#who you should absolutely go listen too :^)

[marvelstoriesepic]

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

[laursdomain]

date night

pairing: ridoc gamlyn x fem!reader

synopsis: Date nights are always hard at Basgiath, but Ridoc always finds a way to light up your day with his suprises. Who are you to say no to your boyfriend?

genre: fluff

warnings: established relationship

w/c: 1.2k

ྀིridoc gamlyn masterlist

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•

Being a rider was exhausting. You slump your shoulders, your pack too heavy as you hike up the stairs to your dorm room. When you make it into the room, you fall onto your bed without even removing your pack.

"Dramatic much?" Your boyfriends voice comes from his spot on your desk chair, who has been waiting for the past twenty minutes for your own arrival.

You turn your head towards him, "don't start."

He gives you a teasing smile, though the joke that is on the tip of his tongue remains where it is. He gets up, removing your pack for you and settling it against the wall where you always set it. He turns your body to lay on your back, bracing his hands on either side of your shoulders as he cages you in.

"I have a surprise for you."

You tilt your head at him, raising a teasing brow. "What is it?"

He playfully rolls his eyes, "its called a surprise for a reason, sweetheart. Come on, go shower so I can show you."

You groan, acting like dead weight as he pulls on your arm. Knowing he'll have to force you, he uses his strength to his advantage, easily hauling you up and onto your feet. You scowl at him, though it quickly goes away when he dips down, placing a loving kiss on your lips. You smile into the kiss, feeling your tiredness wash away from his presence alone.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes. You better be ready." He whispers against your lips, leaving your room as he heads to his own room, presumably to shower as well.

You groan, but as always, you listen to your boyfriend. You make quick work of showering, washing the sweat out of your hair and off your body, changing into a pair of clean clothes. You wore one of your black training shirts with a pair of black linen pants, your typical go-to comfy outfit. Ridoc returns to your room as you finish binding your hair in a loose braid, keeping it out of your face but still allowing it to dry.

Your boyfriend was clad in a black compression shirt, looking too good with the sight of the cut of his torso through the shirt. He wore a pair of black cargo pants, his usual go-to for when he trained. He better not be taking you to spar.

"Are you ready?" He leans against the door frame, enamored by you.

"Yes," you toss the braid over your shoulder, walking up to him as you wrap your arms around his torso. You place your head against his heart, the solid beating calming you. "Are you going to tell me what the surprise is?"

He chuckles, "no." He places a kiss to the crown of your head before removing you from his body, interlocking his fingers with your own, leading you out of your room and through the halls of Basgiath.

You curiously take in your surroundings, unsure where he could possibly be taking you. Eventually, you make it to the Vale, and uncertainty swirls in your chest. Riders shouldn't be in the Vale unless absolutely necessary, and you were unsure if you two should be here. Ridoc senses your nervousness, giving you a reassuring smile as you make it to a clearing. You could see Aotrom chasing your own dragon around, sensing your dragons happiness. You were safe. No other dragons were around, so this must be an abandoned part of their home.

You two come across a lake, and for a split second you thought Ridoc was going to take you swimming. That thought quickly dissipates when he places a hand at the water, quickly turning the body of water into ice. You watch him enamored, always loving the way he uses his signet.

He turns back to you with a cheeky smile, his dimples showing off. "Tada! We are going ice skating."

You raise a brow, "we don't have skates, though."

He furrows his brows, "we don't need them."

To prove his point, he steps onto the frozen lake, easily gliding around. He turns to you, extending both his hands for you to take. You nervously glance at the frozen lake, surely it was safe, right? Nonetheless, you trusted your boyfriend, so you took his hands, letting him ease you onto the ice. You nearly slip, but a firm arm wraps around your waist, keeping you steady on the ice.

Ridoc glides the two of you on the ice, the boy going backwards with practices ease. Your nervous glances quickly turn into giggles, enjoying the activity too much. Soon, you get the courage to glide next to him, your boyfriend keeping a firm hand around your own.

"You're a natural," he compliments, watching as you begin to lead him around the ice.

"You're better," you retort, letting go of his hand as you twirl on the ice.

He watches you with adoration, a smile dancing on his lips. He reaches out, grabbing your waist as he pulls you towards him. "That's obvious, sweetheart."

