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inkykeiji · 3 years ago

Text

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs. A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #waaaAAAAAAAAH #ever so slightly nerve-wracking hahaha #this is EXTREMELY sentimental you have been WARNED #it's also supposed to feel almost suffocating or overwhelming #bcoz ur reader yk #okay ANYWAY ENJOY #tw drugs #tw toxic relationship #tw daddy kink

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rhenuvee · 3 years ago

Text

Just Lost (George Weasley x reader)

Request: hhii could i request a scenario with george weasley and his girlfriend talking about something really passionately and george just gets really lost in her eyes and says something like "God i want to marry you right now" extra cute and fluffy, thankyou so much stay safe and healty <3

Hey thank you so much for sending a request! I hope you are safe and healthy as well, and sorry for taking so long with this.

A/N: No, I do not know if Alicia Angelina or Katie have been to an amusement park before.

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

It was an exhausting week for you and everyone at Hogwarts. The OWLs were just around the corner, and with the teachers finishing lessons so quickly, it was hard to keep up and absorb as much information.

Currently you were in the common room getting a headache at all your textbooks and papers sprawled out on the low table, huffing as you couldn’t even know where to begin.

“Studying?” asked a girl who made out to be Angelina Johnson who made her way towards the seat next to you.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what my name is.” you joked lightly. Alicia and Katie came over as well.

“Need help studying, (y/n)?” asked Katie.

“Don’t you guys need to study too?”

“We can study together!” suggested Alicia.

You spent a few minutes of organizing your notes, the four of you finally got a start of studying for the exams. It was gonna be a long week. You were deep in thought when suddenly some familiarly loud voice entered from the portrait hole.

“GOOOOOOOD EVENING LADIES!!!” announced Fred and George with their arms comically wide open. Several other students made faces, either scoffing at making so much noise or snorting for being embarrassing. You happened to fit into the first group.

“George, Fred, shut up will you?” you said partially joking. The girls giggled, making you give them a look for laughing for their loud remark.

“Sorry darling, just wanted to make sure you know when I’m in the same room as you.” said George plopping down on the couch next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Oh believe me, I know.” you retorted, smiling when you could see your boyfriend chuckle himself in the corner of your eye.

“Ew studying? Count me out.” said Fred putting his hands up in surrender and jogging to his dorm as if to escape.

“So what were you two up to?” Katie asked George. You still focused on your paper, but letting your free hand hold his as you listened to the conversation.

“No good probably.” you replied. George perked up at your statement immediately and pinched your nose. You giggled and pulled away from his grip.

“Actually-” he said, sitting up a lot straighter. “I’ll have you girls know, I’m always on my best behaviour.”

“Right...” said Angelina shaking her head.

“Did this best behaviour have anything to do with Ron and spiders?” you asked, knowing your boyfriend too well. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

“And if it does?” he quipped, curious of what direction you’d take it in.

“Then, that means my boyfriend is normal.” you said kissing his cheek lightly. George and Fred (surprisingly) did not prank Ron today, but despite that he wouldn’t waste an opportunity to play around with you.

“Then I one hundred percent pranked Ron with a toy spider.” he said proudly. You chuckled at this, the girls shaking their heads at each other also knowing George wouldn’t do any less.

“Anyway, how was your day love?” George asked.

“It was alright, but this week’s gonna be full of books and my hand is probably gonna fall off from writing.” you sighed.

“Well, I don’t wanna bother you then...” he said. Your heart throbbed, you knew you had to study but you wanted him to stay. Your boyfriend’s support- even if it meant making cheesy remarks was all you wanted. But as you were about to tell him to stay, it seems like he already had that in mind.

“... with that being said-” George reposition his whole six foot self on the couch so that his head rested in your lap. You thought it was quite silly that George’s legs had to squeeze in so much so he could fit and be comfortable.

You rolled you eyes and ran your hands through his hair, which looked even more fiery red due to the light of the fireplace.

“Goodnight then Georgie.” you said sweetly.

“‘Night darling.” he said closing his eyes.

Throughout the evening you managed to get a decent amount of studying done. You also took breaks with the girls talking about things like rethinking your life choices such as why you decided to take potions and torture yourself.

“When this year is over, I can’t wait for the summer holidays.” said Angelina with a relaxed sigh in her tone.

“We should totally hangout together sometime.” you suggested, while writing the last of the lesson’s notes.

“Where should we go?”

“Maybe the beach? It would be so fun eating ice cream and swimming.” said Alicia. The three of you nodded with words of agreement. You could only imagine the things you could do relishing in the sunlight with your friends.

“We should go to Angie’s house, she has a nice couch.” said Katie. Angelina playfully slapped her arm and rolled her eyes. You and Alicia lauged- it was a running joke that ever since Katie went to Angelina’s once, that her couch was apparently very comfortable.

“Or the amusement park? It might be a long drive but it would be so much fun.” you suggested.

“The amusement park? I’ve never been to one before.” said Alicia sheepishly. The rest of you gasped dramatically and yelled ALICIA as if to say “oh my god.” You didn’t notice that it happened to wake up your sleepy boyfriend who’s head was still on your lap.

“The amu- what now?”

“GEORGE- you scared me.” you said clutching your chest and looking down where his sleepy eyes were slowly opening.

“Sorry darling.” he said sweetly, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. You sighed in content, how lucky were you to be with George.

“So what’s this about an amoo-whatever park?” he asked, still resting in your lap.

If this was looked at from a distance, you, Angelina and Katie would look like maniacs, talking your arses off about amusement parks as Alicia shrunk into her seat looking both horrified but amazed.

“Hello? George are you listening to me?”

To George though, you never looked more pretty.

When you started dating, George always loved hearing you talk since you were naturally more quiet before warming up to him. He loved the reactions you made when he said something that he definitely wouldn’t say in front of his mom, and especially the smile from when he made you happy. Seeing you so passionate and excited about something felt really special to George.

You couldn’t remember what you were in the middle of talking about, whether it was about funnel cake or the roller coasters.

“God, I want to marry you right now.”

Your mouth dropped, along with the other girls’. You couldn’t help the furious blush coating your cheeks as you relished in what your boyfriend just said. It wasn’t until a few seconds later he seemed to realize what he said.

“Well what are you waiting for lover boy?” interrupted Fred who burst out from his dorm again. George groaned, blushing himself. The girls cooed at how cute you two were being.

“George...” you said covering your blush with your hand.

“Oh Merlin... I didn’t- I mean I did but...” George stumbled over his words as he got up from his sleeping position and rested his head down on your shoulder as if to scold himself for blurting that out.

“I just got so lost in your eyes.” he said blushing and smiling apologetically.

“Yeah or maybe you’re just lost in general.” you said trying to get rid of the red. The girls giggled.

“Ah, young love...- all of us better be the bridesmaids.” teased Alicia.

“You- oh quiet you guys, we’re not talking about that. ANYWAY, FUNNEL CAKE!” you announced as George naturally clung onto you by wrapping his arms around you. The girls and you continued the conversation, until George whispered something in your ear, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make your heart swell.

“After all this, I definitely plan to marry you...

“...And we can go to that a-museum-mint park thing.”

#fred and george #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fluff #george weasley fanfic #george weasley oneshot #george weasley one shot #weasley twins

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listentothisyoooh · 3 years ago

Text

Care For You; BC

A/N: This piece is +18, minors do not interact.

Summary: You come home from work, only to find your boyfriend, Chris, exhausted and drained. What can you say, when he asks you to make him feel better in your own special ways?

Warnings: sub Chan, soft dom female reader, hand jobs, orgasm control, edging, ropes, dirty talk, use of nicknames (mistress, little, pup, angel, etc), mention of the color system --

Word Count: 4.2k

“Hey, hi baby!” You whispered, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to Chan’s rigid body, “When did you get home?” Caressing the tangled, short platinum blond locks sprawled on the pillow, you smiled down at his puffy, tired face; it probably wasn’t a good thing that you weren’t answered by a smile.

“An hour, I guess.” He rasped, his cords rugged with sleepiness and something else –something you didn’t quite like. The cool, white sheets covered him up to his shoulders, leaving no patch of pale skin open for your sight, and the faded shade of raspberry on his perky lips further demonstrated just how tired the man was.

“Oh honey,” You cooed, leaning over Chan to plant a kiss on his temple while he lay on his side, facing where you sat, “you seem exhausted. Are you alright? Did something happen?” You couldn’t really help the way your brows knotted as a sign of worry. Using arms as pillars next to your boyfriend’s figure, you bowed above him; ceiling cream lights now blocked away from his sight and he could look up at you with those wide, glossy eyes, the peachy gleam of the bedside lamp reflecting from them.

“I’m okay, babe, don’t worry;” He assured, settling on his back gently, “It was just—a very, very long day!” A light laugh puffing out of him, he pulled on the sheets to conceal the lower part of his face from you, eyes still locked with yours. Chan was always soft –so soft, gentle and sweet, and that was why you just couldn’t stop showering him with light, lingering touches, one now being granted for him across his left cheekbone and the side of his eye by your thumb; he seemed to really enjoy it, lids flowing down and expression turning into a relaxed, almost blank one.

“Anything I can do, Channie?” Your gentle question fluttered his eyes open, “want me to make you something? Or get you some pills to help you sleep?” Sometimes, when he was too spent, it became frustratingly difficult for him to fall asleep, so it wouldn’t be far from ordinary if he were to have the same problem now; puffy eyes, flushed cheeks and tousled locks only asked for a bit of rest.

“Can you take care of me?” His quiet voice rose from beneath the sheets, his linear eyes staring right into yours, making your chest quiver alongside that innocent little request.

“Of course!” You smiled, “What do you need? I can give you a massage…” Your suggestion was met with his negative nod, the grips over the edge of the cover tightening.

“No,” He gulped, “can you take care of me, mistress?” There was already a certain breathlessness in his words which only made you grit your teeth; he looked so devastatingly vulnerable, looking up at you with hope, exhaustion and plea in his stare.

“Aren’t you a little too tired for that, pup?” Was the last thing you wanted to say to him, the last thing he wanted to hear too; shaking his head no, Chan squirmed in place while waiting for you to answer to the desperate request in a way that would satisfy both of you.

Instead, you just smiled. Cupping his right, warm cheek, you lightly pinched its plumpness and traced your hand lower unto his neck and chest, pulling that nuisance of a fabric away from those beautiful lips and skin. He visibly gulped at your movements –at being scanned by your sharp eyes, but made no objections whatsoever; the easy compliance egged you on to inch his figure further southwards, fingers dancing on the white sheet. It seemed like he was bare under the covers, and when your hand finally clasped at the side of his right thigh and absorbed the gentle body heat, your assumptions turned out to be accurate, slapping a smirk on your face.

“Are you naked, little?” You asked, stare switching between Chan’s agape lips and anticipating, bright eyes; he did nothing, as if waiting for your sly hand to figure that out itself. “Why is that?” Your gentle tone tried to coax the words out of the man, “Were you being naughty when I was at work?”

“No!” It was adorable how the reply cut off his quiet sigh, being shot out to convince you, “No, I was just waiting for you, and… I fell asleep.” He explained, his covered chest heaving out of slight nervousness. A light chuckle sprang out of you while you flew down to peck his pretty lips.

“Relax, pup; I believe you.” You assured, “It would be fine if you did, though;” Leaning down on your elbow, you peppered lingering kisses near his mouth, your free hand caressing his bicep from over the covers, “you’ve been so good lately—you deserve a treat, both from me and yourself.” By the way his cheek flexed under your lips, you could tell he was smiling. “So, let’s give you a treat then, angel!” He shivered when your breath rubbed on the sensitive spot under his ear.

As soon as you backed away and got off of the bed, Chan rose up to sit on his butt and see what you were doing, the white cover dropping unto his lap; knowing that you’re being watched, you made your way to the small, antique chest placed on top of a console table next to your closet, and opened its lid, eyes immediately landing on the dark jade bundle of silk rope as well as the small tube of expensive, cinnamon scented lubricant, both of them sitting brazenly over the extra pile of naughty toys and accessories! You grabbed the objects with content, having already formed a plan in your head while expecting eyes bore into your back; you threw the equipment on the mattress right next to the man’s feet, fighting back a smirk when your short glance caught him staring at them and gulping. The chair next to the ajar door welcomed your buttoned shirt and jeans to leave you alone with the tight red top and black panties, watching you silently set a course to your boyfriend back on the bed.

“Are you feeling verbal today?” You asked the young man whose eyes obviously swayed over your figure without any intention. It took a dazed, short while for Chan to answer, but he finally did after a gulp and pursing his lips.

“I don’t know…” He shook his head when you sat in front of his folded legs on the mattress, putting a calf between your locations; his slumped, pale body was screaming for your attention in the most innocent way possible, which wasn’t all that rare for the man, as he, deep down, was very innocent, despite what he liked to show his fans and or had to portray of himself because of his career and his position in their group. It hadn’t really been mentioned yet, but you were aware of the heartwarming fact that you were the only person entrusted with this side of his character –a side he himself cherished dearly yet had always tried to suppress, until meeting you, of course.

“Well then,” You caressed his puffy cheek, pressing your forehead on his and giving him an Eskimo kiss, “we just have to find out, I guess!” Your soft chuckle mixed with the one Chan let out, and you found the moment intimate and soothing enough to begin kissing the man, allowing his passionate lips to gently dance over yours for a while before adding your tongue into the mixture and earning light huffs and sighs from his waving throat.

“Fold your arms on each other.” Guiding his hands, you helped him hold his left forearm in front of his abdomen and place the right one on top of it, wrapping his fingers around his elbows to show satisfaction for the plan; catching the wait in the slouched figure, you got a grip of the ropes behind your rear and started your rather enticing mission of binding the man’s arms together, knots and rings gently kissing his pale skin.

