the cliche gods was this!?

You groan and fall back on the bed. Why you? Did Sylus kidnapping you mean you had an Aether Core in your heart? That didn't make any sense though, you didn't have a heart condition. . . . .last time you checked at least.

Wait. Didn't he say something before you passed out again?

"Hello, darling. I'm glad to see you again."

A giggle starts to bubble out of your lips, and a dopey smile forms on your face. He called you darling! He called you darling!!!

. . . Why? He said you had met before, when? You would have remembered meeting a stunning man like him before.

So . . . . what in the world was going on?

"Hello, darling."

"Holy FUCK-" you yelp, snapping your eyes open to sit up straight again, turning your head to stare at the white haired man who was leaning against the door. Ok, so you had a few options. Option 1, act scared and hope he leaves. Option 2, act like MC.

. . . . Option 2 was a bad idea, so never mind.

Option 3! . . . . Flirt with him.

Yes yes, option 3 also wasn't a good idea, but honestly, maybe it was because you knew so much about Sylus, that the scare factor has worn off the moment you realized where you were. Also, he couldn't even kill you because you were MC's twin! Yay sibling perks!

So you make a smirk grow on your face and give Sylus a wink. "Hello, handsome kidnapper~"

This will be an interesting interaction.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Sylus | 18+

Shorter chapter because instead of the 5 parts like Caleb and or Rafayel, this will have 8 parts plus Sylus and the 18+!

Tag list! - @young-adult-summer @sleepydang @rafayelsbeloved @fayy126 @huuvu @codedove @junrui @animecrazy76

[lemotmo]

Okay 911 fandom...

I feel like I've been very nice about this before and I always figured it would all just disappear after a while, but this insane Ryan Guzman hatred is getting out of hand. And frankly? It is pissing me off!

So, let's get something very clear here:

This whole concept some people have in their head that Ryan is the reason why Buddie won't ever go canon? IT IS WRONG!

The man has screamed Buddie from the beginning. He came up with the name for Christ's sake. Just because some of you only joined the fandom after 7x04, doesn't mean you get to shit on this guy. You don't know the lore or the history. So shut up!

This idea that Ryan is a bad actor and he is botching up his scenes with Oliver, because Oliver clearly plays Buck as in love with Eddie?

Again... WROOOONG!

Buck is sooo much further on the Buddie path than Eddie is. All he has time for right now is his son! Ryan is NOT going to play Eddie smitten with Buck, because he isn't there yet in the narrative. He obviously cares deeply for Buck though and we see it in everything Ryan puts into his acting. He is obviously a talented actor and artist. So again... SHUT UP!

If I see any of you threaten the man over a fucking fictional ship on a TV-show? I will report you on whichever platform you are on and I'll make sure that everyone knows who you are so they can block you accordingly. Are you insane?! You cannot threaten people for doing their job.

And NO! Nobody is going to recast Eddie because you have it in your stupid little ignorant dumb minds that the man is a misogynist, a sexist, a racist, a terrible father (ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU CANNOT CALL A MAN YOU DO NOT KNOW A BAD FATHER! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING!?) and a whole other slew of things that are simply made up in your own head!

He made one single mistake a loooong time ago. He admitted that he was in a very dark place around that time. He even talked about trying to take his own life at a certain point. How much more honesty do you need?

After that mistake he apologised and he has obviously worked really hard to become a better guy. We can hear that in every interview he does. Stop spreading the narrative that people can't be forgiven after they apologise. What age are you? Four??? Of course people can be forgiven. It's called growth. This insane cancel-culture that has been growing rampant for the last couple of years has gone to all of your heads. Wake up and SHUT UP!

Stop these ridiculous claims and please do everyone a favour! Move on to another fandom where miserable people like you are welcome.

For years now this fandom has been a great place to be in. I love it here! But I've had it with the insane hate-campaigns against a guy just doing his job.

I won't even go into the insane Eddie hate I have seen lately.

This has got to stop!

I am still not a Ryan stan, but I am a decent human being and admirer of his work. So whatever has been going on lately? It is NOT right and we should all shout that from the top of our lungs.

If anyone is reading this and recognises themselves in what I have written here? Please step outside, touch grass, look at the sky and if you are following me? Kindly unfollow me. Thank you.

If anyone is reading this and feels the same way? Feel free to follow. I promise that I don't often make posts like this. I try to spread the fandom positivity as much as I can. So expect lots of that here.

Can we now just go back to enjoying what is really important here? Buddie is about to go canon. Let's celebrate and have fun! We've been waiting years for this. This is our time.