You rest your arms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulls you in for a kiss, this one longer than the one he gave you hours before. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss as you giggle at his antics. You feel him smile into the kiss, feeling perfectly content exactly where you are.

Your lips leave his, needing to catch your breath. He rests his forehead against yours, enjoying your presence. "We should get off, it's getting dark."

He nods, leading you off the frozen lake as he helps you get back onto the grass. You expected him to begin leading you back to Basgiath, but he objects. He leads you towards your dragons, who were now laying on the grass. You knew they weren't asleep, they would never leave you two unguarded in the Vale.

He sits a couple feet away from Aotrom, pulling you to lay down next to him. You fit yourself perfectly next to him, hooking a leg around his hip as one of his arms caresses shapes into your thigh while the other wraps around your waist.

You look up at the sky, admiring how stars decorate the dark sky. You smile, remembering how your mother would always tell you about constellations, trying to find the ones she told you about.

Ridoc adoringly watches you, watching the way your eyes glitter in the night. You meet his gaze, feeling the way he was looking at you.

"What?" You giggle, getting lost in his eyes.

"Nothing," he smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind you ear.

"Look," you point up at the sky, waiting for him to follow your finger. When he does, "that's Orion."

"Constellation?" He questions, beginning to play with the ends of your braided hair.

"Mhm," you hum out. "Mom would tell me all about them as a kid, she practically engraved them into me."

In hushed whispers, in the quiet of the night, you point out more constellations you are able to make out, telling every little detail about them that you could recall when Ridoc asks you about them. Truth be told, he didn't really care about the constellations. But he oh so loved the way you spoke passionately about them, and he loved the sound of your voice.

Out of all the surprises Ridoc has cooked up for you, this was by far your favorite date night.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•

[sunlight-shunlight]

putting it into an ask because I don't want to derail your post sorry

As someone who's culture lost their last L1 Speaker around the time they were born. This!! So much this!!

It is EXTREMELY difficult to learn endangered languages, and from experience the people who do know how to speak some of it are extremely protective of it even to others from that same culture! (something that makes me even more attached to the dalish as a peoples sigh)

I would die for the chance to speak my tribes original language but even if I could jump through the hoops to do it, a decade is decisively not. enough. time. to do so. Yet alone to adopt the native cadence of the language. Again even if I wanted too! Which I desperately desperately do!

Lavellan would have to jump through so many hoops that by the time she might be ready to start speaking it regularly (in the context of ancient elvhen) that Veilguard would probably be on the horizon already. That's also given the idea that there are even universities willing to put aside discriminatory behavior twords the elves to provide classes on such specific subjects. AND putting aside the whole 'wow that's straight up the herald of andraste in my Sociolinguistics class' with the problems that would cause.

I mean, I know its a fantasy universe and I'm really projecting on it here but like hear me out- I have a dictionary and a book of stories translated by scholars I will never meet, and a series of audio-files that I myself had to copy convert to a format I could have on my phone and listen to. I'm untrained and uneducated on how to go about it sure but even with my available tools it feels like an uphill battle with every new word I pick out to practice. I sing songs from that book fully knowing Im butchering it the whole time, and try my best to feel connected to something i know I cannot fully understand. And that's beautiful! That;s fantastic! There's something to truly love there! And veilguard doesn't even let us try to explore that idea!

The fact that we don't get to choose whether or not we drank from the well makes this so extremely frustrating. The game gives both the Inquisitor and Moriggan the benefits of the well without ever allowing our input. Because to me the only way that Lavellan could become even partially fluent in ancient elvhen would be if she drank from the well. But then Moriggan is also allowed all types of unlocked knowledge from her deus-ex-inner-mythal shes suddenly alright with having been provided from her mother despite her horror in DAI.

It takes away a huge part of what I think Solas really liked about a romanced Inky, as she was always so curious and open to learning new things about the past- Even when they would clash on certain subjects. It takes away this really lovely concept that even if they are going into the torment nexus together that he could at least be teaching her the language in there on top of it all. He would love her broken annunciations and he awkward cadence, and respond in kind ;w;

I'm super biased about the torment nexus ending because I love the mythological tragedy of it but there should have been so many more choices ugghh. While I would still choose this ending regardless I think the idea that the inquisitor should have been able to have at least an on screen spat between her and Solas, There is absolutely good reason for it all considering.