He was more than compliant, once or twice pecking your face when you leaned too close to tighten a knot or readjust a bundle; his breaths were even yet deep, and in between all of that, you could clearly witness a tent forming on the sheet sprawled on his lap, slow yet bold. His mind was taken by your scent, the close but still far away heat of your embrace, and he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to your light, accidental contacts across his arms; dear lord, was he touch-starved!

“All good?” You asked, finally finished with your work. His simple nod was good enough of an answer.

The brightness which reflected from the white covers on the bed turned him even paler and that allowed the jade rope to show off its elegant color on Chan’s bare figure. He looked stunning, blond hair sticking out in this direction or that, lips swollen and red from the excessive nervous biting; there was nothing holding you back from lifting up his chin and crashing your mouth unto his, having him nailed in place by a heavy grip on his thigh. He huffed over your face shakily as your hand plowed in between his locks which you now realized were damp; he must’ve showered after coming home from the studio, you guessed.

“You like this rope; don’t you, puppy?” You giggled, leaving a gentle kiss on his perky bottom lip, trailing down to his jaw and throat while pulling his head back. “Is it the fabric? Or the color?” Your question drowned in the dip of his neck vein as you sucked lightly on it, hearing him whimper impatiently and wriggle in place.

“Color.�� He replied simply, trying to gulp with the uncomfortable position of his head. Your tongue, tracing wet lines on the distinct veins and bulges beneath his sensitive skin, made him tense uncontrollably; he was already so worked up, despite being tired.

“Yeah?” Your teasing tone sent a shiver into his shoulders, “I was thinking about getting you that mini wand vibrator you showed me the other day –the jade one…” Looking back up into his eyes, he panted lightly, “Good, yeah?” He nodded once again, not trusting his voice to make an appearance, making you smile with adoration, “What’s so special about jade anyway?” The man’s heart-rate suddenly picked up and he leaned his forehead above your ear out of embarrassment for what he was gonna confess to.

“It was the color of your underwear the first time you… um—the first time I met mistress!” He tried his best to voice his explanation in the least flustering way, however hard it was. The confession was accompanied by his little hiss when you giggled and dragged the covers off of his figure, making sure it created the slowest, roughest amount of friction and grip.

“Oh, right…!” You mused, pulling your head away only inches; he didn’t seem too pleased about that, but watching you lean forward on your left arm nailed next to his hip and looking up at him with a little smile was all he could think about at the moment. Your index finger on the free hand began drawing circles on his hard tip, “That was a good night, wasn’t it baby?” He was too busy staring into your eyes with knotted brows and a bitten lip, obviously tensing to prevent from moving under your touch; seeing his composure, you massaged the head of his member with your thumb and index finger, gliding them down to its edge and dragging back up without haste but with good pressure. “You were bad, really bad—remember?” Smirking, at the way he kept pursing his lips while looking down at you, you came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t going to be verbal that day; he rarely was, to be honest –only when he was too pent up or maybe too cocky, which didn’t happen all that often, but it was worth the experiment. He might not have liked to be talkative at these times, but he damn sure liked being talked to; he had admitted so more than once, dialogues and monologues being half of the pleasure for him.

Gluing your lips on his chin, you felt him shake as the tip of your finger pressed unto his red slit and slid back and forth, eliciting short whimpers from his agape mouth; he squirmed and squirmed but with no apparent aim, since he neither tried to settle efficiently under your teasing touch, nor did he back away from it to protest. He kept staring at you as if there was something he awaited, gulping and gulping and gulping!

“Lie back and spread your legs for me, sweetie.” You crawled back to grant the man space for his task, the one he fulfilled right after hearing your command.

The now cool spot on the mattress welcomed his muscly back and the sheets straightened when his feet dragged away from each other to make a perfectly fitting nest in between his thighs for you. He had to strain his neck to look over at you, so you decided to help him out by hovering above his torso and grabbing your own pillow to jam it behind his shoulders, creating a better angle for his vision. It was the hardest thing to resist kissing his beautiful lips and you saw no point in it anyway, diving down to steal a few noisy, wet pecks from your boyfriend, retreating into your place near his groin next.

“Mistress has taught you well, hasn’t she?” You purred, kneeling between his legs and sliding them over your thighs to earn the closest spot possible, “You used to be so hesitant –so, so impatient too,” He kept licking his lips while gazing at you, his deep breaths egging you on, “but now look at you; a good,” Your palms slowly wrapped around his length and started screwing over its upper and lower half in opposite directions, “good little angel for me.” His head tossed back from the combination of your words and movements; he was fully hard and flushed.

A low whine echoed in the room when you detached your hands from him and grabbed the lonely bottle from over the mattress instead; the moment its contents poured on your palm and released their exotic scent, a breathy, whisper of your nickname rose also, Chan staring down at what you were holding. He was crazy about this smell –this certain smell that had always awakened a comfortable haziness inside him, enough to make it impossible for him to stand being in the dorm when Felix was baking croissants; it almost acted like an aphrodisiac for him, you had yet to understand why, and it would be a lie if one were to say you didn’t abuse this little effect!

“Red if it gets too much, yellow if you need a breath.” You repeated his safe words, earning a nod, and went back to clasping your palms on his member just like before, copying the same motion again; he shut his eyes with content, sighing when your warmth finally touched him, drenched in a scent he loved dearly.

In a matter of seconds, he was already mewling, dripping with precum, disheveled locks being plunged into the pillows. His state only worsened when your fingers formed a thin ring and placed it right beneath the prominent edge of his tip and started the classic vibrating motion on its ablaze nerves; a motion he had grown used to, no matter how torturous it was. Giving him short intervals, you managed to earn a glimpse of his face when he looked back down on your hand, eyes narrow and cheeks flushed –his entire upper body flushed.

“Am I bothering you, Christopher?” Hearing his complete name, he clenched his jaw and shook his head violently, most displeased with the full stop of your hands.

“No, no mistress, keep going!” His words were rushed and hoarse as he took a second to recount what he had said, “Could you continue?” He restructured his sentence after witnessing the raise of your brow, and his heaving chest, his sweet, calm voice was just too good to be ignored.

“Ah!” You cooed, “Such a polite little pup, huh? You’ve learned how to earn my favor, haven’t you? Yes, you have, gorgeous!” He was already too far away from sanity to comprehend your praises as your once again vibrating fingers knocked moans out of him one after another, having his legs wrap around your hips with the constant, cruel edging.

He couldn’t decide between watching the scene of your connection or throwing his head back to slap whimpers at the headboard; when he landed eyes on your hands skillfully tapping on the underside of his aching length through palms, all he could think of was finishing right then and there –it was shameful, how sensitive he was to the littlest of touches.

“Hey!” Your stern voice brought him back to his senses, making him stop gritting his teeth and look back down at you, “No hurting yourself!” Your frown confused him, your words too, but when you gestured towards his hands with the raise of your brows, he got the message; he’d become so lost in the on and off of the pleasure in his gut that he’d forgotten to notice the sharp pain of his nails digging into the side of his elbow.

This was the best opportunity –no, excuse, to frustrate him in the ways he liked, or usually did; you could only hope he’d like it now, too. Sliding your hands off of his weeping length, you kept a hard gaze on his linear, shiny eyes and placed your hands limp on your thighs, palms upwards to avoid leaving the mess of lube and precum on yourself.

“I told you never to hurt yourself, didn’t I?” His flushed face fell at your words, catching the serious worry on your features, “Don’t you wanna be good, Christopher?”

God, he hated his name when it left your mouth! He hated being called by his name when it came to you, because it never meant anything good. He felt cold all of a sudden, without your touch or a trace of your affection, and being naked was much, much more embarrassing. His chest was already heaving.

“I do!” He managed to voice out, awkwardly hoarse, “I am good, Mistress; always!” After all this time, it still flustered him to call you that certain name.

“Then why did you ignore my explicit order?” Yes, you were making a much bigger deal out of this than it was; the marks weren’t even deep, he knew that, you knew that.

“It won’t happen again –you have my word, Mistress… Please—“ He stopped to gulp past his dry throat, still looking into your soul with pleading eyes; he looked so tired, yet he never once dreamed of protesting –not to your work anyway.

“Please what, boy?” Your question had its sharp edges –sharper than Chan liked it. Was there any affection in boy? None he could feel, no –it felt colder than his own name.

“I wanna be good for Mistress;” He breathed out with knotted brows, “can I have one more chance? Please, I want—“ His arms wiggled desperately in between the rope, “I need to cum—“ He could feel fire searing his ears, “Can I, please? Only Mistress knows how to give that to me…” Was it enough? Did he have to go deeper? He couldn’t tell based off of your blank expression.

“Hmm…” A smile creept on your face just as the hum was released from your throat, “Such good manners!” You praised, lifting one hand to lightly drag over his pale, beautifully shaped thigh and finally plant around his cock again –a short gasp being his response, “Such a well-behaved little cub!” He clearly twitched at that! Your palm dragged up and down his veins and he was once again, jelly at your touch, “Who taught this little pup how to be so good and polite?” His moan interrupted your question when your other hand wrapped two fingers around the sensitive edge of his tip. One second he’d push his hips into the mattress to desert your touch, and the other, he’d push up to pump into your airy fist. “Christopher!”

“Mistress did!” His shaky answer came only after your call brought him back to earth and snapped his eyes open. “Only Mistress can tell pup to be good –he always listens to you, only you Mistress—oh, fuck, don’t stop –please!” His sweet voice became high-pitched whines as soon as the ring of fingers around his tip began vibrating again; squirming and spasming uncontrollably, he began throwing his hips up to feel more than the brush of your thumb on his base and the vibration of your fingers on his moistened head. “No—no no, ’m gonna cum—is it okay? Can—“ The hoarse groans piercing his mewls wouldn’t let him finish his thoughts, and your fingers weren’t helping his intellect either!

The bulging veins on his stretched back neck were ripe for marking and the way his pale skin had become many shades redder out of frustration and tension could only mean one thing: he’s few seconds away from covering his stomach with white.

What was cuter than normal, day-to-day Chris, was this Chris; the one writhing and begging and whining under the gentlest touch you could grant him –the one actually able to cum from that meager touch! His voice wouldn’t lower, making way for shameless babbles and incoherent pleas, and you just wanted to put him –and your cramping hand– out of misery.

“It’s okay, Little,” You murmured, still able to reach his ear from between his own noises, “you can cum in five…” Hearing the start of his countdown, Chan lowered his head to look at you, just like all the times he was close; he wanted to see you, and more importantly, he wanted you to see him lose it all. “Four…”

“Count faster!” His fingers were now somehow wrapped in the thick threads of the rope and tugged roughly; you could feel the way the mattress dipped eagerly behind you as Chan’s feet pressed on it with curled toes.

“Three…” You smirked, knowing full well his need for ‘being good’ is way more prioritized to his body than getting what he wants. He could always take what you gave him –every single time; he loved and yearned for the care that came after his success, he wouldn’t change it with anything. “Two…” A small, ecstatic mewl left him when your thumb caressed his slit rhythmically, body trembling out of the little stimulation that was successfully driving him insane.

“One.”

He managed to keep his teary eyes open as his mouth fell apart wider and wider for a scratchy moan to swim into the room with nothing holding it back whatsoever; a big, irritating knot came finally undone in his burning stomach and then there it was, hot strings of white connecting the skin of his purple tip to his abs, your fingers still delicately wrapped around his twitching cook.

There was a gentle thump when he let his head fall on the pillow and the way his chest rose and fell seemed kind of painful; he, on the other hand, looked as blissed out as he possibly could, sweat gleaming on his temples.

“Everything okay?” You massaged his member carefully to help it soften sooner and when your hands eventually left him, he huffed out.

“I’m good, all good.” He panted, glancing down at you lazily, catching your satisfied smile.

His mind kept slipping in and out of reality, and the next thing he felt was the warmth of a kiss on his forehead as cold, wet wipes danced on his belly.

“You did so well.” You whispered, taking advantage of the close vicinity, “Take a nap. I’ll order some food and we can watch something later before bed.” His hazy eyes stared up at you, nodding when your fingers slid over the knots over his biceps to rid him of the restraints.

“Is noodle soup okay?” You asked as your steps lead you to the chest to put back the items you’ve retrieved earlier, “Or maybe we should get tomato?” Turning around, you were met with the unconscious figure of your boyfriend, half covered with white sheets, face as puffy and soft as spring clouds.

You couldn’t help but coo and return to his side to pull the sheets higher over his naked body, and when he made no movement at your touch, you just knew he was knocked out cold; and that meant he’d be up in two-three hours, hungry as a starved wolf, and he will need any kind of food he can find –so soup is probably not the best idea to satisfy Bang Christopher Chan!

#bang chan #bang chan smut #sub!skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz #stray kids #sub bang chan #sub chan #sub dom

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firecatvariant · 3 years ago

Text

Confessions (Satan)

This is my very first attempt at writing a fan fic in over 15 years. 😭 I'm very, very out of practice. It's just a little Satan x MC fluff, totally SFW. I did my best to make sure it was relatable to all. Enjoy!

*Very slight spoilers for Satan's 2021 Birthday event*

Confessions

A light rain was falling steadily. You could hear the tapping on the roof, and curled up on Satan's bed, your head in his lap while a dozen candles burned around you, you couldn't think of a cozier scenario.

Your book was fascinating, and as you finished the chapter you put the book down and looked up. Satan was absorbed in his own book, his eyes serious as they moved back and forth across the page, his mouth in a tight line. Whatever he was reading he was completely entranced by.

These were the moments you loved the most. Spending quiet time with the demon you loved the most. The House of Lamentation could get incredibly rowdy at times, and while that was fun, sometimes it was nice to relax in silence. Especially with him by your side. You wanted to take advantage of it while you could.

As you stared, you couldn't help but think how incredibly handsome he was. You couldn’t help but love everything about him. His messy blonde hair, those gorgeous emerald eyes, that smile, which came in so many different variations. But he saved a special one, just for you.

He finally looked down, and noticed you staring at him with a big smile on your face. He put his book down and smiled back you. That special smile.

"What are you smiling about?"

You shook your head. "Nothing in particular. Just thinking about how much I love these moments with you."

His smile grew wider, and a light blush formed around his cheeks. "Really? You don't think this is boring?"

You shake your head. "Not at all. With the rain, the candles, and you, it's very relaxing. And kind of romantic," you teased.

He blushed harder. "How's your book?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"It's fascinating. Mystery stories are always so exciting. And the fact that we almost lived through it makes it even more exciting. Although my character was murdered, I'm still dying to see how it ends." You blushed and realized the meaning of your words. "Oh! I mean, not really die though. Though I will one day, I guess. And did in the story, like you said at the book fair." You wanted to kick yourself. You always tend to say too much when you're flustered, or you say the wrong thing.

He chuckled as you sat up and stretched to try and recover from your rambling, and when you were finished he put his arms around you and pulled you close. His face grew serious.

"Don't even say things like that. If I were ever to lose you, I ... I don't know what I'd do."

You felt surprised. Satan never minced his words, and he’s told you he cared about you before, but never with such a look on his face. "I-I'm sure you'd be sad, but eventually you'd carry on. Grief lessens over time you know."

He held you a little tighter. "This grief wouldn't. I never knew I could care about someone as much as I care about you. When you came into my life, you replaced all those emotions that I constantly felt, the anger, wrath, resentment. And filled me with something I had only read about in books before. Love. Peace. Contentment. If something were to ever happen to you ..."

You pull away and turn towards him, and gently cup his face in your hand.

"Sachan." (his face grew pink again as you used your special nickname for him) "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

You can't quite read his expression, it's both loving and hungry at the same time. He reaches out and pulls your face close to his, and you share a deep kiss.

"Mmm. I love you MC. Truly and deeply. I never want to be without you."

"I love you too." You whisper.

His face grows thoughtful for a moment. "More than my brothers?" He looks away, embarrassed that question finally left his lips. But he had to ask. MC was so close to everyone, so flirty. And he knew his brothers wanted them all to themselves as well.

You grew a little pink, but took a deep breath to finally tell him the truth.

"I love your brothers, it's true. But it's a different kind of love than the love I feel for you. I care about all of you, but you're ... special. No one else makes my heart ache when they're not around, or brings such a warm feeling to me when they touch me. No one else puts these butterflies in my stomach, or these special thoughts in my mind. No one else has the same effect on me as you do. There's a place in my heart for all of you, but only you occupy a very special place in my heart and mind."

Satan smiled his special smile, and once again reached out and pulled MC close. Only this time, he turned them and laid them down on the bed.

"I hate the thought of sharing any of you with them. But as long as there's a part of you that is for me, and me alone, I guess I can live with that. For now." He smirked, obviously looking forward to the time when all of you was his and his alone.

You reached out your arms and pulled him close. "I love you, Sachan. I really do. Forever, and for always."

"Truly and deeply, forever and for always. It really does sound like we have something special." Satan said.

You giggle. "It sure does." You started to pull him closer ...

Suddenly, you hear a crash from outside, and Mammon, Levi and Asmo yelling.

Satan made a face. "Sounds like everyone is home." He started to move off the bed.

"We'd better go see what the matter is before Lucifer comes home and punishes us all," you say.

"Just when things were getting good," he lamented.

You laugh. "They'll continue to get better. I promise."

"In every way, I hope. I'm holding you to that."

With that, you take his hand and begin heading towards the common room, only to blush when you realize what you promised. But as long as you had him by your side, nothing else in the world mattered.

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me satan #obey me fluff #obey me drabble #obey me satan x mc #obey me fic

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years ago

Text

I'm Yours

Pairing: Kirishima x reader

Warnings: There's kissing. A lot of kissing. Just some teenagers being dumb really. No canon characters were harmed in the making of this fic. I didn't include a cheating aspect since I don't write for that kind of stuff, but there's still some jealous!Kirishima here >:3

Author's Note:

Uhhhh I kinda forgot to make this fluffy . . . .

Thanks to uwuwuwuwuwuwuwuwuwi from Wattpad for requesting! (that's a really fun username hehe)

Enjoy!

-Sugar

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Swamped.

That was the only way he could describe it. Kirishima didn’t think he’d ever been so busy, and he wasn’t the only one.

Finals had the entirety of the hero course stressed, especially the second-years like himself. Between training, doing homework, and going to class, there wasn’t exactly room for being social. Any time he was able to hang out with his friends, they were studying together. Nothing he'd really describe as 'fun'. And that’s what had him feeling the worst about all this.

He’d started dating you a few weeks ago—going on three months now, actually. Things had been going well between the two of you. You liked him and he really liked you, so to him, there hadn't been any type of problem.

Even so, there was something a little unique about your relationship: no one knew about it. You yourself were never one for letting others get too involved in your business. And besides, you also knew the nature of most high school relationships. Maybe you’d announce yourselves as a couple and make a big fuss only to grow tired of the other and end it all within the first month. But clearly, that hadn’t happened.

There was a strange thrill to keeping your relationship a secret; a novelty your boyfriend hadn't expected. Though he wasn’t much for dishonesty, Kirishima practically lived for the stolen glances across the classroom you’d share, and the way he’d sneak you behind the school for impromptu makeout sessions with no one ever the wiser. You were his little secret, and he was yours.

Until it had all come to a grinding halt with the extra schoolwork.

He still tried to make time to spend with you in one of your dorm rooms, but the both of you finally had to admit to yourselves that neither of you could get any work or studying done when you were alone together. And so it was back to study groups; holding hands under the table as either Bakugou or Yaoyorozu went over the newest batch of hero laws that needed to be memorized.

God, how he wished this could all be over. Kirishima just wanted things to be normal again. When was the last time he’d even seen you? He could remember watching the back of your head duck out of the classroom at the end of the day, but after? . . . Nothing.

He frowned at the physics worksheet laid before him, mind wandering to thoughts of you as one of his sharp teeth sunk into the eraser at the end of his pencil. Kirishima supposed he should go check on you later, once he’d finished up his assignments for the evening.

…

“Did you see (L/N) yesterday?”

Kirishima’s ears unconsciously perked up at the sound of your name. He stood with his tray in the lunch line directly behind some of his female classmates. They were chatting amongst themselves as they slowly stepped forward. Kirishima wasn’t generally one to listen in on conversations he wasn’t a part of, but now they’d captured his interest. Had one of them seen him sneaking into your room?

“No, I didn’t,” Uraraka said in response to Ashido. “Is she alright?”

“Of course she is,” the pink-haired girl said, rolling her abnormal black and amber eyes as she reached for a clementine. “Actually, she may be doing more than alright.”

Kirishima swallowed. Uh-oh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jirou asked, sounding largely uninterested in gossiping about her fellow classmate.

“Well,” Ashido began, bouncing a little on her toes, “I saw her on the tech floor yesterday and you won’t believe who she was talking to.”

“Who?” Jirou asked dryly, probably hoping to get the discussion over with as quickly as possible.

“Kobayashi Tatsuo. The third year,” Mina announced proudly.

The redhead behind them quietly sighed. Thank goodness. They still didn't know.

“And?” Uraraka questioned.

“They were totally flirting!” Ashido said. “(L/N)’s bagged a cute upperclassman boy! They’ll be dating soon, I just know it! If they aren’t already.” She smugly leveled her shoulders, grinning with an odd look of satisfaction.

What?

“I guess that’s good for her,” Jirou commented, picking up her tray from the lunch bar in order to follow her friends to a table.

“I know, right?” Mina said excitedly as they walked off. “And he’s totally cute too! I wish a hot guy would pay attention to me for once.”

Kirishima watched them leave, almost forgetting to grab lunch for himself after being so absorbed in what they were saying.

The majority of him knew he shouldn’t pay any mind to it. This sort of thing was bound to happen. Of course his peers try to figure out who was involved with who, even if it wasn’t really accurate or from the most credible source. The girls didn’t know that you were already taken by someone else, in fact, the very person behind them in line.

At least now he knew where you’d gone after class yesterday . . . but why? What were you doing on the tech floor? And who was this third year you were talking to?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Kaminari’s voice. Kirishima returned the greeting, sliding into his seat next to his friend. As he settled into the atmosphere of his usual table, he couldn’t help but scan the cafeteria for your face, just as he had done every day, even before you were dating.

But for the first time, his search came up empty. You were nowhere to be seen.

…

Kobayashi wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to be spending your lunch with.

Really, a part of you wondered why you had to skip going to the cafeteria at all today. But then you remembered the stack of work that sat on your desk. It stubbornly refused to ever shrink, no matter what you did. Recently, it felt like as soon as you got one thing done, two more assignments would find their way right back at the bottom. And this was just another one you had to deal with.

While reviewing your materials for your upcoming finals, you’d begun to take note of other heroes’ costumes and support items. Particularly, you’d taken interest in a hero from Ukraine who’d debuted a few decades ago. Your quirk was wildly similar to his and you couldn’t help but further research his techniques, costume, and gadgets that enhanced his abilities.

You weren’t one to copy. Actually, you quite liked the way your current costume functioned and looked, with its own unique style of your own. Even so, you’d read things about him and his quirk that you honestly hadn’t even thought of for yourself, and you’d begun to make a special section in your notebook for improvements to your hero ensemble. Was it the best use of your time? Perhaps not, but you did have a practical exam coming up, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if these improvements you were sketching might make all the difference in your performance . . . .

You decided you could use an upgrade. Which is exactly why you went to the second-year in the support course who was in charge of making adjustments to your costume. Until your hopes were immediately dashed when you found out he was sick. Determined, you went to the next best option: Kobayashi.

He was a nice enough boy. Tall, witty, and a whole year older. You hadn’t expected to be spending so much time with him over the past week, but for whatever reason, he kept calling you back to his workspace in the shop for ‘daily check-ins’. At least he was making good progress.

But now you were spending your lunch hour eating with him. It felt strange, being alone in a different classroom with the guy—not an uncomfortable strange, merely “I’m not used to being here”. You’d let him borrow your notebook full of sketches for your costume, and that’s what he was going over with you now.

He’d ask you for clarification on one of your notes before jotting something down of his own right next to your handwriting. He had also been eager to show you his process, explaining the steps of what he was doing while you ate from your bento.

To be honest, it was kind of nice being in a different setting. Kobayashi was fun to listen to; it was clear he was passionate about what he was doing.

But still, he ran out of things to talk about. That was, when it came to your hero suit. Figuring it was too late to go back to the cafeteria anyway, he ate his own lunch with you, striking up a new conversation.

At first, you didn’t pay any mind to it. But then you began to take notice of how close he sat. Then you realized how eager he was to make you laugh, how smoothly the casual chatter flowed between you. And then it struck you just how much he peppered in compliments to you. Finally, it clicked.

Uh-oh.

You refused to meet his gaze when he waved you off after the bell rang. Dashing away, you wondered how serious he might be. Did he actually like you? No, perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

Then again, he had been being awfully nice to you ever since you’d met. But what if that was just how he was? Kaminari could be like that at times, and you knew he didn’t usually mean anything too serious behind it. Or—well—perhaps Denki the Flirt was a bad example for your case. Still . . . how were you supposed to make it clear to Kobayashi that you weren’t interested?

You shook your head to clear it of these thoughts. He hadn’t actually done anything, so what was the point of worrying about it? You were loyal to Eijirou, you knew that. You’d made a commitment to him just as he had to you, and that was all there was to it. No matter what, you’d continue whatever it was you had with him. Kobayashi wasn’t an issue you should be losing sleep over. Besides, you were probably reading too far into things anyway.

Content with the conclusions you’d made, you walked back into your homeroom class for fifth period. Settling into your seat, you faced the chalkboard in front of you, awaiting the return of Aizawa-sensei, unaware of the pair of ruby eyes fixed on your back.

…

Kirishima shot up from his desk the moment he heard a soft knock on his door. As soon as he opened up his room, you came barreling into his arms. “Hey!” he greeted you, reciprocating the hug.

“Study break!” you announced quietly, not wanting to alert his neighbors of your presence.

He tittered happily to himself, leading your bodies back to his desk where he could sit you on his lap in his chair. Settling comfortably on his thighs, you were quick to slot your lips against his. Kirishima melted into your touch.

How many days had it been since he’d last gotten a chance to kiss you? Two? Three? Either way, it had been far too long.

“Shall we take this to the bed?” he joked after a few minutes of kissing.

You chuckled at his harmless allusion. “You know I’m going to fall asleep as soon as I lay down.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, concern morphing his features. “Have you been getting enough rest with all this going on?”

“No,” you admitted. “I was up last night with my English flashcards. I swear Present Mic is trying to kill me with this new vocab, it’s like I can’t get it in my head at all.”

“I could help you study it,” your boyfriend offered, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“That would be productive,” you said sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. “What was it last time? ‘If I get a set right, I’ll get a kiss’ and then next thing I know, we’re making out on your bed for twenty minutes.”

He grinned up at you coyly. “At least I made studying fun.”

“That wasn’t studying!” you protested with a grin. “Speaking of, my timer’s going to go off soon—” you pressed your lips against his for a moment, “—and I want more kisses.”

Kirishima let you have your way with him, threading your fingers through his hair while you savored the taste of his lips. But there was something still nagging at the back of his mind.

“(Y/N)?” he asked when your phone buzzed and you pulled away. “Where were you during lunch today?”

You shrugged, pulling your phone out of your pocket to silence it. “I’m getting improvements on my hero costume. My regular guy got sick so I’m working with this third-year dude.”