She should have had moments where she slips in and out of what she had learned from the ancient dialect, Where she goes from in canter to out because of how passionate she might be in that moment. Going from trade to elvhen and back. It would be glaringly obvious that she practiced what she did want to say to him in the final battle and he would be able to tell. It would mean so much more to him than her just magically understanding it all at once.

we could have one of his stupid chuckles with tears welling in his eyes and everything like damn you bioware *shaking fist at cloud*

At least give me some kind of 'a romanced inquisitor convened with spirits to learn' kind of explanation if you're going to magic it into her knowledge I mean please!

Anyway sorry for the ramble, I wouldn't have the confidence to share this if it wasn't for your posts so thanks for all of your lore-dives and analysis posts I do genuinely enjoy all of them.

♥🤝

yeah!! i very much agree. i'm very mildly bilingual (not good at it ahaha) and like... that language is not endangered in the least, half my family still speaks it, and it's still just hard to re-learn on a basic level! and to me there's always that degree of self consciousness and feeling a bit bad about not knowing, when it's a language i feel like i "should" know, as opposed to a fully second language that i'm just learning from scratch. and personally i get stressed and actively worse at it when people expect me to be fluent and get disappointed when i'm not. the social pressure alone removes some linguistic ability, haha.

so i found it sad that lavellan - regardless of the well - gets pushed into suddenly being 100% fluent. she can still be dalish and not good at it! or just not the type of person who'd think to speak in it in front of random people (everyone else standing there fdhjdgd). i thought of my inquisitor as a city elf who was adopted into the clan as a child, and tried REALLY hard to learn elvhen afterwards bc she wanted to fit in. but it's not "natural" to her to slip into it for longer or more complex ideas. and arguably if a lavellan got "woe, fluency be upon ye" from the well, they might actually be LESS likely to use it in speaking, bc it is also a bit of a mind control symptom at that point...

and imo it's actually really sweet that solas falls in love with someone who - at least in dai - is really different from him! on top of being a cringe fail mortal from the world he initially hated, and from a culture that doesn't like him, lavellan does not have to be very in tune with the language or culture as he knows it. he goes for their ~rare and marvelous spirit~ rather than anything else, and is happy to share with them, but it's never like a mandatory thing.

I mean, I know its a fantasy universe and I'm really projecting on it here but like hear me out- I have a dictionary and a book of stories translated by scholars I will never meet, and a series of audio-files that I myself had to copy convert to a format I could have on my phone and listen to. I'm untrained and uneducated on how to go about it sure but even with my available tools it feels like an uphill battle with every new word I pick out to practice. I sing songs from that book fully knowing Im butchering it the whole time, and try my best to feel connected to something i know I cannot fully understand. And that's beautiful! That;s fantastic! There's something to truly love there! And veilguard doesn't even let us try to explore that idea!

and this is exactly it!! i think that experience of slowly picking up things and figuring out how much you can learn is really important, and they just skipped over that entirely to "lavellan is now suddenly fluent in elvhen. yay!" which kind of elides how much work that is, how or why they would've done that, whether they would've wanted to...

like that's a whole character arc that seemingly just gets skipped offscreen and made mandatory! and it's not bc the writers are saying anything really deep and meaningful about cultural reconnection, but bc i think they were likely not ever in the position of having to think about those types of decisions themselves, and uncharitably, were like "ok. solas is super elfy, right. so to make it more romantic, make lavellan super elfy as well! yay! Problem Solved :)" when that was never a problem. ;-;

[coldgoldlazarus]

I think one shortcoming of the Bohrok-Kal arc was how the Toa were handled. I don't actually object to the basic premise of "their recent victories, the subsequent post-Bohrok peace period, and their Nuva upgrade have given the Toa big heads and put them on a bit of a power trip, here's the Kal to slap them with some perspective again", it's a pretty reasonable direction for the arc.

Giving the Nuva powers only to take them away again is a bit of a silly choice, feels like there should have been something softball-ish as another arc first, to let them show off their new power and further contribute to the bigheadedness. But I can still excuse it for like, toy release story year structure reasons.