“Ohhh.” Kirishima’s worries dissipated almost instantly. “So that’s why you were on the tech floor.”

Confused, you frowned. “Did you see me there or something?”

“Oh, sorry! I just overheard Ashido saying that she saw you down there.” He laughed. “She thought you were flirting with him or something and that you were going to end up dating.”

“Ah, well,” you mumbled, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or not but he, um, actually might have been flirting with me.”

Kirishima’s smile dropped, his arms subconsciously squeezing you tighter to him. “What?”

“I only noticed it today—it totally could be nothing—but I think he’s caught feelings? I mean, why else would he ask me to have lunch with him like this? Not to mention how he was smiling at me, and looking at me, and touching my hand—” You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from saying anything else. Maybe this was more serious than you realized.

Your boyfriend was silent, staring at the floor below you with a troubled expression. His ruby eyes traced over the rectangular patterns on his floor, seemingly lost in thought.

“You know that nothing’s going to happen,” you attempted to reassure him, lifting his chin with one of your fingers so he could look into your eyes. “Those feelings aren’t reciprocated and I’m not going anywhere. I’ve already picked you, Eijirou. There’s no one out there like you.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, sealing your statements, not only to him but to yourself. “We’ll sort this out. If I have to tell Kobayashi I’m taken, then so be it. Maybe keeping our relationship a secret isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”

When you pulled back, you noticed that there was still a pout on Eijirou’s face.

“Aw, what is it?” you asked, tucking one of his fallen sticky spikes back under his bandana.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, pulling you even closer to him.

“Talk to me, baby.” You ran a hand down his back.

“I don’t like the thought of him being around you,” he confessed into your shoulder. “I . . . don’t want him smiling at you like that, or touching you, or letting people think that you belong with him. You’re . . . mine.” He paused before laughing dryly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry. That sounded . . . totally selfish of me and probably not very manly at all—”

“No,” you said simply. “It’s actually kinda hot.”

He pulled back to look at you, perhaps to see if you were joking. Your expression was intrigued, maybe a little flustered. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed. “I . . . like when you call me yours. It’s cute. And besides, it’s okay that you feel that way. Feelings don’t have to make sense. I'm frustrated about this too.” Pecking his lips a final few times, you regretfully stood from his chair. “I wish there was something more I could do right now, but I should get going. I promised Tsu and Uraraka I’d meet up with them. We can talk about this later.”

“See you, (Y/N),” Kirishima said.

You smiled and waved, turning to the door and checking to see if anyone was in the hall before slipping back out. Kirishima watched you go, wondering what he should do.

Kirishima hadn’t even met the guy and he already hated him. Sure, Kobayashi wasn’t aware you were taken, and he had every right to show interest in you, but that was supposed to be Eijirou. It was Kirishima’s job to flirt with you and be there for you and sweep you off your feet. Your classmates should be shipping you with him, not this random guy from another year.

The redhead sighed. He shouldn’t let himself get so caught up in this. He knew you were capable of sorting this out on your own, and if you really needed him, Kirishima would help you. He couldn’t start getting whiny like some kind of child.

Besides, your friends could think whatever they wanted. It couldn’t affect your relationship. They were just high school kids. They didn’t even know what they were talking about.

Despite the fact he was trying to get back into focusing on his work, Kirishima’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Maybe once exams were over you could finally announce that the two of you were together. Then you wouldn’t have to sneak around so much anymore. He could hug you whenever he wanted, and you could sit on his lap during movie night. He’d be able to kiss you in front of his friends, no problem. Maybe, just to see the look on his face, he’d kiss you in front of—

No, no. Japanese Literature. That was what he was supposed to be thinking about right now. The sooner he finished his work, the sooner he’d be able to see you again.

…

Finally it was Saturday afternoon, and you knew you had an entire day to take things a little easier tomorrow. Maybe you’d even try to take the evening off and spend some time with your boyfriend. But of course, you had to meet with Kobayashi about your hero costume first. Hopefully it would be quick, and perhaps even the last time.

You walked down to the tech floor, heading straight for the workshop. You needed your suit for the practical exam next week, so you hoped he was ready for you.

Peeking into the room, you spotted him putting something into a very familiar case.

“Oh, are you finished?” you asked, walking in.

“Yeah,” he said brightly. “You’re all set, (L/N).”

“Thanks,” you said.

“Here,” he popped the little box open, showing off the finalized improvements he’d done and the changes he’d made that you’d spoken about together. He walked you through everything and you listened politely, asking the occasional question. Even with the newfound bitter taste in your mouth at being around him, you had to admit he'd done a spectacular job.

“That should be everything,” you said, ready to go. “Thanks for working with me.”

“No problem.”

Satisfied, you began to walk away.

“Wait, (L/N).”

Apprehensive, you stopped, turning back to him. “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering,” he began, bashful, “if you’d like to grab lunch with me sometime.”

You frowned, apologetic. “I can’t, Kobayashi senpai.”

“Why not?” He looked hurt.

You winced. “I’m already involved with someone else.”

“You’re just ‘involved’?” he asked dubiously, the expression on his face changing. “Please give me a chance. I can see that you feel something for me too. Whoever you’re with, I could be better.”

“I’m not interested,” you said firmly, any momentary sympathy you might have felt evaporating. “Goodbye, Kobayashi.”

He let you go, watching as you walked stiffly out of the classroom. As soon as you rounded the doorway, you felt something grab you. Gasping, you startled, but you were quick to register a familiar head of red hair. You saw Kirishima put a finger to his lips, pulling you further down the hall and towards the empty stairwell for some privacy.

He pushed you up against a blue-gray wall, grinning at you with hooded eyes.

“Eiji, what—?”

“I heard the whole thing,” he murmured, leaning in and capturing your lips for a quick kiss. “I thought that guy might make a move on you so I followed you down here. You held your own.” He kissed you again; this one longer, his tongue sneaking its way into your mouth. “You’re really mine, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, a stubborn trace of hesitancy still present and quavering in his voice.

“Of course I am, Eiji,” you whispered, touching your forehead to his. “I’m yours.”

He surged against you again, kissing you hungrily and pinning you even harder against the solid surface behind you.

You gasped against his force, eyebrows drawing together as you struggled to keep up. “Ei—” you tried. “Not here, let’s go someplace else.”

“Who cares?” he murmured, uninterested in stopping.

“Me. I don’t want to get caught by a teacher or a random fifteen-year-old. We could get in trouble.”

Kirishima sighed, finally drawing back for a moment to meet your eyes. “Okay, fine. But we’re going straight to my room, right?”

You snorted. “Where else do you think I want to be?”

He smirked, taking your hand again. “Good answer.”

Kirishima briskly walked you back to the dorms, his hand migrating ever lower down your back. It wasn’t long before he was sitting you on his lap in his bed, mouth once again connecting with yours right where it belonged.

You weren’t sure he’d ever kissed you like this before, in all the time you’d been together. His passion blazed before you, unrelenting as your teeth and tongues crashed together. He nipped at your lips until they flushed and swelled, and you knew they’d be noticeably bruised by morning but neither of you stopped. He kept going, trailing more kisses from the corner of your mouth, to your jaw, and all the way down your neck only to return right back to your parted lips whispering his name.

Kirishima’s room had never felt so hot and stuffy, even as he pulled off his uniform jacket and helped you out of yours. His cheeks burned red as his eyes, so caught up in what he was doing, the only thoughts his mind was still capable of having were simply You.

It went by in a haze. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d lowered you onto his pillow, or how long he’d been hovering over you and caging you in with his arms as he cherished you.

But he knew one thing. His love for you wasn’t something he could hide anymore. No, he’d never let anyone think they stood a chance with you again while he was around.

One day soon, he would kiss you good morning at breakfast. One day, you’d hold hands in the halls on the way to class. One day, he’d pull you in close after school, slinging an arm around your hips just so he always knew you were there at his side.

But he was happy to be here with you now. He was happy to be your secret. He was happy, even as his kisses began to soften and slow, content with the way your body melded against his as he laid himself at your side and hugged you closer. All that mattered was that you were here with him now, and he was yours.

And you were his.

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Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicalyrandom @bumbyslair @f0leysgurl @hyunmin-1404 @kqtsukii @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars @sendhelpimstupid @ure-a-sunflower @xoxopam4

#eijirou kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima bnha #eijirou kirishima bnha #kirishima imagine #eijirou kirishima imagine #kirishima eijirou imagine #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima x female reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #request fulfilled!#sugar fics

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jayeray-hq · 3 years ago

Note

Heyo! For your affection series could you add kunimi and goshiki? Thank you 🙏

Sure thing anon! Thank you so much for asking! If you haven't already seen it Kunimi is here!

Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!

Warnings: None all Fluff!

How He Shows You Affection Master List - Character Masterlist

He Tells You About It (As Best He Can)

You watched your boyfriend pace back and forth in front of the TV as you leaned on the counter in your kitchen. Something was obviously bothering him, and had been since he’d gotten home from practice. He’d still greeted you with his normal exuberance, practically colliding with you the minute he spotted you, hugging you close, but something about his eyes had been off. He’d definitely seemed worried, which had started your suspicions.

Now that was pacing your suspicions were confirmed. Goshiki always paced back and forth when something was bothering him. According to him it helped him focus on his thoughts if he let his body move, so you’d left him to it. However, it had been something like forty-five minutes now, and you were starting to get concerned. Thus you decided it was time to attempt to intervene.

“Tsutomu, is something wrong?” you asked gently, your voice instantly snapping him out of his pacing as he turned to look at you, dark eyes wide in his face.

It seemed that your gentle prompt was all he needed though because he practically bounded across the room, carefully taking hold of your elbows in his large hands as he peered worriedly into your face and asked, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

You stared at him blankly, trying to absorb the question, wondering what on earth could’ve prompted him to ask. However, your poor boyfriend had apparently taken your silence as either reluctance to answer, or no, because he immediately started to babble.

“Because I do you know, love you? I love you so much, more than anything, more than boiled flounder, more than the perfect serve, even more than my mom and Dai!” he floundered, staring at you a bit helplessly.

It took all your willpower not to giggle, when you knew he was being completely and utterly serious. Though you couldn’t help but find the fact that he’d told you he loved you more than his mother and his dog in the same sentence a bit hilarious, if utterly sweet. It was honestly a bit of a silly thing to be worried about, that he thought you didn’t know how much he loved you.

From the very beginning Goshiki had made it obvious he practically worshipped the ground you walked on. If you said jump, he’d be up in the air before you could even think to ask how high. He was always full of clumsy but well-meant compliments, and never failed to tell you I love you both before he left for the day and when he got home every night despite the fact that there were some in the more conservative Japan who looked down on expressing love for your spouse so openly.

He hadn’t ever given you cause to doubt his love for you, in fact there were only ever times when you wondered if you could live up to how much he loved you and return it equally. If anything you should be the one wondering if he knew just how much he loved you, not him.

“Tsutomu,” you interrupted gently, before he could get anymore worked up, “It’s okay. I know you love me.”

“You do?” he asked, with a worried frown.

You leaned forward to press a quick peck to the pucker between his eyebrows, earning a slight blush from your boyfriend, who despite how long you’d been dating still got flustered over the little things as you assured him, “I do. What brought this on?”

“Kiryu was telling the guys in practice that his girlfriend almost broke up with him because she didn’t know he loved her,” he explained readily enough, relaxing into your hold as you wrapped your arms around his trim waist, “I just wanted to make sure that wouldn’t ever happen to us.”

“It won’t,” you assured him with an affectionate smile, feeling soft at how cute he could be, even if he would argue until he was blue in the face that he wasn’t anything close to ‘cute’, “I’ve never once doubted how much you love me, Tsutomu. You know I love you too right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though the slight emotional waver in his voice told you it wasn’t quite as sure as he probably meant for it to be as he squeezed you close. You hugged back with a content sigh and made a mental note to tell him you loved him more often, because you knew how very much he loved you, you wanted him to know just how much you adored him too.

He Lets You Hang on Him

“Tsutomu!” you cheered, bright and joyful, waving at him from your place by the dividers that separated the court from the crowd.

You weren’t sure if he’d be able to hear you, what with how loud everything was, but low and behold the minute his name was out of your mouth his head was on a swivel searching for you. The minute he spotted you his whole face lit up, as he immediately jogged over to where you were standing.

Holding out your arms you were immediately indulged as he leaned over the dividers to give you your hug, completely unbothered by the crowd and the potential eyes on the two of you. The first time you’d done this you were the one who’d had to lean over the dividers, and your poor boyfriend had blushed up a storm the whole time, even if he’d returned your embrace.

Worried you might’ve made him uncomfortable you’d talked to him after the game and offered to not do it anymore and wait until the two of you were in private. To your shock your boyfriend had immediately protested, insisting you could reach for him whenever and wherever you wanted. He didn’t mind and he never would.

You’d taken him at his word, and slowly but surely, he’d stopped getting quite so flustered, and instead of you having to reach for him, he almost always reached for you first. It never failed to make you smile and feel appreciated and loved by your boyfriend.

It was special, especially since you knew that he didn’t reach for anyone else, and if they tried to reach for him he grumbled about it. Even his teammates weren’t exempt from this, as he always got huffy whenever anyone tried to ruffle his hair, or do anything that might mess with his image as the ‘cool Ace of the team’.

If it was you though he didn’t care a bit. Goshiki was more than content to let you hang all over him, giving hugs, lacing your hands together, linking arms or even the occasional chaste peck to the cheek. It had taken a little bit for him to get comfortable with it all, especially since he’d been so flustered at first, blushing and stuttering up a storm. These days though he barely batted an eye.