But I think what could have been better is the way the power trip exhibited - mainly in that it was pretty uniform for all of them. "I am all-powerful now, I am awesome, let's have a contest over it! Also I don't need you losers anymore, I can protect my Matoran and my Matoran alone, on my own. Go me!" There's lots of good to be said for the OOC Is Serious Business of even Gali going "eh, maybe Unity's run it's course and we can split up fine", sure, but all the same it does feel kinda... flat, for lack of a better word, coming from all of them.

I think it would be fun if that like, ego trip showed itself a bit differently for all of them, based on who they are as characters, you know? Bringing out their worse sides or even twisting their positive traits into something negative.

Onua becoming an overprotective mother hen, smothering the Onu-Matoran in his efforts to help out wherever and whenever possible, trying to find an outlet for his new strength while also failing to let his Matoran live their own lives. Not meaning to be condescending or downplay the Matoran's capabilities, but definitely coming off that way because his instinct to help is getting curdled into assuming he knows better.

Lewa, always the most free-spirited, becoming an absolute cryptid who nobody can find when they actually need or just want him around, but always shows up with badly-considered "pranks" on the Le-Matoran when least expected or convenient. The "pranks" being surprise tornadoes. (What do you mean you were in the middle of a delicate crafting project, wasn't it awesome and funny to be flung a half-mile in the air out of the blue?)

Pohatu's happy to just sit back and celebrate the assumption they've won for good; and in the meantime keeps trying to drag the Po-Matoran into very lopsided Kohlii games or other contests, misjudging his strength and accidentally thrashing them around or kicking them halfway across the desert, and then being confused when nobody wants to play with him anymore. :(

Meanwhile, Nuju finds himself in the surreal position of needing to tell someone to relax and not worry about the future so much, just live in the present for a bit. Kopaka's the only one who doesn't trust the peace at all, knowing Makuta's still out there and up to something - but getting so paranoid and workaholic that he's jumping at shadows, refusing to rest despite running himself ragged trying to get to the bottom of a nonexistent crisis, and then being in no condition to notice or respond properly when the Kal do finally arrive and show their hand. Obviously he knows better than everyone else, and obviously he's too powerful to need to worry about stupid things like 'self-care'.

Gali's finally content to leave the others to their own devices, but instead starts micromanaging and harassing the Ga-Matoran, making mountains out of molehills with minor arguments in her attempts to solve them. Generally being well-meaning but stressful to be around, especially when she starts resorting to intimidating shows of power to get the Matoran to listen to her.

And Tahu having the most straightforward power trip - ironically his usual issues with his temper are mostly in the background for a change, because he's feeling great! But lowkey having a whole "Worship me mortals!" moment and thinking he's so badass he's practically as good as Mata-Nui, better even because he's actually awake and can do badass things like the badass chad he is. And only Jaller's practiced people-management skills and politely firm refusal to put up with this nonsense, is standing in the way of Ta-Koro becoming festooned with an obnoxious amount of overly-top-heavy flexing statues of Omega Tahu commissioned from Po-Koro.

Meanwhile, I've talked previously about how I'd want the Kal to have more diverse personalities and be an early indicator at the hidden depths to the Bohrok, but also thinking it would be funny to also make them more like, demonstrably effective at good teamwork than the Toa are (with the Kaita-on-Kaita battle being a culmination of that) when they are in the same place, despite being split up most of the time. Similarly, picturing a scene of Nuhvok-Kal accidentally imparting genuinely good leadership advice to Tahu while berating him, after wiping out Tahu's attempted Tahnok-Swarm plan.

So there's both the thematic angle of power, popping the Toa's ballooning egos with the reminder there's bigger dangers out there, while also succumbing to that power fallacy themselves in the end; but also not just the usual "we have to work together" but a good wake-up-call via demonstration of what that should look like.