He accepted each and every physical gesture from you joyfully, a wide beaming grin on his face every single time. It was cute, especially since you knew if he was denied those gestures he’d get pouty and would shoot you the most devastating puppy dog eyes until you caved in and reached for him again.

“Are you ready for the game?” you asked him as you drew back from the hug, though your hands lingered at his waist.

“Of course!” he told you seriously, a proud, determined glint in his eye as he explained, “An Ace is always ready! We’re going to win this one for sure!”

“Of course you will,” you agreed, with a soft fond smile.

You reached up to press an affectionate kiss to his cheek, unable to help your amusement as he blushed and sputtered a bit as you told him, “Good luck Tsutomu! I’m cheering for you!”

Your poor boyfriend sputtered out his thanks and jogged back to his teammates, face still bright red, but with an enormous grin on his face. You giggled a bit to yourself as you watched his teammates gently tease him as he shook off his embarrassment and got his head in the game, feeling inordinately fond of your boyfriend, who loved you enough to do anything for you, even put up with a little friendly ribbing from his teammates.

You weren’t sure if you were looking forward to or dreading the day he became completely immune to the embarrassment of physical affection. All you really knew was that you were going to cherish each and every moment of it, and the adoration he had for you.

He Hypes You Up and Brags About You

“Alright, alright we get it already,” a familiar voice announced, sounding completely and utterly resigned. Something about the way it was said, making you pause in place.

You hadn’t been too sure about accompanying Goshiki to the reunion of his volleyball team from his high school days, mostly because you’d never met any of them before. However, you’d heard plenty from your boyfriend, who clearly admired them all a great deal, none more so than Ushijima Wakatoshi, the prize Ace of the Schweiden Adlers and one of his rivals.

You’d seen Ushijima from a distance before, as you’d attended the games when he played against your boyfriend, but had never had the chance to be introduced as he tended to leave quickly once the game was over. He was every bit as imposing and formidable as Goshiki had described him, though far quieter than you’d expected.

The others were all equally impressive and a little imposing. Tendou, Satori was MeTube famous, a sensation and an influencer known for his amazing chocolate creations. Semi, Eita was in a band who’s current song was in the top ten trending in the nation. Shirabu Kenjirou was a budding surgeon, and all the others were professional athletes of some kind or another. It was a very impressive crowd, and you suddenly understood a lot better why your boyfriend, strong and amazing as he was, could have such deep insecurities.

Still the group had been nothing but kind and welcoming to the two of you, and it was very obvious they doted on your boyfriend, who was something like the baby of the group as he’d been the only first year starter on the team. Even Shirabu, who constantly threw sarcasm at anyone and anything clearly only had Goshiki’s best interests in mind.

It had made you more than a bit nervous. Honestly, it was like meeting his family all over again. Luckily, it seemed to be going well so far, even so you’d had to excuse yourself to run to the restroom to freshen up a bit to give yourself a bit of a breather. They likely didn’t mean to, but the group was a little rowdy and overwhelming at times.

You’d been on your way back when you’d overheard what you were pretty sure was Semi, though it was hard to be sure given you’d only met them all that day.

“Your girlfriend is the greatest, we get it,” Semi continued, heaving a sigh, making you flush a bit. Goshiki was always hyping you up, and you’d caught him bragging about you to his teammates more than once. It was incredibly sweet, and flattering, if a little embarrassing at times.

“Aww, don’t be sad just because you’re a sad single Semi-Semi,” a voice that was definitely Tendou chimed in, “We should be happy for our cute junior.”

“You’re single too!” Semi hissed back, “And don’t call me Semi-Semi!”

“I think it’s nice that Goshiki is so happy with his partner,” a calm voice that you were fairly sure was Ohira put in thoughtfully.

“You don’t get to talk either mister married with a daughter,” Shirabu snarked.

“It’s nice to see everyone so happy with their partners,” Kawanishi mused, “you two look nice together.”

“She’s amazing,” Goshiki agreed immediately, with a dreamy sigh, that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush, “I really don’t deserve her.”

You weren’t about to let that stand. Your boyfriend was really too sweet, and couldn’t be more deserving if he tried.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” you told him, announcing your presence as you slid back into your seat beside him, clearly startling him though he didn’t protest as you reached for his hand, eagerly twining his fingers together with yours despite the pink flush to his cheeks.

“Gross,” Shirabu informed the two of you, though the small smirk on his lips gave away that he didn’t really mean it.

“I think they are nice together,” Ushijima announced, suddenly, cutting off the retort that had clearly been on the tip of Goshiki’s tongue.

There was a general murmur of agreement from around the table, Ushijima’s apparently the last word that was needed. You were glad to have seemingly gotten their approval, but at the end of the day the only opinion that really mattered was your boyfriend’s, and he’d made his perfectly clear to anyone and everyone that would listen.

He never failed to make you feel loved, which was probably why you were so head over heels for him, because there was no one else quite like Goshiki Tsutomu.

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costellos · 4 years ago

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a/n: I almost titled this “the things they do exclusively for their partner” but “the ways they say ‘I love you’” has a much sweeter ring to it :’) anyway, this wasn’t a suggestion! just something fun to take my mind off of work for the evening. enjoy!

tw: none.

disclaimer: I’m anime-only, so apologies if my character interpretations aren’t accurate!

❥ ┋ ❝ gojo, nanami, itadori, fushiguro & the ways they say “I love you!”

gojo satoru.

Gojo says “I love you” by always texting you first.

talk to any of the faculty at the school and they’ll tell you that Gojo is awful at responding to texts. even after sending him a calendar invite for meetings a week in advance, he still manages to be 20 minutes late. and it’s not that he doesn’t check his phone — no, quite the contrary. it’s just that in this day and age, with notifications pinging every five minutes, he gets distracted quite easily. Gojo simply likes to focus on whatever’s on his mind at that moment.

which since you started dating, so happens to be you. every day at 3:30 PM, right after the final bell rings, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

sometimes it’s texts asking how your day was. other times it’s little messages about his thinking of you. most of the time it’s stupid memes he stumbled upon that day. ↳ satoru🤍 said: hey hey hey check out this new video that’s been going around.

he always checks in on you when he’s on work trips. he likes sending you pictures of the places he visited that day. opening your Insta DMs is always a gamble, though. there are two types of pictures waiting for you: a snapshot of a pretty sunset, captioned “thinking of you!” or a dumb selfie.

your favorite interaction was from when he travelled to the U.S. for work. your phone rang just minutes after you woke up for the day, with Gojo there to say good morning. it sounds mundane, but what made it special was that he was almost 12 hours behind you. it was easily past his bedtime when you picked up. when you asked what warranted the call, he said (as if it was the simplest answer in the world): ↳ “don’t laugh, but... I wanted you to be the last person I talked to for the night. it makes my day feel complete.”

nanami kento.

Nanami says “I love you” by spending most of his free time with you.

he’s the kind of person who prizes his time above everything else. hell, part of that is embedded in his personal binding vow. he spends so much of his day at work, completing mind-numbing tasks, that being alone is his safe space. it’s where he can escape from Gojo the headaches around him.

you knew that before entering a relationship with him. anytime you had asked what his plans for the weekend were, joking if he’d go out and party, he’d reply that he would be spending it alone matter-of-factly.

to be honest, you were a little worried that your relationship would see him prizing his free time above you, but... you were pleasantly surprised to find that wasn’t the case.

in fact, not a lot of your time is spent at home. Nanami enjoys showing you his favorite spots around Tokyo. they’re all places that are so him: neatly-organized yet eclectic bookshops, trendy yet affordable restaurants. he’s not as much of a homebody as you took him for.

and it’s something that he shares with you and only you. Gojo’s tried inviting himself on more than one occasion, to which Nanami quickly shuts down. ↳ “I’m not being callous, [Name]. I’m acknowledging what's fact: there was never a chance he would come with us. this is our time together.”

but not all of your time has to be spent actively. Nanami just enjoys being in your company. you could be in the same room, doing your own thing, and he would be perfectly content with that. ↳ “you’re one of the few people I don’t get exhausted of. everything we do together is time well-spent... I, ah- hope you feel the same.”

itadori yuji.

Itadori says “I love you” by including you in everything he does.

he moves fast and he moves without thinking. outside of his promise to his grandfather, Itadori is someone who runs by his own code. he hates being bound in; after all, rules were meant to be broken. it doesn’t help that his life only lasts as long as the search for Sukuna’s 20 fingers.

hence, he likes following whatever catches his attention first. typically it’s some new movie out in theaters, where he can sit down and enjoy for two hours, only to read more about it on IMDB. he hyperfixates from one thing to another, his interests ever-changing.

he normally does this by himself. it’s easier this way; he can focus on his interests at his own pace. that is, until he starts dating you.

Itadori includes you in everything. it doesn’t matter if it’s his two-week obsession for convenience store sushi or the Marvel cinematic universe. he wants you to be there for it all. ↳ “did you know Chris Evans had to wear a fake chin for the end-credits scene in the first Avengers? ...hey, do you think I’d look good with a fake chin?”

he can go on and on and on about his interests. and you don’t mind — he knows you don’t. that’s why he shares them so willingly. you don’t judge him or tell him to shut up. you absorb everything he has to say, smile on your lips, with questions at the ready.

you’re his better half, the person who’s there to weigh in on every bad idea he’s had. which, unfortunately, varies in intensity. “bad idea” can mean his getting a mullet or facing off against a grade 1 cursed spirit without help. ↳ “I never really felt like I had control of anything. but when I’m with you, things feel... easier. does that make sense?”

fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro says “I love you” by accepting your clinginess.

he’s so hard to read. for the longest time, you assumed that Fushiguro only saved Itadori to avoid complicating paperwork, not out of the goodness of his heart. likewise, you took him for an avid cook after he made you meatballs. you didn’t learn the truth until Panda explained it was actually Itadori’s recipe; that this was Fushiguro's dumb attempt to impress you.

that’s why you’re so cautious at the beginning of your relationship. you don’t want to step on his toes. the last thing you’d want to be is a burden. so you keep your issues and your hands to yourself. ↳ “[Name]. knock it off. I know you’re holding yourself back when you’re with me. just... act like yourself, okay?”

he tells you that two weeks into your relationship. caught red-handed, it seems. it’s almost unfair how well he can read you, and you... just can’t do the same.

but you relent. you start by venting to him about the minutiae in your day-to-day life. and surprisingly, he’s not terrible at comforting you. he listens and offers simple advice. when that doesn’t cut it, you find your favorite dessert on your desk later in the day.

you try testing how far you can go by holding his hand in public. Fushiguro hates it when people touch him without his permission. you’re scared to see how he’ll react and... he glances at you for a moment, shoulders stiff, before turning back ahead of him. his cheeks are pink but he doesn’t stop you.

in fact, he doesn’t stop you from doing anything. he honestly does want you to rely on him. because between you and me, he’s awful at expressing the more vulnerable parts of himself. doing these little things for you is the best way he can show that he cares. ↳ “what? of course you can stay for another hour. err— actually, do you want to just spend the night? no reason, it’s late and... I don’t want you walking back at this hour.”

like this piece? here are some similar works! 🌑 🌒 🌓

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #nanami kento #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuji #headcanons #toya whisks u away #long post #I had a hard time w the dialogue in this one....#lemme know if it sounds kinda redundant #I kept reading it over and over again that it all sounds the same now hhh

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youwontlikethisblog · 3 years ago

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Adriana Arboleda

I find this episode so interesting and since I like to avoid many things, I've put off writing this post because I just don't know where to start.

Previously:

Armando was visibly upset when they mentioned the wedding in front of Betty, it was purely because he didn't want her to once again feel guilty and break things off. While at the same time he overheard a conversation with Nicolas and Betty that sounded like she was jealous and mad at him for "cheating" on her and that he was a bad boyfriend.

This feeds the distrust that Armando has towards Betty's fidelity and his insecurity regarding their relationship(and his role in Betty's life) as well as his rivalry that he has against Nicolas.

Betty was visibly upset with both Nicolas and Armando. For one because Nicolas really is a huge reason as to why Armando feels a certain distrust. As much as I find Nicolas endearing there's many things that annoy me from him. For example the fact that he continues to find ways to converse with Patty even though he knows that Betty doesn't like it, especially that she doesn't want Patty to know anything regarding where he works at and what he does, but Nicolas; to impress Patty, always brings up the topic of money to make himself more desirable. Yeah he's insecure and he wants to get her attention but that doesn't excuse his crappy behavior as Betty's best friend, someone that he considers as his family. That adds so much pressure, distrust, and resentment towards Betty and Armando's relationship. Yes Nic wasn't aware that they were in a relationship to begin with but Betty often times told him, reminded him, and got upset with him for telling or talking to Patsy Pats about Terra Moda or what he does for a living and the dangers of that information getting out.

Two: that Armando is getting married. For one it makes her feel inferior, that their relationship isn't as strong and that Armando isn't serious about her like she is of him.

Armando had convinced Betty to continue the affair, despite the fact he's getting married. He told her it was only for show, that he'd continue with the preparations of the wedding but call it off last minute. Mario had told him that he needed to get Betty on their side because she was the only one that could embellish the balance for the board meeting this is when we start getting the trails to the letter and why Betty rationalized Armando's behavior after reading the letter.

However that isn't the real reason as to why he goes to fix things. It's what he uses as an excuse to justify why he goes to fix things with Betty. Mario, to get him to do this, weaponized what Armando had told him earlier that day about what kind of relationship Betty and Armando have. Had Armando not shared any of what he did he wouldn't have had any ground to continue to manipulate him.

Currently:

It's the morning of the day AA arrives to Eco Moda. When Betty exist her office she sports a huge smile and greets Armando, who is absorbed by her presences and very content. His eyes follow her through his office as she moves around it and just the same, Betty's eyes are on him, barely noticing Mario. When she does, as she's about to exit the office she greets him, we see Armando with a smile just absorbed by her until Mario speaks and he composes himself to act like that didn't make him happy, joyful, at peace, etc...

Why does AA hold such a significance here?

Armando is now slowly accepting and willingly understanding his feelings(he does try to justify them as something else at times). Betty says she has felt this through his kisses and his affection towards her, that she knows that he loves her now and that he is faithful to her-when it comes to Marcela.

However as she said the previous night as she wrote in her diary that she isn't so sure about his love or fidelity when it comes to his true vice; the models. Models like AA.

Jealousy isn't something healthy in any relationship, even when media tries to paint jealousy as this normal and healthy thing that every person experiences, it's not.

In the previous post I mentioned what the definition of Jealous/y is. It's a combination of feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, or resentment but if you look up the definition of it it says "concern over the relative lack of possessions-"

Sometimes it isn't an object, rather a person, however the issue lays within the fact that person who feels the jealousy views said person as an object rather than a human. Armando's jealousy is possessive, insecure and resentful however Betty's jealousy is of inadequacy and insecurity. She doesn't feel resentful towards Armando for being attracted to "beautiful" women. She expects that from him.

AA represents Betty's insecurity as a woman in a physical form. When Betty finds out AA wants to see and speak with Armando privately she tries to stop that from happening, contrary to the past when she'd help the man out, this time she tries to stick to "he said he doesn't want to be bothered" but when Armando realizes who wants to speak to him he ignores his duties as the president of the company and the importance of him being in said meeting for the future collection, which will help Eco Moda be able to pay off its debt. Betty knows this so when she sees that Armando doesn't stop to think, at least of the company, much less consider her(the true nature of her anger), and that he is an easy prey or weak idiot to women like AA she gets angry at him but her jealousy lays where she feels the most insecure.

Armando forgets of Betty and how happy he was when he saw her that morning. Now all he can think about is AA.

AA is the symbol and the token object of Armando's weakness: seggs with society's "perfect" women. He places this "need" of his above anything, his responsibilities as president, as an engaged man, and as someone in an committed and mature relationship.

I find Mario's behavior interesting in this scene however. He stares at Armando with raised eyebrows and a frown on his face, contrary to before where he was trying to keep himself from laughing, however freaked out over Armando's feelings, this time he's annoyed at him.

I keep trying to figure out why he'd get annoyed at him for this. In this scene Betty is behind Mario, where Inesita and Armando have a clear view of her. Betty is trying to stay composed and not let the personal seep into the impersonal so Mario hasn't seen her. Yes we're fully aware that Mario is a man that is extremely detail oriented when it comes to human behavior which gives him an advantage to manipulate people and get whatever he wants out of them so he can simply assume, by Betty's tone, that she isn't pleased by this. However this scene and Mario's behavior is very much unlike him.

This is my speculation, not what we are being told.

Maybe based on how Armando had spoken about his relationship with Betty and his feelings for her, Mario was annoyed at Armando for his behavior like saying "How can you say you cherish her and that you love her as a friend and then do this to her? And yet I'm the terrible one? The one that doesn't understand why the plan is wrong? The one with iron skin?" or one could simply point out that Mario didn't want to get stuck doing most of the work in the meeting while Armando went off to spend time with a hot woman.

Later when Betty agrees that they should take a break, when Betty exits the office(I'm skipping that scene for now) and Mario is walking up to it he asks her if Armando is still in there, she tells him that he is and with AA. Mario then says he shouldn't go in there and interrupt them then but he notices Betty's demeanor and asks her if she's alright.

Betty doesn't look at him, she doesn't pay him attention. She doesn't even make eye contact with him so again Mario behaves naturally.

Of course he pretends to be unaware of the relationship Armando has with Betty. He says he won't go in there and interrupt them, but he pays close attention to Betty.

We're all fully aware that Mario would be capable of seducing Betty. He lacks all the moral and ethic rules to not do that. Mario is a villain, a well written one. So his behavior here is just odd imo.

I do believe and know based on his character, that Mario is also annoyed at Armando for screwing up once more, therefore jeopardizing the company and all that it implies. However, take into consideration what happened the previous day. Mario isn't stupid, he is way too smart. He knows that Armando deeply cares for Betty, he's known this all along though he has also tried to deny any true motive of Armando caring for Betty because she's ugly and he knows his best friend and only uses Armando's feelings towards Betty when it benefits him. He knows that Betty is important and special to Armando. Unlike Marcela.

Mario pointed this out the previous day when he told him that he[A] had made love with Marcela in the past but that from what Armando had shared it had never been sweet. He is fully aware that Betty is vastly different to all the other women Armando has been with and it's not only because she's "ugly" but because Betty is of extreme importance and significance to Armando.

Does Mario disprove of Armando's behavior towards AA being in Eco Moda? Yes.

For two reasons: One that Armando is screwing up the plan again. Two that Armando is a hypocrite who gets mad at him for making jokes about their relationship but then he goes and does that, (which is an even bigger disrespect to Betty, Armando's Betty.) all while constantly telling Mario that he is scum because he feels no guilt while he does.

Does Mario care about Betty's feelings? No and if he does it's not enough to make him have a change of heart because what he truly cares about is remaining in the social statues he's on with being the wingman of Armando.

Again even if he did care a little about how Betty feels it's not enough for him to re-evaluate his role in the plan and what comes above that is Eco Moda's ownership but it gives him more intel on how to manipulate Armando. In the meeting board, when he finally got a view of Betty when she went to sit back down at the table, Mario examined her quickly, did so as the meeting continued, glancing at her, studying her.

Resuming to a chronological order.

As Armando leaves to his office to speak privately to AA, Betty stays behind in the conference room with Inesita and Mario where as Mario said, she looked broken and not her computer like self.

Once Inesita suggest they take a break Betty says she'll go to her office, to which we see Mario with his worried expression, look at her and then turn to look towards Armando's office doors in a silent plea that Betty doesn't catch him indecent.

In their office, Armando is busy talking with AA so Betty doesn't catch some indecent Armando, but because she knows him, she knows that he's capable of acting like everything is normal. When she looks at AA she looks her up and down, insecure in herself as a woman with such a woman in the same room. Armando in this scene is absorbed by AA's body, a contrast to when he was absorbed by Betty's presence(that includes body). Barely paying attention to Betty and speaking to AA in an informal and casual way, something he doesn't even do with her. In some places in Latin America speaking formally is a sign of respect and impersonalism. When you speak more casually it implies a personalized relationship with someone: meaning that they have a more deeper connection than someone you work with, a friend, a family member, a lover, etc. Betty and Armando aren't even on that and they've had seggs.

Betty takes note of this, again, this now moves on from her simply being insecure as a woman to now being mad at Armando for behaving this way.

Once Betty exits the office to go grab their refreshments she overhears Armando call AA espectacular

Whenever Betty is mad she always places her hand to her hip. As she stops to talk to Marcela she does this, again implying her anger towards Armando.

The last thing I'll note about this whole AA thing at this time is how both Betty and Marcela react. Marcela goes into the office fuming, throwing shade and whatnot to display her jealousy towards AA and her possessiveness towards Armando, however Betty only displays her anger towards Armando while very minimalistically showing her jealousy because of AA.

Marcela's anger was targeted towards both of them while Betty's was towards Armando.

Later that day after AA leaves, Betty remains angry. When Armando tries to apologize for yelling at her, Betty ignores him and tells him they need to get back to work.

Armando not only made her feel insignificant as a woman but he also said she got on his last nerve, tell me you wouldn't feel bad about yourself and be mad at the person who did that.

Obviously Betty feels inferior to AA. Who wouldn't if we're being honest? She's hot. Again when it comes to Betty it isn't hard to understand or sympathies with her over this.

However lets just remember that Betty has always felt insecure and inferior as a human being and a woman.

Insecurity presents itself in many ways. For some it could be them acting loud and obnoxious, like Armando. For others it could be them never asking for anything or expecting anything because they believe they don't deserve anything, like Betty.

Slowly however, her relationship with Armando has built her self-esteem. She walks a bit taller, she doesn't have such a tremble in her voice anymore unless she's speaking to Marcela or Daniel. Even on this day she dresses differently. She sports a more juvenile outfit, there's a glow to her. Though her clothing isn't form fitting or revealing, she has changed her clothing. Even now since they started to date she doesn't wear the super long skirts with the very boxy blazers from the shoulders or the clothes she wore at the start of the show. She wears the green dress, the yellow, red, and black dress often and the green skirt suit(the olive green one with the skirt that's shorter than all the other ones she wears).

In the past, on one of their first dates, Betty joked that she was ugly and Armando got upset with her, told her that he didn't like that and that she needed to respect herself. Ironic ain't it?

Armando's sole attention has given her a boost of ego, but his confirmation the night they sinned(lol) that he too felt what she felt for him, which was desire, has helped her a lot. Again to recall what her first time was like, this second time around it built her self-esteem. Especially because since then Armando hasn't been able to keep his hands to himself whenever Betty and him have been alone together, out of office hours.

(Currently listening to the YSBLF playlist on Spotify and honestly I just wanna dance)

The previous night though aware of Armando's fidelity to her when it came to Marcela, which was why she said she felt no jealousy or the likes in regards to that relationship(outside of guilt) she still is very aware of Armando's s. addiction tendencies. It isn't only a matter in which Armando is weak to women like that that even when he doesn't want to cheat on Marcela or whomever, he still falls for their manipulative or even pushy tactics to get him to sleep with them.

Let's not forget that Betty knows Armando and his behavior when it comes to the Models because unlike Marcela who has only seen snip bits when she stands behind him when he's flirting, Betty has seen it and heard it all from Armando. She has been in the room when Armando and Mario discuss how to get away with his affairs, she has seen him in action, she has even heard and seen the way he plays women. However Betty lacks the knowledge we have of Armando's seggsual affairs.

What does this mean?

To Betty, this weakness of Armando is solely based on the body of the women he is sleeping with(which are all A Grade) and though to some degree this is true(his obsession with perfection etc.) there's more to it. Armando, aside from having slept with her and saying he desired her, has never acted eager to jump her bones or expressed it like he has about all the other women he has been with. He has never made her feel validated as women for her body, though she knows he has an emotional attraction to her, she doesn't believe he has a physical one(I'll get to that scene in time ok! for now I'm talking about it like they haven't screwed again) for her, or at least one that matters. So when she sees AA in the office and she looks her up and down Betty compares herself, not as Armando's girlfriend, but as a woman in general.

For us women looks are the most important and most valuable thing we're told we have. Without them, what are we?

When you grow up being the "other" of society standards for women you grow up with no self-worth. Comparing yourself to others becomes second nature. We know Betty has said she grew up lonely, only Nicolas was her friend, kids in school made fun of her. She never had this moment when she looked at herself and was at least okay with what she was staring at. The contrary, she hated it but learned to tolerate it. Her self deprecating jokes were her acceptance of it, her way to cope with the way the world treated her. It was for her to be able to not care as much about it. However the way people treat her based on her looks still stings and this time it's a lot more.

Could you put yourself in her shoes? All your life you go about it feeling lonely, ugly, unwanted, inadequate, etc. and one day after so much heart ache, a terrible relationship that left you emotionally disfigured and scarred, a man that is desired by so many women AND men, who is "educated", "smart", handsome and has a good sense of humor pays attention to you, how would you feel?

Realistically speaking; a lot more insecure.

Some people hate themselves so much that they hate when people take notice of them because it's like saying "you have terrible taste if you like me, therefore you are not as great." Burdening someone with your own self-hatred. Betty has shown this in the past, when Armando first started to pursue her. She asked him time and time again why he'd be interested in her or notice her because a man like him could never notice her as more than just his employee.

AA is the incarnation of Betty's own dilema. Her self-hatred and insecurity as a woman because in her eyes she lacks beauty. Body wise she doesn't have Meat on her bones, she has frizzy wavy hair, doesn't wear makeup and has one eyebrow plus a mustache. However, despite this, Armando has fallen in love with her and in a matter of seconds this is shattered.

Armando forgets who Betty is for him. He forgets what he feels for her, the importance and significance of her to him and his life and is enveloped with the idea of AA wanting to speak to him and not in this "fanatic" manor but as a man wanting to conquer. Betty's ego isn't only hurting but she(in complete) is hurting by this. Next to Marcela she knows she is the one to hold Armando's heart and now his desires, but next to women like AA, she is insignificant not just as a woman, but as a person in general.

Especially after Armando yells at her, after a long time of not doing so, he yells at her in front of AA, he forgets Betty is even in the room or in the world. While with Marcela he tries not to bring her up or the subject of the wedding because he knows it hurts her(visibly kept glancing towards her office when AA was asking about it, confirming that whenever he seeks her comfort when she isn't with him in the room he'll be facing or standing by her office), he doesn't even consider her when AA is the room. She's heard him say he'd forget all of his commitments and relationships and run away with AA and marry her, just that day she saw him kiss a picture of her and basically make out with it.

She believes that unlike Marcela, AA is real competition because she's hawt(even though Marcela is hawt too) however she knows that Armando isn't in love with Marcela or even interested in her for that fact but she knows that Armando is of AA. However again because Betty is so insecure as a woman she believes that she isn't even in a competition with AA, because if AA wanted to, she'd take Armando and he wouldn't even put up a fight, he'd go willingly on the first attempt. Add that to Armando saying that Betty gets on his last nerve?

He dug his own grave.

One could ask how is it possible that Armando didn't pick up on Betty being jealous?