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game (1)

au where bruce is attracted to his robins and batgirls. he tries not to think about it or act on it, but it's getting more difficult with every new member of his team he acquires. does anyone know? do the robins and batgirls notice his weird behavior? what do they do about it? do they ever find out the truth? who would think it's terrible and who would find it strangely hot/comforting/nice? does bruce ever act on his feelings?

for the ask game!

oh my GOD do i have thoughts for AUs like this, i love this shit so dearly, dirtybadwrong Bruce who's trying to keep a lid on it my beloved.

i think the fun of this AU is if characters would notice Bruce lusting for themselves vs would they notice Bruce lusting for a different Robin/Batgirl. like does Dick pick up on it when it's just him and Bruce? no, because it's just. him and Bruce. he and Bruce are weird and complicated and hold endless bounds of nuance. that's just How Bruce Is, and Dick is the "test run", in a sense. he knows Bruce is new to this whole sidekick/family thing and is giving Bruce grace for being rough around the edges. but when Bruce starts looking at Jason or Tim or Cass that way, that's when Dick starts to notice. it's never enough of a suspicion he feels justified to bring it up, but the thought lingers. he's hyperaware and grows less and less comfortable with leaving them alone with Bruce. it's a weird game of chicken, Dick and Bruce staring each other down when Bruce's touch lingers too long. each waiting for the other to say something first. if Bruce ever broke and actually acted on his feelings, Dick would be eaten alive by the guilt of knowing something was up, but never saying something until it was too late.

obviously, Cass would know. there's no world where Cass *doesn't* know, the nature of who and what she is would immediately clock it. but the issue is, Cass doesn't have a good framework of what family looks like. she doesn't really understand familial vs romantic love bc she has no firsthand experience of what a parent's love should even look like. so she never calls it out. she just watches. i'm a fan of Cass believing this is normal and believing she too can express and act on attraction that's vaguely incestuous. maybe it's with Babs, maybe it's with Dick or Tim or Bruce himself. but she recognizes this as Normal and Accepted within the Batfamily, so it severely fucks up her understanding of familial love and i just. man it's my favorite thing about Cass in Batcest honestly, is how you can play with her lack of experience with love, boundaries, and sexuality.

Tim is the fun one for me. because my favorite flavor of BruTim is when Tim knows, as he agrees to be Robin, that there's a non-zero chance that Bruce is going to be Weird and agrees anyway because he's decided it's an acceptable risk. so Tim knows from the get-go because he's expecting it. if Bruce acts on his attraction, i think it's either with Tim or Cass first, because they're the most likely to confront him about it in a way that isn't entirely negative. Tim has accepted it's a possibility and Cass just seeks being loved and touched so. it leads to the first time someone's ever confronted Bruce about it. and the thing is, Bruce really doesn't like confrontation about his flaws. the first time Tim tries to imply he's okay with it, Bruce would lash out at the idea, tell Tim how inappropriate that is and benches Tim for a week. it'd probably take a united front from Cass and Tim to get Bruce to even *admit* to the attraction. still Bruce wouldn't allow it to happen and he brushes them off until finally, the dam breaks. it's fun if there's a cause like sex pollen, but i think it's *more* fun if it's just. a random fucking Tuesday and finally Bruce is at his limit. he has no real reason, there's nothing particularly different about that day's routine. he just sees Tim or Cass striping armor and sighs and gives in.

i don't think Steph, Jason, or Babs would notice until anything substantial happened. not because they're not wicked smart, but just because none of them were looking for it. Jason put Bruce on a pedestal when he was alive, and when he came back from the dead he wasn't close enough to be noticing Bruce's interpersonal dynamics outside of his narrow scope. Steph has no real framework for what healthy fatherhood looks like, so if Bruce's touches linger, if he stares too long, she just shrugs and assumes it's how it is. and Babs was just never quite close enough to Bruce to notice. if and when she notices, is when actual sexual things start to happen between Cass and Bruce. because Cass would see no reason to hide it. Babs would be pissed, but it'd be tricky to navigate. Cass would be an adult, even if she's only 18/19, so technically, she's old enough to be consenting. if nothing else, Bruce is a careful man. even when he breaks and gives in to his desires, he covers his tracks well. he makes sure he has enthusiastic consent and there's no legal recourse that could be taken. age of consent and all that. there's not much Babs can *do* other than try to tell Cass (and/or Tim) that this isn't normal or okay. not that it gets her anywhere, but god would she try.