For one because Armando has only experienced Marcela's jealousy which is loud and arrogant. She throws shade, she yells at him, she demands from him. Betty doesn't do that. She interrupts his one on one time with AA by entering his office and looking for some paper work. She drops a box full of things to ruin any momentum he could be building with AA. Her jealousy is displayed in quiet and timid ways. The one time it she makes it "loud" enough is when she hears Armando flirting with AA and steps out of her office and stands in the middle of them, until he notices her, but then, after she bumps into him, he yells at her. You can tell right away this isn't just like when he yelled at her in the past that it made her want to cry(I mean who doesn't want to cry when they're being yelled at) but this time it was something that hurt her deeply. For the reasons mentioned above.

And two because he's clueless. Though in the past episodes we have seen Armando learn to be in sync with Betty's feelings and make an effort to be attentive and understanding, all of that work of his is thrown out the window when AA appears, making Betty not only feel inferior and insecure as a woman in general but making her feel like she's nothing, not even in a "my fav. employee" type of way. He makes her feel worthless as his girlfriend.

This is when the hurt moves on to anger.

Anger at herself and anger at him for making her feel this way.

When the Love Guru brings all of this to his attention, Armando has a face of realization.

He truthfully thought Betty was just being her unaware and naïve employee self. The one who trips, who doesn't back up her files on disks, y'know, the one she was at the start of the novel. He doesn't think that Betty is acting out in jealousy because again she doesn't act like Marcela does.

When he finally realizes this thanks to Mr. Dimples, we see the sudden "oh crap" face. Like it all made sense and he knew he messed up.

It's interesting to see how these scenes play such a huge roll to Betty finally speaking up in the relationship later that night.

Sorry this post took so long for me to write. I wanted to fully understand the huge significance of Adriana Arboleda as she has been one since the start of their affair, unbeknownst of Betty.

#armando mendoza #analysis of ysblf #don armando #armando ysblf #betty pinzón solano #beatriz pinzón solano #beatriz pinzon solano #betty ysblf #betty #betty la fea #Adriana Arboleda

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mellometal · 4 years ago

Text

Hi, everyone.

I have something extremely important to talk about that is NOT fandom related. I really do hope this can reach everyone on here, especially since it's still Autism Acceptance Month.

A few quick questions for anyone who happens to see this before I dive right into this: Have you ever heard of Dhar Mann? If so, have you ever seen his videos? What do you think about them?

If you don't know who Dhar Mann is, he's a content creator whose main platforms are Instagram and YouTube. He makes these videos about various scenarios from a couple on the brink of divorce, to kids bullying one of their peers, even about Autism Spectrum Disorder. All of his videos have some kind of message at the end that really drives the point home. One of his most recent videos is about ASD, which is what I'm going to discuss today.

Personally, I think some of his videos are interesting, despite the concepts being reused and recycled over and over; however, how I feel about the video he made about ASD is the complete opposite. I'll summarize the video he made so you don't have to watch it. (If you really want to watch it to see exactly what I'm talking about, I'm not gonna stop you. Do what you need to do in order to form your own opinion.)

The video Dhar Mann made about ASD is about this boy who excludes his autistic brother from participating in activities with his friends at school. The boy bullies his autistic brother and does pretty much everything to make his brother's life Hell, even going as far as to pretend that he doesn't know his own brother. The boy "instantly regrets his decision" when their mom is called into the school to discipline her son for bullying his autistic brother. What his mother says is what REALLY upsets me. The message of this video in particular is this, WORD FOR FUCKING WORD. I wish I was kidding. But here's the message below:

How the video concludes is the boy reluctantly includes his autistic brother in every single activity, the boy sees his brother's potential, and they live happily ever after. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo.

As an autistic woman who works with disabled people for a living, that message Dhar Mann put in this video specifically is not only extremely ableist, but is also spreading misinformation about ASD.

News flash to all the people who still spread misinformation about ASD: Not every single autistic person is a little white boy in elementary school, nor is every single autistic person a young white man who's a Super Genius™️. (I could go on all day long about how the media stereotypes autistic characters and autistic people in general, but that's a whole other topic.) No autistic person is the same, meaning we all fall on the spectrum in different places and all that jazz. There's no "look" to autistic people either because no autistic person looks the same.

Autistic women exist.

Autistic girls exist.

Autistic nonbinary people exist.

Autistic BIPOC and AAPI exist.

Autistic people who are completely nonverbal exist.

Autistic people who are completely verbal exist.

Autistic people who are in the middle of being nonverbal and verbal exist.

Autistic people who require minimal to no support exist.

Autistic people who require moderate support exist.

Autistic people who require full support exist.

Autistic LGBT people exist. (Reason why I bring this one up is because the media almost always shows cishet autistic men and I don't see autistic LGBT representation very often, if ever.)

Autism isn't something you can "catch". People have this same mentality about ADHD and Tourette's Syndrome too, which, by the way, you can't "catch" either.

Autism doesn't "go away" when you reach adolescence or adulthood. Why? BECAUSE AUTISTIC TEENAGERS AND AUTISTIC ADULTS EXIST. Autistic kids grow into autistic teenagers, then into autistic adults.

You can't "cure" it either. Unless you can build a time machine and a device to go back in time to change how a person's brain develops, there is no cure. ABA therapy is a fucking shit show in itself that does more harm than good.

The title of the video is a real squick for me too. It's mostly because I don't particularly enjoy people using person first language (the "boy with autism" part). I've seen many other autistic people on multiple other platforms sharing that same sentiment and preferring identity first language (autistic person). There are also others who prefer using person first language and those who don't have a preference. That's all perfectly valid. Whatever you prefer people using when referring to you, or whatever you refer to yourself as, in this case, is totally valid and I love you. This goes for disabilities in general, not just Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Regarding the message in this video, here's my response to it! A quick heads-up, my response is VERY long and VERY passionate. I was VERY close to making a response video where I tear that video apart AND tear Dhar Mann a new asshole. Unfortunately, it worked me up so much that I was really struggling with what I wanted to say and I had to stop multiple times because I kept stumbling on my words. That's how angry this message made me. I'll try my best to explain whatever parts you have questions about. I put my response in the nicest way I possibly could, despite me seething with rage, wanting to go OFF on him.

(The first part of my response are the first three screenshots, and the second part are the last three screenshots.)

The first part of my response, I did forget to add that the message is offensive and disrespectful to autistic people as a whole. I apologize. My initial comment got way too long. I pretty much covered that when I told him the message is ableist. I wanted to clear that up before anyone asks about it.

The second part of my response is me opening up about my experience with being diagnosed with ASD, formerly known as As//per//ger's Syn//dro//me, at sixteen years old. I also went into how not calling ASD what it truly is (which is a disability) and calling it a "different ability" instead is extremely harmful and is treating being disabled like it's a bad thing.

By the way, saying that a disabled person is disabled isn't a bad thing. I'm disabled. It is what it is. Does it have its challenges? You bet. Does it help me with certain things? Hell yeah. I can really absorb information about my favorite bands, characters, shows, books, etc., and tell you a lot about those things. For example, I can tell you that Su can't ride a bike or read manga and she's okay with that. I can also tell you she can't tie her shoes very well, which is why her boots don't have laces and are slip-on and/or zip-up. But that doesn't mean my struggles are nonexistent or that I never struggle. I do, and it makes my life Hell at times.

The narrative that autism is a bad thing to have, every autistic person is somehow broken and they all need to be "fixed" is also super fucked up and not true. That's the narrative that I received when I was diagnosed by a therapist I had. I'm gonna be real here, I cried when I was first told that I was diagnosed with ASD. I felt like I was broken. I already felt like a total outcast. Being told about my diagnosis made me feel even more broken than I already felt. I was so ashamed of myself, despite me not doing anything wrong whatsoever, that I masked for SEVEN YEARS of my life. I masked for so long that I forgot I was even diagnosed with ASD in the first place. I wasn't taught how to really put my special interests into good use. I kinda had to figure that out on my own. I was pretty much under the assumption that me being interested in anime, cartoons, music, comics, theatre, writing, etc., to the point of obsession, was somehow weird and hurting people around me. You know, despite those things being harmless. Despite me being able to separate those things from other things that are important (like work, for example). Despite my only surviving parent, other family members, and the woman he was dating at the time completely overreacting and not bothering to see exactly what makes these things so special to me.

(By the way, having a disability does not completely make who a person is. There are a lot more things that make who a person is than that.)

It's kinda shocking that I wasn't able to come to terms with my diagnosis until this year. Considering that I masked for so long due to being ashamed of myself, plus being treated like a burden for being disabled, it's probably not very surprising. I initially thought at the time that it was the worst thing to have, as I was already struggling with enough shit back then, but came to realize it's not a bad thing. It doesn't change who I am. But I'm glad I came to terms with it finally nonetheless.

This is getting way too long, so I'm gonna wrap things up here. If you've read this far, thank you so much. I'm sorry this got so long!

If you watched the video, what are your thoughts on it? If this is your first time hearing about Dhar Mann, how do you feel about him? If you're a Dhar Mann fan, did this change your opinion on him in any way? Feel free to sound off in the comments!

Have a great day, everyone!

#mello speaks #dhar mann #autism acceptance #autism spectrum disorder #being autistic isn't a bad thing #autism isn't a different ability stop fucking saying it is #autistic community #autism self advocacy network #autistic women and non-binary people network #fuck autism speaks #i had to say this #dhar mann will live to regret his decision uwu #autism acceptance month #autism speaks does not speak for me #light it up red #light it up gold #no puzzle pieces #tw dhar mann

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

Text

Whatever It Takes

While Soap, France and the two hostages try to recover, Gary stands by for action. It's a waiting game before they make their next move. Can Gary's lungs handle the training?

Previous Chapter : Reunited

Chapter 6 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

A Walk to Remember

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 - Briefing Room

Gary was able to share his raccoon story, but he wasn't contented. He actually wanted a certain someone to listen to it. He wanted to see her smile. He knew their time together was short but he grew curious about the blonde girl. He felt concern, almost guilty that he triggered her massive headache. He wanted to apologize, but since then she's still unconscious. Guess he'll have to wait.

"The concern is that Augustus' squad had been forcibly and convincingly recruiting troops from a local border militia and informants reported that they have siezed their small village camp." The caterpillar-moustached general briefed, gaining murmurs from the rest of the squad.

"We'll be sending Alex tomorrow to negotiate with the squad and if he's successful. We could formally assist them and take back their base, crippling Augustus forces. Gathering intel on the village is a bonus." he added, making everyone else nod. Gary looked determined to help out, and for now all he could to is to train more and have faith in Alex's skills.

"That's odd." Ghost nudged from beside him.

"Yeah?" he replied quickly.

"I know that face… Something's bothering the bug. Come on. Spill." he whispered. Ghost may look cold and distant at one glance but he tries hard to show concern, especially for Roach, who has been there to absorb his problems ever since they met.

"It's the mission." Gary lied and he was not convincing at that.

"Sod off mate. I can tell you're lying. Is it the girl? It's always about the girl." he teased. Gary found himself speechless as he puffed his cheeks.

"Yeah. We'll you're bothered about France too. And threatened about how close they are with Soap." he whispered, Ghost fell silent and stopped bugging him. Gary wanted to quickly apologize for hitting a nerve, but he turned his focus to Shepherd.

"That's about all of it for today. I want all available squad members at the training areas now. We're not going to let that same blunder happen again." he scolded as everyone silently left. Ghost walked behind Gary, his quiet demeanor was normal but somewhat odd.

"You think she's interested in him? They used to fight a lot." he muttered and Gary turned to him.

"Look mate, I have no idea what's going on around them. They just met, and I'm no love doctor but if you're really into her then take small steps. Get to know her, talk to her, those kind of things. Then you'll finally get the answer you're looking for." Roach advised and Ghost actually showed agreement by nodding as they continue to the training room.

Task Force 141 - Jogging Oval

THE NEXT DAY

It's the fourth time that Roach lost to Ghost on a one lap sprint. A sign that he still has a lot of lung endurance exercises to do and he's still a long way to go to master holding a sniper rifle. He looked down, hands on his knees and sweat dropped from his forehead as he panted heavily.

"Roach! You okay?" a familiar scottish voice called from nearby. He looked and saw Samantha, Maxine, France and Soap together early in the morning. Samantha was pushing Maxine's wheelchair while France pushed Soap's. It looked like he still can't get up properly yet and might not make it on the next mission. His eyes now turned to Maxine who was looking at Samantha, laughing at something. Her smile brought happiness to Roach's face and he felt like he could run another lap.

"I'm fine." Gary replied with a thumbs up, jogging toward them, taking France's spot.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Oh. Nowhere. The nurse said we could use a little sunshine." Soap replied and the rest of them nodded. Maxine turned to Gary and smiled.

"You. You helped me back there. Eased the pain from the sprain. What's your name?" she asked. Gary took the time to let her voice fill his mind.

"Gary." he replied.

"Thank you Gary." she smiled and turned back to Samantha, resuming their conversation. France quickly nudged him to which he winced in pain.

"Whatever you're thinking, it goes through me first. I'm her sister after all." she warned, Gary pretended to look confused but there was no use hiding to a woman. They could sense intentions a mile away.

"Does she um… remember you?" Gary asked. France's face shifted from threatening to sad.

"Not really." She sighed. "But she will recover and recognize me someday."

"What happened to his leg? Hey hey Is that Alex?! Samantha it's Alex! Heyyy Pretty boy! Over here!" Maxine excitedly called him. He was walking to the hangar with his backpack and gym bag, looking focused. Everyone else were confused as to how Maxine knew Alex and Gary started to feel odd about it.

"Hey… um… you." Alex greeted awkwardly, smiling at the group.

"Alex. This is Samantha over here. I remember you looking for him at the bar. You know, a childhood friend you want to reconnect with?" She excitedly winked as he looked at Samantha. Gary could sense a little something going on between the two.

"Max, I don't know no Alex from my childhood…" Samantha muttered and Maxine frowned. This wasn't the kind of reunion she expected. It was a shame that that was the last thing she could remember.

"Yeah. I think you may have mistaken me or something. But I did look for her, returned a pendant she dropped back then." Alex replied and ran back to the airstrip.

"I swear I remember him correctly. I know full well which memories hurt me." Maxine whispered to herself as Samantha rubbed her back.

"He does look familiar. But then again I saw him back then and mistook him as a stalker. I mean, look at those tattooes. Turns out he's just there to return my pendant. It's a huge coincidence he works here though. Like one in a million." she mused as they quietly watched him walk away.

Gary started pushing Soap and the rest followed. He was happy Maxine's all peppy and well, but he can't help but feel jealous about the way she reacted upon seeing Alex. He wished she'd do the same for him. But who was he for her? Nothing but a random stranger.

"Huh?" Maxine asked and Samantha just nodded, making her quiet and realize things. Soap looked at Roach and they just exchanged weird glances and shrugged. Mentally noting that they'll have to talk to Alex about this after the mission.

"So, any new news?" Ghost stood by Gary as he gulped down a bottle of water.

"Not really. Except from the fact that Maxine claims to know Alex and Samantha knows Alex. And also Maxine is Francine's sister?!" Gary exhaled leaving Ghost in a momentary confusion.

"Wai.wai wait.. For real?!" he asked. Gary downed another bottle and nodded.

"Yeah. When briefing told us Alex was somehow connected, he was actually all over the place. I want answers from him."

"Yeah. So where is he?"

"He's already on his way back to Germany. Let's hope he convinces a whole army to help us out." Gary wondered as Ghost nudged him back to the gym.

"Let's train that lungs of yours again."

All Gary could do was groan in frustration as he followed Ghost to the gym.

"Man, Nero's a mysterious guy huh. Did you know Alex helped catch the CIA Mole he's working with. The one that supplied him the serum that's behind all of this." Gary overheard two random soldiers at the gym discuss. He couldn't help but stop whatever he was doing and asked them for more details.

"They already publicized the report on the website. They're actually desperate for any Nero-like activity to report to them immediately." one of them informed, Gary turned to Ghost and they both nodded, quickly running to the Base's library.

"Here it is. Alex's report." Gary muttered as Ghost peeked beside him, they slowly scrolled across pages of information written by Alex himself. He didn't hide anything from them, except from thr fact that they're after her because she had memories of an IP Address. Then further through the report they concluded that they weren't successful in extracting it. Then at the end of the file was a footnote, regarding Samantha's state. It read:

Due to a special favor promised by Samantha's father, he has authorize to apply an MK Ultra procedure to her, whose main intention is to Alter her memories of the IP Address along with the events that happened prior to kidnapping.

"So that's why she didn't know Alex." Gary realized.

"Hence the responses earlier." Ghost added.

"Maxine wasn't mentioned in this footnote this means her memories weren't rewritten." Gary spleculated. Ghost scratched his head in confusion.

"This whole thing is nuts." Was all Ghost could say.

Task Force 141 - Quarters

2000H

"Same routine tommorow, okay?" Ghost grinned and it made Gary groan.

"Fine. My lungs are going to hate you for eternity, Simon." he complained and the trainer just chuckled.

"We didn't have the chance to talk to Soap today. He surely has a lot of new information about the two."

"Nah. More like more information on France." Ghost retorted fake chuckling.

"If he's ever in the competition, I can judge that he's one step ahead." Gary remarked, attempting to tease Ghost who was already leaning away from him.

"Rest up, Bug. Another big day tomorrow." he muttered, almost angry.

"Yeah. Big day."

Next Chapter : Just Like Old Times

tagging the notification squad

@enderio

@samatedeansbroccoli

@whimsywispsblog

@smokeywhalee

@beemybee

@ricinbach

#horRAYfic #codmw #gary roach sanderson #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1

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merakiui · 4 years ago

Note

i don’t remember actually sending a request, sorry about that- anyway, how about the noctu team realizing they’re crushing on the manager? make it like a puppy crush for aiyachi bc the baby is only 14

(Here are the hcs! Please forgive me. I don’t know why they took so long to post. :< But I’m happy with the result! I hope you’ll like it too. Thank you for requesting! These are really cute to think about.)

Noctu Team With a Crush HCs (Aitachi, Kirr, Nine, and Day)

🎯 Aitachi 🎯

Aitachi looks up to a lot of people. He’s not bothered by the fact that most of them might be older and taller. That just means they’ve got more years under their belt and plenty of wisdom to share with him.

He’s so used to being around adults that your presence doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

Intimidation? He knows no such thing! Aitaichi hardly considers fear when you treat him with the same respect as everyone else.

Just don’t baby him. Aitachi may be the smallest and youngest out of the group, but that doesn’t mean he’s a child. He’s a mature Reaper with the courage and strength of a true, pure-hearted warrior!

That’s why he’s always willing to put his life on the line if you’re ever in danger, which is extreme and illogical considering he’s already died once and is now immortal.

He means well, but you’ll still clarify that he doesn’t need to go to such lengths to ensure your safety.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him after a vengeful spirit tried to attack you. “You don’t have to worry so much. As long as no one’s hurt, we can continue with our work, right?”

The very next morning you find a talisman on your desk, along with a small note telling you to keep it close whenever you’re in danger.

Since then, you’ve kept it as a good luck charm, knowing that as long as you’re careful you won’t fall prey to any wandering spirits.

Aitachi takes up the role as your unofficial errand boy ever since he discovered the special spot on your desk for the doll he made. He insists on bringing you every important document because it’s a warrior’s duty to provide for those in need.

His fellow Noctu Reapers think it’s quite charming that he does this, especially Day, who makes all sorts of comments doting on how his “little brother” is so helpful and sweet.

You’re grateful that Aitachi’s so willing to lend a hand without a single complaint, and you make sure he knows just how thankful you are.

Even if the gesture is reserved for that of a child, you still pat him on the head. Aitachi pouted about it at first, saying that head pats aren’t suited for warriors.

Now he just blushes at the contact, proud to have gotten your recognition.

He’s almost like Day in a sense, unintentionally following you around like a lost hound.

It’s quite obvious that he’s got a case of young puppy love.

He’s making another talisman doll for you when he comes to the realization of his wholesome feelings.

Are warriors even supposed to feel this way?

He’s stuck thinking about it the whole day, and he’ll probably be less confident to admit to it.

In the meantime, though, he’ll continue helping you to the best of his ability, secretly doing everything he can to be considered your number one. Almost like a teacher’s pet, but in this case it’s manager’s pet.

All of those talisman dolls are starting to pile up on your desk, as well as his innocent adoration for his hard-working manager.

🏹 Kirr 🏹

Having a crush is such a foreign concept to Kirr.

When he first heard the word, he took it quite literally, wondering why anyone would want to crush another person. That should only happen in a survival scenario where life and death is at stake and you’re facing an enemy with negative intentions.

Yet as he learns more about what it means in a romantic sense, it gives him more confusion. So a crush is a strong sense of admiration for another person?

In that case, wouldn’t it be his manager who he holds in high esteem?

He doesn’t really know how to bring this topic up with the others, so he’s debating it internally. It’s definitely a struggle for poor Kirr, who can’t seem to figure out whether or not what he’s feeling is a crush or just simple respect for his colleague.

So he ends up watching how the Reapers act around you. They’re so kind and sociable. And he acts the same, albeit at a serious level where most jokes go over his head.

Kirr is so busy troubling himself with these inner debates that he doesn’t even register when someone’s trying to talk to him, and it’s a bit concerning.

One afternoon he’s sharpening the arrowheads on the ends of his arrows when he sees you crossing the field. And you look serene as you walk, not paying any mind to the wind that rustles your clothes.

He’s shared plenty of conversations with you before, but during those times he never had a chance to appreciate you in all your astounding form.

It’s almost too much for him, and a slew of feelings catch his heart in a vice.

Maybe he does have a crush after all.

But where are all these emotions coming from? Based off of what he’s heard from the Department, Kirr knows that a crush is normal for everyone of all ages. It’s a sign that you’ve taken romantic interest in someone.

He wonders what one does with feelings like these. Obviously he could confess or get to know you more, but something’s holding him back. Suddenly, he’s become indecisive.

Normally, when he’s hunting, it’s easy to rely on logic and instincts. Now he’s not so sure which will help him out in this situation.

When you catch his staring and wave, a smile on your face, Kirr holds up his arm, returning the gesture. You really are a great person; your personality glimmers underneath the glare of the sun, and he’s glad that someone so amazing is his manager.

Logic might fail in this case, and instincts won’t get him anywhere as he has no idea where to begin. So maybe he’ll settle on his heart, following it like it’s a searchlight in the blurry haze of confusion that’s overtaken his reasoning.

Kirr’s definitely going to gravitate towards you more as he tries to navigate his newfound feelings. He’s doing his best, so please encourage him.

🎼 Nine 🎼

He catches you slacking off one day, absorbed in the videos on your mobile device.

Nine isn’t one to snoop, but he does happen to catch the swish of a colorful pen against a sheet of unwrinkled paper. He knows what it is at once.

You’re watching calligraphy videos.

“Do you enjoy that, Manager?” he’ll ask, awaiting your answer.

Once you confirm that you do like it, Nine’ll be happy to know that his manager shares similar interests with him.

Since then, the two of you have bonded over calligraphy, and Nine’s even showed you what his skillful hands can do. Just give him a pretty pen and some paper and he’ll be scribbling all sorts of gorgeous words.

He finds that the best word to write is your name, which is a tad confusing, but you seem honored.

Before he can even register the extent of your relationship, you’re already inviting him to places. Whether it’s in your office talking over paperwork or rendezvousing in the human world during a successful mission, Nine enjoys your presence.

Nine realizes that every day spent in your company is fun, albeit a dangerous erosion to his heart, which is beginning to wear at its foundation.

He manages to stay composed, but there’s something strange in how he hopes of eventually surpassing the border known as friendship.

He’s not used to getting so close to others; usually he keeps his distance, only upholding a conversation when needed. But now he feels as though he’ll lose you if he doesn’t stick around, and the idea of that is crushing.

You’re already such a ray of sunshine, a soothing force against the hectic work days, so he wants to ensure that you’re also content.

He’s writing down the remnants of a composition he recalls, testing his memory of his distant past life, when everything starts to click into place. The stars align as he writes in the final notes, reviewing the completed composition with tranquil eyes.

If he’s right, it should be played slow and steady, transitioning between notes of melancholic hope and satisfied bitterness. Quite a tragic piece, if he’s being honest, but maybe that was his intention. Or his memory might be faulty. Either way, he’s certain that this composition describes his inner turmoil perfectly. Bittersweet like chocolate and uncertain like his intuition.

Nine can’t remember the name to this particular composition, so he writes the first thing that comes to his mind.

The moment he finishes writing your name is definitive proof of what he’s feeling.

Some would say it’s a crush, and others would say it’s unfiltered endearment. Regardless of what it is, it holds the same implications.

Nine’s in love.

Though his previous life was cut short and he refuses to sort through his cracked past, he has all the time in the world to start anew. And that’s all he needs to act upon these feelings that have blossomed.

It’ll take time, but he knows that he’ll be able to confess when he’s certain that his love isn’t completely one-sided.

In the 14th Department, Nine seems to wear his smile purposefully, and there’s a bright shine in his gaze.

🍦 Day 🍦

He’s with you 24/7. At least, that’s what it feels like to you.

Realistically, it’s because of your role as manager. But at some point he just starts to forget that that’s your job and he begins to consider you a friend.

He’s in your office all the time, sitting on a swivel chair or trying to lounge on your desk while you’re writing up reports.

In the beginning, you would always kick him out, lightly advising him that work hours are not play hours—even if there aren’t any ongoing missions.

But Day is so loyal, constantly flitting around you like a butterfly. He seems to smile even brighter when you address him, and despite his carefree demeanor he wants to provide as much help as he can.

“Let me carry that, Manager!” or “Hey, hey! We should get ice cream to celebrate your hard work. I want to take you to the best place. You have to try the new flavors with me!”

You give up pushing him away and start to welcome him into your office.

The other Reapers begin to suspect something’s up, especially those who are more perceptive than the others. Day’s own team members can’t help but wonder what’s got him so fascinated with you.

He claims he can never be bored when he’s around you, which proves to be true because this man can talk about anything and everything.

All it takes is for you to mention that you’re in the mood for something sweet, and he’ll be on that topic faster than a moth to a light.

Without meaning to, he memorizes all of the information he learns about you, accidentally mentioning some facts during a conversation.

It makes you realize just how close he pays attention to you.

Even Nyang Lead Manager has noticed his attachment, but he’s uninterested for the most part. As long as Day doesn’t let himself get distracted from work, he’s not bothered.

But it makes things harder for you. Your focus diminishes whenever he’s near, so much so that you begin to take in different aspects of his actions.

He rarely blushes, but when he does it’s usually whenever you do something that warrants bashfulness. And he’s started to compliment you a lot now, always recognizing changes to your fashion.

Day happens to be relaxing in his dorm, reading an ancient tome about magic and its connection to the heart, when it finally makes sense.

Wait. Hold on.

He peers at the symbols with undeterred intensity, recalling memories of you and him. Eerily, his feelings fit the exact description in the book.

He really does spend a lot of time with you, and you’ve been occupying his thoughts day and night since he first got to know you. Some would say it’s too much, but you can never have enough of something you love.

Love. That’s the word he was looking for.

He’s in love. True, real, authentic love.

Day pops up from his sitting position so fast it almost throws him off balance. The other Noctu members look at him in confusion, but he’s too busy to even give them an explanation.

Now wired with too much excitement to feel worried, he rushes through the 14th Department, completely shirtless and in a hurry to get to your office so he can give you a rambling soapbox speech about his inner thoughts and feelings.

Someone give him a shirt before he gets himself in trouble with Nyang.

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