by the time Duke comes along (if we venture out of the pre-Flashpoint era) i think it's a sort of. open secret, in the Batfamily. talked about in nothing but hushed whispers and knowing glances. at some point, they've all had sex with Bruce, caving all for different reasons. some more than others. Tim sees it as a duty, Cass sees it as a way of seeking comfort, Steph sees it as getting Bruce's approval for once, etc. it's never forced on them, but eventually, they all come to Bruce sooner or later. and that's the fun irony of it, i think. they try to convince the others not to, but would go to Bruce on their own well. because complicated reasons they can't put into words. sometimes, Bruce is just a messy man who doesn't realize how prized his Attention to for the rest of the Batfamily. that weird duality of not liking him, but also wanting desperately for him to like you. all of them have dealt with it, at some point. so for Duke, it takes a while for him to understand this... whole dynamic. it's Cass who tries to explain it to him, and he's a little horrified, a lot confused. especially when Bruce starts staring at him a little too long as well. i think he'd only want to watch first but well. they all cave eventually.

also fun bonus if we venture into the Dark Knight Returns universe for my bestest girl Carrie Kelley: there's such a like, "i'm fucking around and i'm finding out" vibe to Carrie. like Tim, she's very proactive in just. deciding she's going to be Robin and she's ready for whatever that entails. (IMO canon Carrie is closer to fanon Tim than canon Tim is but *that* deserves its own post-) like she takes one look at the old man that is Batman and goes yup. he's never fucking getting rid of me now. if Bruce started having weird feelings about her, i think she'd have *fun* with it. she's decided she's in it for the long haul and for whatever being Robin means so. she's almost teasing about it, seeing how hard she can push before Bruce snaps. since it's an older, gruffer Bruce, i think he'd express open annoyance at it first, almost a sort of banter about how Carrie behave. but of course he caves and Carrie leans into it, because there's a fun in having all of Bruce's attention to herself. in the main timeline, Bruce is pretty split with so many Robins and Batgirls, but during their era, it's *just* her and him and she's very proud she's got him all to herself.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Metal Band AU

Because its been rotting my brain :^)

Soap, drums/vocals shares lead vocals equally, how this man can drum and sing at the same time is beyond anyone else. Never wears a shirt.  He and Gaz banter back and forth on stage a bit. Managed to break his sticks every other show. Dumps bottles of water on himself mid-show to cool off (you can literally see the steam coming off of him). Surprisingly does most of the lyrical writing for the group.  He always does the little thank you speech and introduces everyone at the end. Jumps onto Ghost's back every time they leave stage. The larger man carries him dutifully. 

Gaz, rhythm guitar/ lead vocals. Can't stop moving around stage. Bouncing between the others. Is grinning the entire time. Fucks with Price and Ghost during their solos, flirtatiously leans on them, rubs their chest, hugs a leg dreamily.  Chatty, loves to start a pit. Mostly just throws in genuine “Thank yous’�� between every song. Playfully shoos away Ghost away from his center stage like a little brat after Ghost’s solo. Plays the piano for the trademark ballad. Flirts with the crowd while on stage. 

Price, Bass/backing vocals. Sickening in how well he plays, not super energetic on stage, most of its pacing and occasionally propping a leg up on a speaker. Rarely talks, but does play a bit with the crowd. Pointing, giving cheeky winks or blowing kisses. Wanders over to Gaz mostly, giving him a playful kick or nudge. Smiling warmly. Will climb down himself to pass off his pick to a lovely fan. He is dressed wildly different than that overall vibe of the band. Usually a flannel and beanie. 

Ghost, lead guitar. Absolutely shreds. Where’s the same exact outfit every time. Keeps the balaclava and hood up the entire show. All the fans have the hots for him bc of it.  No one knows how the hood stays with all the headbanging. (it’s velcro)  Semi-frightening on stage. Never speaks. Unphased by Gaz wallowing on him. He and Price move around each other with grace. Fans have noticed that he's the most playful with Soap. They do a bit where they trade places during certain songs. Ghost pretends to be exasperated with the shorter scott trying to steal his guitar. (They actually do pretty well on the others instrument). Occasionally he’ll chunk his extra picks at Price from across stage to fuck with him.

[hana-bobo-finch]

erm…..posting about an OC via a rushed shitpost was not on my 2025 bingo card!! 😂😂😂😂😂😂get it??? 😂😂😂because his name is bingo??(GETS SHOT)

these are all things he has done or has attempted to do so consider this the full intro post for that freak for now. he’s still too undercooked to fully introduce but damn I love him

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[bayrut]

severance ahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[honeysunchild]

People fucking suck

Why can't people just be fucking nice or polite

What's so fucking difficult about not treating others like shit

[lizardho]

Before I knew I was bisexual I was just insanely dramatic and weird around guys I liked. I had a crush on this guy in my ward - he was older than me, he played bagpipes and had a cheerful dog and an old Volkswagen bus that he worked on all the time. He also had nice scruff and unnaturally attractive hands and a good sense of humor, so I was like FULLY smitten.

I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickin’ cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).

One day, I’m like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didn’t listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didn’t listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the world’s downfall because of our laziness and sin.

And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, that’s already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldn’t stand it. I’d get so mad I’d go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When he’s already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten rat’s ass if he doesn’t use the scripture study manual his dad uses? He’s so cool he doesn’t even need it? So fuck off?

And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. I’d just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.

“Oh, Lizard, why aren’t you in class?” Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? 🫠🤔

“Where’s your class, I’ll go with you!” Oh no ty I’d rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty 🩷

“Lizard, you should go to class, I’m sure they miss you!” And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didn’t hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all that’s left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith 🙂‍↕️

It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Men’s presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadership’s attention, I started helping women.

Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.

For what it’s worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young men’s leader giving me side-eye, I’d start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. I’d wait until a mom’s baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and I’d swoop in like a knight. “Oh, don’t you worry sister, I’ll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.”

If it was a diaper change or something they’d tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, they’d be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.

So just like that, I was out of everyone’s sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camel’s back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. I’d often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guy’s bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,

“What’s it gonna take to get you back to class?”

The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.

“I want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.”

I didn’t even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said “Yes, his class is not edifying. It’s better to not go and hold babies.”

And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. God’s revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.

Although I didn’t recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that God’s will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring men’s made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.

Be gayer. Read Terry Pratchett. I love y’all 💕

[nana-au]

𝐁𝐅𝐅! 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 who, with his newly developed super hearing can totally hear his best friend touching herself from the house next door !

warnings: MDNI, afab/fem! reader, mentions of porn, masturbation, im so sorry this is rlly dirty

it's been exactly 14 minutes and 53 seconds since you began to touch yourself. you're watching porn - the overexaggerated moans coming from the speakers of your phone almost entirely blocking out the sounds of your own pleasure. you're gasping - each delve of your fingers into your entrance eliciting another sweet cry.

you were home alone for the weekend. obviously. and you were definitely taking advantage of it. what you didn't really consider is your childhood best friend who lived just next door - who also, conveniently, just recently developed superhuman abilities - could hear every micromovement you made: the rustling of your covers, the clicking sounds of your slick rubbing over your clit, the quiet moans you let out.

every. single. detail.

now mark knew what he should have done is put his headphones on and turn the sound up to max. he most definitely should not have stilled his own breathing to focus on each little shuttering gasps you let out. he absolutely should not be fisting his cock and matching the pace of your quickening fingers. but pre-powers mark could have only dreamed of his new abilities allowing him to hear his hot best friend watching porn to get herself off - and he definitely was not going to let the opportunity slip through his grasp.

he was in sync with you: groaning and squeezing the base of his length whenever you curled your fingers - his thumb teasing his weeping slit with every flick of your finger against your clit.

he could hear the clapping sounds of skin meeting skin coming from your phone and he squeezed his eyes shut - imaging the fat of your ass bouncing with every thrust of his into your needy pussy.

he didn't know how he was even lasting as long as he was - the thought of his hand being your welcoming cunt all while getting to listen to you make yourself squirm and cry... it was all too much. it must've been his viltrumite stamina that allowed him to hold off until you came.

when you do come, your voice overtakes the noise of the video playing and he can clearly hear the exact moment your walls flutter around your fingers upon meeting your climax.

he came immediately after, picturing you taking all of his cum while his aching cock dumped more and more of his load all over his taut stomach. his muscles flexed under the heat of his fresh load and he let out a long satisfying groan.

[pupfemmes]

it’s short but first piece that isn’t a blurb !! who cheered —🐇

sevika fucking you in her car just cause you mentioned you were horny in the middle of the long ass drive back from visiting your family for the holidays. hands gripping the fat of your thighs as you cling to her, fingers tangling in her hair while she fucks you in the backseat. she’s grateful for the fact you’re in the middle of nowhere because the sounds coming from you are downright pornographic. pretty little whines and whimpers of her name that only seem to get her going more, burying her strap into your pretty cunt cause she’s so desperate to make u feel good ! she loves seeing her angel feeling good, and she’s alright with a delay in the schedule if it means getting you off.

“love this pussy, baby. ‘s so pretty.” she grins, eyes fixed on where you join, watching the purple of her strap disappear and reappear, practically dripping with your slick. you’re basically going stupid, clinging to her like she’s your life force.

“ohmygod, ‘vika-“ you’re keening against her, trying to get her to focus on you rather than your cunt. it’s useless. she’s drunk on it, as she often is. there’s nothing sevika loves more than your pussy, except maybe you. she looks up at you for a moment, head dipping down to kiss you so softly you almost forget the roughness of her thrusts. you’re quite sure the car is shaking, but you’re too fucked to care. “gonna make me cum, baby–“ you gasp, thighs trembling.

“hnm, i can tell, sweet thing. practically drowning me, shit,” sevika laughs cockily— she knows she fucks you good, and she’s proud of it. the little pool of your wetness that’s gathered on the blanket beneath you is proof enough for her that she should be proud. she slows her movements and you practically sob with need.

“Someone’s impatient,” you can tell from her face that she’s absolutely enjoying this, and she doesn’t even try to hold back a little grin when she speaks. her thrusts pick back up again, and she lets out a little hum in satisfaction when she hears how slick you are.

“Oh baby, listen to ‘er,” she murmurs into your ear, hot breath sending a chill down your spine when her thumb moves to your clit, a cocky laugh slipping from your girlfriend’s throat.

when you finally cum, letting out a downright nasty moan of her name, sevika cleans you up quickly and sets you in the back of the car with all the pillows and blankets she can find so you can get some rest while she keeps driving. what a gentleman she is.

[katescorner]

suna "we're just friends" rintaro who's actually in a secret relationship with you, but feels the need to keep it a secret until it gets more serious because he's scared. except the miya twins have caught on, and they have a running bet going for who's going to spill first. atsumu thinks suna would rather keel over than admit to them he's dating someone, but osamu is smugly convinced that his friend's resolve is weaker than yours. so they decide to put it to the test.

it starts off . . . weird. osamu is putting moves on you, and you have no idea what to make of it. he's asking to walk you home and tells you that you should come to watch them practice. he even shoves atsumu out of their usual seat in the cafeteria to invite you to sit next to him. he seems really interested in you, and you don't want to be mean, but you also can't lead him on.

you're too focused on osamu's strange behavior to notice that he only acts this way when suna is around. so you don't see the way your boyfriend clenches and unclenches his fists when he overhears osamu wanting to walk you home after school. you don't hear the huff he lets out or how he slams his locker door a little harder when osamu invites you to watch them play with a well practiced smile. and you certainly don't realize the sheet white paleness that grows on his face when osamu shoves atsumu off the bench to make space for you.

suna doesn't blame you. his friends are idiots and getting on his last nerve. but everything comes to a screeching halt when osamu puts his arm around your shoulder, and suna absolutely loses it.

"we're dating!" it's the closest he gets to yelling without actually, but it's loud.

"damn it!" atsumu shouts, but suna doesn't hear. he practically has tunnel vision, zeroed in on where osamu connects to you.

"we're dating," he repeats through gritted teeth. "so get your grimy slimy spiker little hands—" he stalks over to osamu with surprising speed to knock his hand off of you, "off of my—"

"rintaro," you scold softly, and the twins try not to react when their usually unbothered and finicky middle blocker . . . listens?

"he—you're my—i'm—" he erupts in an aggravated groan and quickly decides to pull you to his side, away from osamu.

suna starts mumbling things under his breath they can't hear. his words are clearly reserved only for you, but the twins watch quietly anyway as you smooth away the worry lines growing on his face from his furrowed eyebrows and press a soft kiss to his cheek that has leaves them dusted in the slightest pink. he's whipped, and suddenly the only thing the miyas could think of was—how the hell did they not notice sooner?

yes i'm a soft lovesick sunarin truther. that man is a simp and i take no arguments

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

♡ FEM reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. “Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna, or Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist