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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

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Steve has an embarrassing secret (regularly wet the bed as a teenager or something equally embarrassing) and Eddie and the kids find out and they make a few too many jokes about it, upsetting Steve. Eddie wises up and apologises and comforts Steve, and eventually gets the kids to apologise as well.

I hope it's okay I went a slightly different route for the embarrassing thing, but it just seemed like it fit more with me making Steddie happen😂 I also included Robin because I fully believe she was the first and only person to know about it since he was a child and she's super overprotective of him because of it. - Mickala ❤️

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Eddie watched as Robin knocked Steve’s shoulder, effectively waking him up from the very brief doze he’d managed to slip into.

He wouldn’t think much of it except for the fact that it’s happened three times tonight.

If Steve’s that tired, she should just let him sleep. It’s his house, after all.

But she doesn’t.

No one else seems to notice, which is alarming on its own.

For a bunch of kids used to having to be observant about shit, they sure do seem oblivious to this. Maybe because they feel safe here? Maybe because they just assume Robin and Steve are weird?

When it happens a fifth time, Eddie calls them out.

“Why don’t you let the man sleep, Robbie?”

The kids all turn to look at him, then at Robin, who looks at them like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I just know he doesn’t wanna sleep yet,” she shrugged, clearly lying.

“Oh, c’mon. You would have given up by now if that was all,” Eddie pushed.

“It’s nothing, Eddie. Drop it,” Steve said, more serious than the situation could have possibly called for.

“Is it nightmares? Because you know we all get them sometimes,” Lucas asked.

“Nope.” Steve slapped his thighs as he starts to get up. “Anyone need a drink?”

“Is it embarrassing?” Eddie asked, finally realizing why Steve and Robin may be trying to avoid it.

“Nope,” Robin said.

Steve remained silent.

“What is it? You snore really loud? You talk in your sleep?” Mike asked, finally appearing to be interested in the conversation.

“I suck my thumb! There! You happy now?” Steve was bright red, and looked just irritated enough that Eddie considered not making a joke.

“Wait, like…when babies do it?” Max asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you have pacifiers, too?” Mike asked around a loud laugh.

Everyone giggled except for Robin, who was watching Steve with worried eyes.

“That explains why you always pretended to be super cold at sleepovers. You were hiding that you were sucking your thumb!” Dustin put together.

“Doesn’t that fuck up your teeth? Did you pay to have them fixed?” Eddie asked.

Part of him was genuinely curious, part of him was teasing.

But he watched as Steve’s face did something new, something he never wanted to see it do again.

He looked hurt, but more than that, he looked scared.

Why would he look scared of them?

Before he could say anything to get the kids to stop, Steve was walking away and Robin was getting up to follow him, sending them all a glare.

But the kids didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t think it was as serious as it was.

Eddie stood up and put his hands on his hips, not thinking about how much he must look like Steve in that moment.

“We fucked up. It’s okay to tease friends sometimes about stuff, but clearly Steve is really self-conscious about this and isn’t okay with it. When he gets back, you’re all gonna apologize. If you don’t, you leave. I’m gonna go check on him,” Eddie sighed.

The kids were silent as Eddie walked to the staircase and up the stairs.

As he got closer to Steve’s room, he could hear him crying and Robin talking quietly to him. He couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, but he knew she was trying to reassure him.

Eddie knocked once on the door, hoping they’d let him in, hoping they’d realize that he wasn’t coming to hurt Steve anymore than he already had.

Robin opened the door, shielding Steve from view.

“What?” she asked him, trying to hide the sounds of Steve sniffling on his bed.

“I just wanted to apologize. I’ll leave after if he doesn’t wanna talk,” Eddie said quietly. He knew the kids were probably listening downstairs and he didn’t think they needed to be a part of this conversation.

“I don’t think he wants to see any of you yet,” Robin said, somewhat apologetically, like she knew Eddie meant it, but also wanted to protect her platonic soulmate.

“It’s fine, Robs,” Steve said from the bed, his voice completely broken.

Robin moved out of the way and let Eddie through, and when he looked at Steve curled up in bed, his heart broke.

Steve was always the strong one, always appeared confident even when the kids teased him about how much he cared about his hair or his lack of a date or his misuse of words.

Eddie had always loved that about him; That he could face anything with the confidence of a person who had never lost.

But this was different, and clearly he’d been so secretive about it for a reason.

“Can I sit with you for a second, Stevie?” Eddie asked, hoping Steve understood that he could say no if he wanted to. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure him into hearing an apology he wasn’t ready for.

Steve nodded, sniffling again as tears continued to fall from his eyes.

God, they really fucked up.

Eddie sat on the bed, watching as Robin left the room, silently having a conversation with Steve before closing the door behind her.

“I’m really sorry about the teasing. We should have realized that you didn’t want to make a big deal about it and stopped. No one actually thinks less of you because of something you can’t help, okay? Especially not me. I’m the last one to judge considering I still sleep with a stuffed animal every night,” Eddie admitted.

Steve lifted his head and looked at Eddie, lifting his hand to wipe at his nose.

It shouldn’t be as cute as it is, but Eddie’s already admitted to himself that he thinks everything Steve does is adorable.

“You do?” Steve asked.

“Yep. And, to make it even more embarrassing, I didn’t even have it since birth or anything. Wayne got it for me when I moved in with him when I was 10. He knew I was having trouble sleeping and thought it would help.”

“Did it?”

“Yep. I don’t always cuddle with him, but he’s always in my bed,” Eddie gave him a small smile.

“Does anyone know?” Steve rested his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes.

“Just Wayne and you,” Eddie said, looking down at his lap.

“Thanks for telling me.”

Eddie looked over at Steve, who still had tears dripping from his eyes, though much slower.

Eddie reached out and used his thumb to slowly wipe them away.

Steve closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Is Robin the only one who knows?” Eddie whispered, not wanting to interrupt the moment, but wanting to know a bit more.

“Other than my parents and Tommy, yeah. But I think Tommy thought it stopped by the time we got to high school. But um, my parents never liked it much. And I guess when it didn’t stop when I was in elementary school, they decided to try to make it stop. I remember them making me wear gloves, and soaking it in vinegar, and my mom even sprayed hairspray on it at one point to try to get me to stop, but it still happened. My dad refused to even talk about it once I hit middle school. And then they stopped coming home so I guess they figured it was my problem to deal with. Tommy pretended not to notice, which I guess is better than teasing me about it.” Steve sighed. “And then I fell asleep at Robin’s after Starcourt and it happened and she asked me about it. So now, she makes sure I don’t fall asleep in front of anyone so no one else finds out.”

Eddie nodded along, hating Steve’s parents even more, and somehow hating Tommy slightly less for at least not making Steve feel bad about it.

“It’s just a comfort thing, yeah? You don’t do it consciously.”

“Yeah. Robin said it’s something about oral fixation, which sounds dirty and I’ve told her a million times-”

Eddie smirked as he leaned in to kiss Steve on the lips.

It took Steve a moment to start kissing him back, but when he did, he let out a small sigh against Eddie’s lips and placed his hands in Eddie’s hair.

“Gotta say, I didn’t really think sucking my thumb in my sleep was a turn on,” Steve whispered against Eddie’s lips when they parted, resting their foreheads against each other.

“Literally everything you do is a turn on for me. But besides that, I just wanted to kiss you. That okay?”

“Yeah. Uh. It’s great. Is that something you’d wanna do again or…?”

Eddie leaned in to kiss him again instead of answering.

A knock on the door interrupted them, but Eddie didn’t move off the bed, just placed his hand on Steve’s hand by his head.

“Yeah?” he called to whoever was knocking.

“Can we come in?” Dustin asked through the door.

Eddie looked to Steve, who looked unsure.

“You don’t have to let them in, but I think they want to apologize,” Eddie whispered.

“Come in!” Steve called, though he didn’t move or try to make Eddie move his hand.

He seemed to want, maybe even need, the comforting touch.

The kids all piled into the room, all of them looking like they’d been through another round of Upside Down shenanigans.

“We just wanted to say we’re sorry about the teasing. El told us about how she started sucking her thumb when she first started living with Hopper because of all the changes and how hard it was to stop. We didn’t mean to take it that far and hurt your feelings.”

Will must have been the one chosen to speak for all of them, but they all added in their own apologies quietly when he finished.

“Thanks guys. It’s okay. I know it’s weird so I get it,” Steve said, still sounding too sad for Eddie’s taste.

“Hey, no. We all have weird things. It doesn’t give anyone a free pass to push boundaries,” Eddie said, giving the kids a look.

“Eddie’s right,” Dustin said. “I know what it’s like to be made fun of for stuff you can’t control and it sucks, even when it’s people you know don’t actually mean any harm. We’re really sorry.”

“It’s alright, guys. Thanks for saying you’re sorry. Is it okay if we have movie night tomorrow instead, though?”

The kids all agreed quickly, and Robin appeared by the door to tell them to call their rides and get the hell out.

She shot Eddie a look that said he’d be getting a very specific type of talk the next time she saw him, but she didn’t say anything as she kissed the top of Steve’s head and said her goodbyes.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m alright,” Steve said to Eddie, who was already slipping his shoes off so he could get comfy in bed with Steve.

“I’ll leave if you want me to, but I think I’d really like to stay.”

Steve watched as Eddie walked over to the lamp in the corner and shut it off. It was still early, barely past dinner time, but he was exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions and not sleeping very well the night before.

“You can stay. But. Well, you know. It’s gonna happen,” Steve was blushing, but Eddie wasn’t gonna let him be embarrassed about it.

“I know. Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” Eddie shrugged.

“Okay.”

Eddie got in bed, pulling the comforter and sheets over him, and nestling against Steve’s back, wrapping his arms around his chest and tugging him close.

He felt Steve relax completely against him and he couldn’t help but smile against his shoulder, letting his lips linger there in a soft kiss.

It didn’t take long for Steve to fall asleep, Eddie could tell when he did from the way his breath started puffing out slower, his grip on Eddie’s arm going slack.

He soaked in the moment, let himself think about being here, holding Steve in his arms, kissing him.

And then he felt Steve’s hand that was laced with his lift up, and Eddie’s thumb was in Steve’s mouth before he could do anything to stop it.

He wouldn’t have stopped it anyway.

If this was what Steve needed, he would be here every night.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #the party #request #ficlet #hurt/comfort #getting together

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missmeinyourbones · 2 years

Text

THE MONSTERS TURNED OUT TO BE JUST TREES

or four times Touya Todoroki almost told you he loves you, and one time he finally did

cw: GN!reader (one mention of them wearing a dress & heels), mentions of blood and injury, one brief mention of sex, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, canon universe | wc: 6.8k

“When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.”

“Start Here” - Caitlyn Siehl

#001

Touya wants to tell you he loves you the very first time he meets you, which granted, he realizes is incredibly fucked up—but he swears on what little he has that it’s the truth.

Withering away in a damp and cornered alleyway, he clutches his abdomen in hopes of stopping whatever bleeding is going on down there. He can’t bring himself to look, but he’s certain it’s there from the warmth of the spot and the sticky film now covering his hand.

Yes, he’s been in this situation before—you’d think he’d have learned by now, based on the embarrassing amount of times he’s walked this same path. But he hasn’t, which is clear as he sits and quietly moans in his own agony. His burns continue to sting as a new layer of charred skin forms by the second, sensitive and exposed. The cut in his side throbbing so harshly that he almost feels a bit nauseous just thinking about it.

As he’s mentally finding the strength to stand, he hears faint footsteps. If they’re truly faint, he doesn't know—it could just be the effect of his vision coming in and out paired with the piercing ringing in his ears.

“Are you alright?”

He can barely open his eyes, but he does—and he sees you.

Who you are, he has no clue, but the smallest part of him is put at ease as you hover over his slumped and defeated frame. He’s oddly relieved at your presence, almost as if he knows you, or a part of him once knew you. It jars him how calm he is with the situation at hand.

It’s just the pain talking, he’s quick to remind himself. The adrenaline using any part of his brain it can reach to push his body to heal itself, or at least remain alive long enough until he can bare to stand and defend himself.

“Leave,” he barks, suddenly reminded of the reality of the situation, of who he is and the risk your company poses to him, “you didn’t see anything.”

“You’re—” your voice shakes before lowering its volume to a whisper, vaguely gesturing to where he clutches his torso. “You’re bleeding,” you utter it like a secret, like it’s something that shouldn't be addressed.

Touya, or rather Dabi, closes his eyes and huffs with annoyance at your self-explanatory observation. You know, you're really not making this whole dying unnoticed thing easy for him.

“I can help,” your voice finds his ears once more and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t embarrassed. Help, he wants to spit and stew at your pity insinuation, he doesn’t need your help.

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes unimpressed and unwavering, before finally commenting with a gruff, “I don’t do hospitals.”

“Not a hospital,” you’re quick to stomp out his fire, “my place.”

Your place? Christ, it’s like you're asking for trouble. Clearly, you don’t know who he is, unaware of his high-profile villain status and obvious label of being a danger to society. Even with all that aside, what kind of idiot invites someone who looks like him, bruised and scarred and bleeding out before your very eyes, into the safety of their home? To help? You must have a few screws loose of your own, and maybe you feel bad about—

“Please,” you anxiously press, not-so-subtly eyeing his worsening wound, “I wanna help.”

Dabi doesn't remember standing up, using your unfamiliar touch as support as he stumbled to your apartment. He doesn't remember trudging up the staircase to the 3rd floor, or the way you shakily fumbled with your key in the lock as you opened your door and rushed him into the bathroom.

All he knows is that suddenly, he’s clumsily slumped against the refreshingly cool tile of your bathroom wall as you tend to his deep and now oozing cut.

He notices the sharp skids of maroon his boots have smudged onto your floor. He bitterly laughs to himself, thinking about how his blood will now permanently stain the floorboards of a stranger’s home. A piece of him the world could never rid itself of, even if it tried.

He flinches and groans every few moments, whenever you press harder onto his open wound or apply another round of antiseptic.

With his vision coming in and out of haziness, his eyes land on you—more specifically, your face.

Pretty, dainty, and soft (he imagines). He watches your eyes silently gloss over his contrasting scars—where the chunked and charred purple remnants of death meet the crevices of living and breathing skin, barely held together with the shitty stitching of rusted staples.

“Not gonna ask how I got ‘em?” he suddenly bores. It’s the first coherent sentence he’s been able to string together since you’ve brought him inside. That’s a good sign, you mentally note. He can speak.

“No,” you truthfully respond, continuing without falter to aid to his injury, “s’not my place,” you admit.

The intimidating glare Dabi gives you is one of disbelief and suspicion, so you shrug and continue your work, feeling his stare burn holes through your skin.

“I just want to make sure you take care of them properly,” you elaborate.

He scoffs harshly before a sting in his abdomen interrupts his breath, “Why?”

Your eyes soften a bit before looking into his, your movements halting as you curiously whisper.

“Do I need a reason?”

I love you.

He has no idea why the thought comes to him so naturally, when love is something he’s never known, barely felt. He shocks himself when it pops into his mind, delicately ghosting on his lips, before roughly pulling himself back to reality.

He weakly searches for something, anything, that’s not you to distract himself from the jarring thought that just crossed his mind uninvited.

He hones in on where your hands are at work. He takes a mental photograph of the bandage you press to his wound—soaked in red as it absorbs all of his cursed and wretched blood. Something about the new and clean bandage you replace it with sticks with him. It’s strikingly white and brightly untouched as you place it where the filthy one once was.

He doesn't know why it draws him in the way it does, but he doesn't take his eyes off of it as it slowly soaks up the rest of his bloody mess.

—

#002

The second time the three words threaten to fall from Touya’s lips is a more acceptable—but just as terrifying—moment than the first. It still fills the crevices of his crumpled heart with a concrete-like heaviness.

Months have passed since the first time in the alleyway, the moment shaking him up so badly that he couldn't bring himself to even walk your street for weeks, choosing to instead watch over your apartment from a neighboring building’s roof.

Things are different now. He likes to think that he’s grown a bit in those few short weeks—not enough to let you have him wholeheartedly in the slightest, but at least enough to let himself into your home once more.

You let him stay with you sometimes, let him shower with your lavender scented products and relish in the warmth of your mediocre cooking. He leaves your apartment with a belly full of satisfaction and a strange feeling in his chest that keeps him returning to your door.

Something brews between the two of you. It resembles that muggy air right before a storm, one that’s so heavy it’s almost suffocating, until it finally breaks with the rainfall. It swims in that dangerously grey area, the one that leaves you teetering on the edge of do we address this? And do we let it drown in it’s own silence?

Something in your gut tells you that if you speak it into existence, then that makes it real—and reality is something that Touya has never dealt with well. Too permanent, too unforgiving.

Lingering glances turn to fleeting touches, touches to kisses—kisses that make him feel worthy of something, even if it only lasts for just for a few measly minutes.

This new (dare you say) routine the two of you develop often ends the same, like this, with him laying on your bed next you. Above the sheets, never underneath them. Never falling asleep, never staying the night, always gone in the morning—but there, nonetheless. Hot and cold, you bitterlyr emind yourself, mourning a moment you never even had the privilege of knowing.

The two of you sit in the silence of your bedroom, the only sound being the chain from your ceiling fan swaying as it spins in circles. The whites of your bed sheets being the brightest thing in the space, other than Touya’s eyes secretly admiring your peaceful state.

Your head pressed against your pillow looks like a painting, he thinks to himself. Like it should be hung up high for the world to see, for tourists to pay ridiculous amounts of money for, just to silently stare at for three seconds before moving on to the next exhibit.

Your pinky rubbing up and down his forearm slows, and he assumes that you’re walking the line of consciousness and slumber. Once it stills for a few minutes and he’s positive you’re out for the night, he’ll be sure to quietly detangle himself from your limbs and slip out your fire escape.

With this plan in mind and your pinky now motionless, the sudden rasp of your voice takes him by surprise.

“Why do you always leave?”

Your inquiry is small, so small that it makes his chest tight with a guilt he didn’t even know he had. He should've assumed it was there, he has plenty to spare.

“I don’t always leave,” he retaliates, voice barren of any emotion, “slept here plenty of times.”

On the couch, you bite your tongue, And before that, it was the floor. And you’re always gone when I wake up.

“You know what I mean,” you shyly ache.

And truthfully, he does. Touya knows exactly what you mean.

He knows that he has no problem crawling through your door, fucking you until you're both sore and sleepy goners. He knows that he has no issue coming into your kitchen, eating the meals you make just for him and showering with your shampoo that you now buy extra bottles of. He knows that for some strange reason, he draws the line at spending the night in your bed. Something about the sun going down, sharing the clean linens of one’s own personal sanctuary, it’s all too much—too intimate for someone as scummy as him. He deserves a cold and unsettled slumber, away from your contiguous fire.

“Dabi,” you try once more, eyes pleading for any sort of response, any sort of explanation.

An explanation that both of you know he can’t give you—not right now, at least.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, picking a stray eyelash off of your cheek. He selfishly lets it sit on the pad of his thumb for a bit, holding onto any piece of you he can, for just a little bit longer.

“Can’t have people thinkin’ m’going all soft now, can we?” he breathes out onto the eyelash, letting it flutter from his hold with the sudden gust of wind.

You close your eyes gently at the air between the two of you, before challenging his claim, “Not even me?”

“Especially you,” he’s quick to draw a line in the sand.

“Why?”

“Because—”

I love you.

The thought cuts him off mid-sentence, leaving him practically choking and stumbling on his own words as he trails off. He looks at you, doe-eyes admiring him as if he’s a saint, as if he hasn’t maimed and killed and destroyed things just because he could. Just because.

His reply is softer, more defeated as he mumbles, “Just because.”

You sit up in bed, still adorned in the egg-shell white comforter of your sheets. You extend your arm’s reach, covering his shoulder with the blanket as you crawl into his lap and pull him into your magnetic little bubble beneath the covers.

“Stay, just for tonight,” you beg, eyelashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. They tickle like a kiss, feeling far too gentle for someone as rough as him. He silently prays that another one will fall off and become forever attached to him, for when you're not around and he needs to feel you.

“Please.”

He looks at you, cocooned in fluffy white sheets as you kiss him—once, twice, three times. Your lips taste like honeyed chapstick and the warmth of a love he’s never known, one he should never know.

“Alright,” he selfishly agrees.

One night can’t hurt, right?

He promises himself, “Just for tonight.”

Touya does stay the night, and the one after that, and the following. In fact, he hasn’t slept anywhere that isn’t your bed since that very moment.

—

#003

The third time Touya almost tells you that he loves you catches him by surprise—not that the other two times haven’t—because it’s so natural. So domestic, it makes him nauseous at who he’s become, or rather, who he’s becoming.

“Touya?” your voice calls out to him, echoing off the walls of the hallway in your tiny apartment.

That’s right, he remembers, it’s Touya now. The name he once scorched from his skin, sounding so sweet leaving your mouth.

He notices the click-clacking of your heels on the creaky wooden floors getting closer. Confirming his suspicion, you turn the corner to where he lazily slumps on the futon, watching some rerun of a show that just barely keeps his attention.

“Hey, can you zip me up?”

He makes out your request over the dialogue of the characters on the screen. Without looking up from the television, he scoffs out a laugh and immediately runs through his mental lists of quick remarks. Which should he go with today? ‘

Can’t do anything without my help, can you?’ Or maybe even, ‘Oh, so now you need me, huh?’ What about, ‘What am I, your personal servant?’

However, all of his thoughts seem to disappear into smoke once his eyes land on you.

You’re wearing white.

A white dress, more specifically. One that hugs all of your curves and crevices perfectly, almost as if it was made to be worn by you.

His eyes rake over the tiny details of the garment—it’s silk, he mentally notes. He has the sudden urge to reach out and touch it, feel it beneath his fingertips, He wonders if it feels as soft as your skin does, but he doubts it. He admires the delicate straps, how they sit nicely on your shoulders, exposing just enough skin for him to see the way your chest rises and falls with the pattern of your breathing. He looks at your legs, the dress reaching about mid-calf on you, perfectly acceptable for the networking event you’ll be attending. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in—thank god. If you showed any more leg than that, he’d be restless the whole night.

He eyes the dainty necklace adorning your collarbone, how it cradles in the dip of your chest. He smiles once he realizes that it’s the one that he gave you. Fake gold and stolen from a pawn shop downtown, the thin chain wraps around your neck like a reminder. A secret promise to let him know that you’re his, whether he’ll let you be or not.

After a whole minute of silently ogling you, Touya finally registers your ask and pries his eyes away from where you stand.

Granted, the dress is nice. Touya just doesn't care for the piece of material itself—what he cares for is you, where you're wearing it to, and why it’s making his stomach feel like it’s eating itself alive.

He doesn’t know why the thought keeps repeating like a mantra in his mind. You’re wearing white, white, white. The way his brain is hyper-fixating on the color is beyond him, but he lets it continue to ruminate within his brain.

He stalks over to where you expose your back to him, patiently waiting to feel the cold zipper glide up with ease.

However, he doesn’t zip it up right away. He lets his fingers play with it for a moment, flicking it back and forth between his index and thumb. He huffs before pulling it up agonizingly slow, in case you change your mind halfway up, in case you say screw it and decide to ditch the work event. For him.

You feel his breath hit your neck when he practically whines, “You really have to go?”

He hears you giggle as he finally finishes zipping the dress to completion. You turn to face him, eyes bright and smile blinding as you raise your eyebrows at his rather needy remark.

“If I wanna keep my job and if you wanna keep coming here and stealing my food,” you jab the center of his chest with a slender finger, it feels like sparks on his icy skin, “then yes, I really have to go.”

He stays silent for the rest of your getting ready. He watches you readjust the straps of your heels, fiddle with the clasp of your necklace. Watches you skillfully apply lipstick, carefully removing the tiny amount that smeared onto your front teeth in the process. Watches you secure your earrings in place and take one final glance at yourself in the mirror, before grabbing your coat and making your way to the door.

You say something to him, probably along the lines of lock the door or don’t wait up for me, but your words are fuzzy and incoherent—as if he were underwater and the muffled sound can't fully reach his ears.

You looked beautiful, almost angelic, like you weren’t of this world and didn’t deserve to be exposed to all of the dirt and grime it wields within it’s orbit. A dream, a saint, a—

It’s in this moment that he feels his heart meshing with his brain, and he yearns to tell you those three words.

I love you.

You were wearing white.

Touya calms his shaky build with a ragged inhale. A bride, he suddenly decides.

Glowing as you beamed in your white dress, you didn't look like an angel or a goddess. You didn't look like someone going to a work event, someone who would stand alone without a date huddled close to your side. Not someone who deserves to come home to him, of all people—to a lowlife criminal who you will never be able to understand, let alone wed.

No, in your elegant white gown fitted solely to your frame—you looked like a bride.

Though he knows you’ll be returning back to him within a few hours, Touya feels uneasy. He thinks about a wedding. One where you stand at the end of a flower-adorned aisle beneath an ornate canopy. One where you shine ethereal and godly as you read your cheesy vows aloud and give yourself away without so much of a second thought.

Touya doesn't think he’ll be the one meeting you at the end of the aisle, doesn’t think he’ll be the one you kiss as the crowd goes wild with an applause fit for a film screen. He won’t be the one whose last name you take on, as it’s more of a burden than it is an honor. He doesn't need to be.

He just needs you to be happy, whether it’s with him, or not.

—

#004

You wake in the middle of the night to a cold and empty bed, which is luckily a rare occurrence nowadays.

On any other given night, your lover would be passed out in the space next to you. His position may vary—sometimes he rests on your chest with his hands around your torso, clinging to your body as if you’ll vanish in the shadows of the night if he doesn't have a finger on you at all times. Other nights, he can’t even bring himself to touch you, hugging the opposite end of the mattress, an ocean separating the space between the two of you.

Regardless of the position, he was always there—always with you.

Quietly pulling yourself out of bed, you tip toe down the corridor to find Touya right where you expect him to be.

He sits on the edge of the couch, lacing up his beaten and tattered brown boots. You make a mental note to buy him new ones, reminding yourself that he’s a size 10 and prefers the color black to a more neutral brown or tan.

You watch him pull the soggy laces taut, before knotting them and forming two larger loops. He does it a bit childishly—almost as if he’s reciting some nursery rhyme in his head with the instructions as lyrics. Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree...

Trying not to scare him, as if you ever could, you clear your throat to make him aware of your presence. He looks up with an expression that can best be described as shame—as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing, something you specifically told him not to do.

It doesn't take long for your sleep-riddled mind to piece together that he must’ve gotten a call from the league. Waking him from his slumber and requiring his presence, his power, to aid them in something you don’t even try to imagine.

You crawl over to where he sits, leaning down to squat on the floor and help him tie the other boot. He silently watches your fingers work the laces with ease.

He admires your nail polish, it’s white. He remembers you applying it a few days ago while sitting at the kitchen table, fanning your hands around obnoxiously as they dried. He’d made some lame quip about you choosing such a boring color, but you’d just shrugged, insisting that it was pretty—that it’d reminded you of him.

Your raspy voice pulls him from the memory.

“Weren’t even gonna say goodbye to me, huh?” you tease, tone supposed to come across as playful, but Touya knows you—reads you like his favorite book as he can hear the worry, the hurt, that hides beneath it.

“Didn’t wanna wake you,” he answers honestly, holding your cheek in his hand as he guides you upwards to be eye level with him as you finish tying his lace.

Now kneeling in front of him, you pull him into a kiss—one that feels like how tears taste. Salty and desperate, yet soft like an ocean’s tide. He dreams of a day where he can take you to the beach. Watch you bask in the sun’s rays and splash him with water that tastes like your lips do in this very moment, but happier.

“I love you,” he feels you recite against his lips like a prayer as you slowly pull away, looking him directly in the eye. A tactic—so you can ensure that he knows you meant to say it, knows that you meant for him to hear it, to feel it.

I love you.

The response is instant in his mind, like the muscle memory of riding a bike or tying the grimy laces of his boots.

However, Touya says nothing, frozen in place as he feels his eyes begging to water, to cry—to release something, anything.

I love you, he inwardly repeats, as if maybe this time, you’d read his mind and hear it loud and clear.

Seeing his internal struggle, you let your thumb brush his cheek. He almost instantly crumbles beneath your touch, like putty in your hands.

“I don’t need you to say it back,” you gently smile for him, tenderly laughing as you continue to stroke his cheek, “you don’t even need to feel it back.”

That’s stupid, Touya bitterly thinks.

How selfish and unfair and stupid of you to just give out your love for free, without a price. A co-pay, a service fee, a tax charge, anything. How dare you do this to yourself? What benefit do you gain from loving and losing all of the time?

“Just let me, please,” your hushed whisper reassures him, as if you could hear his mental ramblings, “let me love you.”

I love you, he burns. He aches to scream it, to throw it at you the only way he knows how—with fire and hurt and violence and destruction. He wants to curse it, to leave you shaking in awe from its power and punch. It’s on the very tip of his tongue, he can feel the weight of it shaking and shuffling around on his tastebuds, begging to be released.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, like a coward, he flutters his lashes and refuses to look you in the eye. “I don’t know how to,” he reveals, shame eating him alive from the inside out.

I love you, is what he means to say. He hopes you know that, somehow. After all, you do seem to know him better than he knows himself.

With another kiss, one of warmth and chapped lips, you whisper into his mouth.

“Just feel it,” you breathe down into his throat, hoping he swallows it back like a shot of liquor, digesting it and remembering the feeling of its burn, “know that it’s there, know that you're capable of receiving it.”

He wants to scoff, but your tongue skimming his own prevents him from doing so. He’s grateful for it, he thinks—grateful for you.

“Because you are,” you ensure as you pull away from him once more. Gently standing from where you kneel, you slightly pull away from him. You let him grab his jacket, help him zip it up all the way up to his collarbone. You hope he’s not cold out there tonight, you let yourself worry before irony can get its sadistic hands on you.

“I love you,” you insist once more, and it makes his skin buzz with a newfound sense of purpose. With the silence returning to your apartment, you turn on your heel and revert back to your cold and empty bed.

Touya leaves that night for the mission, but something feels wrong. Or maybe it feels right, and he’s just been taught that those two things are supposed to feel the same. It’s a grey area, one of unknown roads and phantom pains. He’s beginning to realize that rebirth feels far too similar to the gentle ache of mourning.

Something in him fights a little harder that night, though. His moves are a bit more calculated, actually planned and thought out. He doesn't act on impulse, without any regard of his hands and skin and life, like he usually would.

Because for the first time in Touya’s life, he’s aware that he has somewhere to be—he has a home to return to, with someone who loves him waiting for him on the other side of the door.

—

#000

With a heartbeat far too intense for a slumbering man, Touya jolts awake in the middle of the night.

But the more he thinks about it, he doesn’t know if he actually ever fell asleep.

He has no memory of dozing off in your embrace or closing his eyes after his long and grueling day with the league. But based on the way he’s short-winded and gasping for air in bed, he must have fallen asleep eventually—because as Touya puts two and two together, he’s pretty positive that he’s just woken up from a nightmare.

He can’t recall a single detail of the terror-induced dream, but he logically knows that there’s no other reason for him to be stunned awake and heaving in the middle of the night.

It could've been about anything—god knows his subconscious has enough horror to choose from—but as Touya sits up in bed and attempts to catch his breath, he can’t remember what he was dreaming about.

He’s grateful for that, as he’s beginning to learn that there’s no harm in leaving the unknown untouched. Leaving well enough alone.

As the adrenaline slowly evaporates from his chest, he allows himself to lay back down with a deep sigh of irritation and annoyance.

It’s not abnormal for him to wake in the middle of the night, he’s grown accustomed to it. He’s become decently skilled at lulling himself back to sleep with a few mental tactics he’s collected over the years.

His favorite one being listing. He thinks of things that are stable, unchanging or always in the same relative realm of one another. Things that are endless in quantity, but simultaneously somehow permanent and constant.

He names as many four-legged animals as he can—cow, dog, cat, alligator, gopher. He tries to list every food that starts with the letter “C” like cherries, curry, coconut, croissants, and cake. He tallies the objects in the room that are rounded. The clock on the wall, the glass of water on his bedside, the finicky and rusted doorknob to your room. He counts your breaths per minute, sometimes wagering bets with himself on how many times he can guess the exact amount correctly.

Tonight, something inside of him is prompted to choose the latter.

With another deep sigh, Touya hoists himself upwards so that his head is resting on his hand, held up by the weight of his elbow leaning next to you on the mattress.

He watches you sleep, laying flat on your back with your head slightly turned to the side that faces him. He counts your nose-whistled breaths with the rising and falling of your chest. He starts fresh when the thin fast-paced arrow of the clock marks the beginning of another minute, keeping track of every inhale and exhale you take before the sixty-seconds come to a close.

Thirteen. He counts thirteen breaths enter and leave your lungs. He likes that number, something about it feels like it fits nicely, like it means something, whatever that may be.

He debates counting another minute of your breathing—just to pass the time, he swears—but he doesn't want to take something as precious as your proof of living for granted. Leave well enough alone, he reminds himself.

While his own breathing has slowed, he still feels restless. In fear of waking you with his nonsensical anxiety, he slowly slides out from your bed. He needs to move around, to feel his arms and legs recirculate blood that somehow still pumps inside of him.

Closing your bedroom door with a quiet click, Touya paces the creaky floors of your apartment.

He walks in circles around your coffee table, saunters back and forth in the kitchen. He strides up and down the narrowed hallway, refusing to look in any mirror or window reflection in fear of catching his own eye. He can only imagine how pathetic he must look right now, he can feel it ache in his calves and crawl up his spine with every step he takes.

The air in the apartment feels stuffy, suffocating almost. He does a quick scan of the area—the windows are open and there’s a slight breeze drafting through the room as the curtains slightly sway back and forth.

He checks the thermostat on the wall. Pressing a flat fingertip to the dial, it glows back at him, reading a temperature perfectly average for a temperate night like tonight. So why does it feel like a fucking sauna in here? He doesn’t normally run this uncomfortably hot, as ironic as it may seem.

He needs air, more than just the draft from the windows. He needs the chill of an ice-cold bath to drown his lungs, he needs to let the water wash him from the inside out and rid him of any grime you’ve missed.

He grabs his pack of cigarettes off the kitchen counter and makes a beeline for the screen door.

Sliding the entry of the balcony open, he steps onto the tiny porch and leans on the cool metal railing. It’s not a drastic change in temperature—in fact, he’s not even sure if there is any change—but he feels better out here, like there’s more space to sigh and grovel.

Over the hum of the city below, he notices his own breathing. A bit faster and shakier than usual. He scoffs at his own behavior—childlike and shaken-up after a tantrum.

Touya has no pity for himself, nor the way his body struggles and shakes when lighting his cigarette. He lets himself deeply inhale the stale smoke before letting it slip out through a pursed lip.

He looks out over the railing. The city street below is surprisingly lively compared to its usual bare bones around this time of night. He people-watches for a few moments, a fragile attempt to distract himself from the uneasy pit threatening to permanently settle in his stomach.

He observes a street vendor closing up for the night, scrubbing away at a hefty pot filled of some mixture of noodle and broth. He sees a stray mutt sniffing through piles of plastic bags filled with trash, before a policeman shoos it away from the neglected garbage. He watches a walking man pass beneath the street-lamps, faintly illuminated by their glow every few feet as he scurries to get home with convenience store bags in his hand.

His eyes fall to a young couple, teenagers maybe, strolling through the dimly lit streets. They practically skip down the alleyways, hands intertwined and animatedly swinging back and forth. He hears one of them loudly giggle as the other one attempts to balance on the raised borders of the sidewalk, placing one foot in front of the other like an acrobat on a tightrope.

It makes his heart sink for reasons unknown. The bitter anger he feels is a humbling reminder for him to get back inside and go back to sleep.

With a bit of a groan and a harsh rub to the bridge of his nose, Touya stifles his cigarette out on the brick wall of your apartment complex, before tossing it in the ashtray you leave out for him on the end table.

On his way inside, he eyes the wilted potted plant next to it, dried and crumbling from the lack of rain these days.

Once he’s through the door, Touya finds himself moving towards the bathroom. He leans over the sink as he avoids his own gaze in the mirror. While the ceramic is calm and cooling on his palms, it’s still not enough.

He flicks the knob which turns the faucet on and allows the cold water to run for a few moments. Once he’s positive that it’s as cold as your apartment complex’s water tank can allow, he sticks his hands underneath the consistent stream of the nozzle.

He lets the water hit the center of his palms, cupping in his hands and overflowing over the sides of his thumbs. He watches it drip through the cracks where his fingers meet one another, feels it glide over his knuckles and down his wrists. He tilts his hands upward and lets it run beneath his fingernails—an attempt to hit every single one of his crevices with the purifying liquid.

His final act includes him cupping the water one last time and splashing it on his face. It slightly brings his temperature down, but more so pulls him back to reality as he blindly reaches around the bathroom for something to dry himself with.

He decides to roughly collect the droplets on his face with the hand towel hanging beside him. While looking down at the floor, he spots the smear of blood he left on your tile the first time he met you. The one that he knew would leave a stain. He didn't expect to ever see it again, let alone every day.

As he places the towel back on the rack, something briefly catches his attention from the corner of his eye—something he hasn’t noticed before in the small confines of your familiar bathroom.

A tiny vase, no bigger than the circumference of his own two hands, sits on the shelf of your toilet tank. It doesn’t take up much space, maybe half of the ledge, as it decorates the otherwise relatively plain room. It’s not the vase that lures him in, it’s the flowers.

They’re white.

White, just like the bandages you pressed into his tattered and lifeless skin what feels like years ago. Like the bedsheets you wrapped the two of you in, holding him in your palms and begging him to stay the night. White, the same as the dress you wore, the one that had him thinking about a future—one with you and a forever kept promise. Like the boringly pretty nail polish you chose to decorate your fingernails with for the sole reason that it reminded you of him.

White.

He doesn’t recognize the type of flower, not that he knows many, but he’s familiar with the basics: roses, tulips, sunflowers. These ones are different. They spread themselves out at the stem, almost drooping into a delicate star-shape. They have tiny little seeds—he guesses—in the center, yellow and narrow. He leans in to sniff them, they smell of nothing but grass and wind. A clean scent.

They’re new, he decides. He would've noticed those before. Knowing you and your routine, you most likely picked them up on your way back from work a few days ago. He vaguely remembers you mentioning a flower-shop close to your office that you’d been curious to check out. He figures you finally bit the bullet before the work week was over.

Something about those fucking flowers ignites something inside of him. So simple and plain, yet captivatingly eye-catching at the same time. Silent and peaceful, they stay there. They don’t harm anyone. Their only purpose being to lighten up the dim and stale bathroom.

They’re proof that things can be good, that things can sit there and exist for the sole reason of making someone happy. They don’t need to be any more complicated than that—Touya thinks they’re kinda like you in that way.

With a new-found sense of ease and a strange sense of urgency pulling him back to the bedroom, Touya’s feet move before he can process his own realizations. They carry him back to bed, let him crawl underneath the covers and press his body softly against yours.

He returns to the same position he was in before, resting on his side as his elbow prompts him upwards, giving him a clear angle of you sleeping soundly beneath him.

Touya doesn’t know why he feels the need to say it right now. Maybe, it’s because you’re sleeping, in your own world and unable to hear him. He knows it’s cowardly—but for more reasons than one, he’s never claimed to be a hero.

He braces himself—for what, he doesn’t know. Maybe the ground will split open from beneath him and swallow you whole. Maybe the sky will turn red and the sun will explode into a thousand fiery little flames. Maybe he’ll stop breathing. Maybe you’ll breathe another thirteen times.

He focuses on you and nothing else, afraid to exhale too loudly or move an inch in fear of waking you and ruining the moment for himself.

Frozen in time, he whispers the cursed phrase, lips barely moving.

“I love you.”

It’s foreign in his mouth, but it doesn’t feel acidic like he’d imagined it would. It feels light, feathery, as if it’s not even there in the first place. It melts like cotton candy on his tongue, dissolving into nothing but a sweet and sugary aftertaste.

Touya blinks, releasing a sigh as he allows himself to relax a bit. The moment is peaceful. That wasn’t so bad.

“I love you too, Touya” he hears you faintly whisper from the space in between his arm and torso. His body freezes with what he hopes isn't regret.

You don’t gasp and tremor like he expects, hell, you barely move a muscle as you mutter the words back to him with ease. You must be sleep-talking, he reasons with himself. There’s no other way that you’d be as nonchalant as you are about the situation at hand.

But as you move in closer to him, your hand rubbing soft circles on his chest, he knows you’re awake.

He lets himself drift off to sleep once more, no need for counting mammals or listing specifically shaped objects. The sole thought dancing in Touya’s mind remains the same throughout the night and into his dreams.

He needs to ask you for the name of those flowers.

a/n: AAAAAAAHHHH here is my touya fic. i am very proud of it >,< i’ve been working on it for quite some time now and it feels good to finally be able to release it! i hope u all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i had a lot of fun coming up with the little details and easter eggs in it. as always, i love receiving ur guys feedback so please feel free to let me know what u like about it (if anything at all LOL)

#touya todoroki #dabi #touya fic #touya todoroki fic #dabi fic #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #dabi fluff #dabi angst #touya fluff #touya angst #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha writing

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superstarzolar · 7 days

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your gabe is so silly i wanna put him in a jar and observe him and feed him little treats

this isn’t technically an art request ask but i like drawing gabriel so i’m gonna use any reason to do it …. Anywayz gabriel loves treats and doodads of sweet nature….

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf athazagora #art #ssz art #fnaf gabriel #ssz asks

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ladylooch · 4 months

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BTS of Stella on that bus ride with Connor and David 🤭

A/N: So bestie 👆🏻 and I had already talked about Stella on the bus. But I did get another ask about it this morning! Thank you Nonnie! How you enjoy this adorable sweetness.

“Hey! Boys!” Connor yells out to the bus as he steps on with a bouncy Stella in his arms. “Baby coming on board. Keep it clean.” Connor wasn’t entirely worried about that tonight. There is a sour mood over the boys after losing to a close rival in the waining seconds of the game. He feels similar, but having to transition quickly into dad mode means he doesn’t get to wallow in it like the rest of them.

“Stell!” David yells. “Come sit by me!”

“Okay!” She exclaims, pointing to her daddy to go towards his defensive partner.

“Luc is pissed at me, isn’t she?” David asks when they get to his row.

“Well you’re not currently her favorite person.” Connor says, sitting down next to him.

“I know you already yelled at me during the game, but it wasn’t intentional. Are you mad?” Connor slowly turns to his D partner, giving him a ‘duh’ look.

“My wife is sleeping at Lio’s tonight. I’m solo parenting, which means I can’t have a beer. I don’t get my favorite woman in my bed, curled into my side after a post-game boink. Yeah, I’m still mad.” Connor settles Stella on his lap facing him. Stella looks up at him with big eyes. Her little lips curve into an amused smile. Connor can’t help but grin back, chuckling.

“Kiss?” She puckers her lips aggressively. Connor inhales heavily then attacks her face with kisses. She squeals and giggles, sending infectious happiness through the bus of grumpy Rangers. A few of the Russians point and smile, waving at Stella. “Hi!” She yells back, showing them her toothy grin.

The bus releases air to begin the journey back to the New York side of the river. Stella gasps, looking up at her dad.

“We going! I need a snack.” She insists, nodding her head. He reaches into his suit jacket for the bag of Goldfish Lucie handed him. “Open.” She pats his hands.

“Ask nicely.” Connor redirects her demanding energy.

“Peeeeeease?”

“Fuck, she is cute.” David murmurs. Stella gasps again, looking at David then whipping her head back to her dad.

“Yeah, that’s a bad word, huh baby.” He gives David a side eye.

“Oh shit, sorry. Fuck! Sorry! Sorry!” David clasps his hand over his mouth. “Wait, is shit a bad word?” Connor ignores him, but Stella looks concerned.

“He gonna have to put lots of monies in the lego jar.” The concept of the jar is that when they, well when Connor, swears money gets put into the jar for a lego set for Stella.

“Yeah. Daddy is gonna have to front him I’m sure.” Connor grumbles, handing over the opened bag of orange crackers.

“Fishy.” She grins, stuffing one in her mouth. She chews gently, poking her fingers around to grab another one. “For you!” She exclaims, passing one to David.

“Thanks, Stelly Belly.” David eats the cracker. “Ooo, those are good. Can I have one more?”

“No.” Stella says simply. She puts one up to her dad’s lips. Connor sucks it into his mouth, then kisses her fingers.

“Thanks, baby.” Connor observes his daughter, glad to see she is content for the moment. But he knows this will not last. Stella hates sitting for long periods of time and there will be traffic after the game tonight. Getting back will have them in moments of stop and go.

When they get to that first stall, Stella gets antsy.

“No. Go bus. Go!” Stella squeals anxiously. Her hands ball into small fists while she tries to wiggle out of Connor’s hands.

“No. You need to sit here with me until we get off.”

“No! I don’t wanna!”

“How is daddy going to keep you safe if you’re wandering around?” Stella scrunches her nose, squirm harder. “No.” Connor says more firmly, tightening his grasp on her. “Please sit still.” Stella sucks in a big breath, preparing to cry. Oh, here we go.

“Stell, do you know wheels on the bus?” David asks. Stella looks over, confused. She shakes her head no.

“You do, babe. The wheels on the bus go round and…”

“Round!” She yells, eyes widening at the realization she does know. “Yes! Yes! We sing!”

“Boys.” David calls to the rest of the team. “The wheels on the bus go..”

“Round and round.” Some of the boys call back.

“Hey! Let’s go! Wake up! We need to support our little Ranger.”

The next round is louder.

“The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town.”

The deep voices of men drown out Stella’s voice as they sing through all four verses. There is a little confusion in the third verse about what happens to the bus next. But a Canadian rookie googles it and the boys jump back in just as boisterous.

“Beep, beep, beep!” Stella giggles as she sings. Connor tickles her tummy. Some of the boys have their phones out recording to send back to their families.

When the team finishes the song, they all cheer.

“Great job, boys! When are we opening on broadway!?”

A collective laugh goes through the men, then everyone settles down as the bus begins to flow through lighter traffic.

"I spy! I spy!" Stella says as they make their way over the big bridge. This is a game him and Lucie play with her because she gets nervous about the bridge.

"I think it's too dark." Connor tells her, kissing her cheek .

"Oh." She frowns, eyes getting big and sad. David can't have that.

"I spy... something.... blue.” He begins. Stella looks around, trying to see over the big bus seats.

"I can't see." She whines, unsure. Connor sighs. They might need to get another verse of wheels on the bus going stat.

"Yes, you can see it from here." David promises her.

She looks him over, then her dad, not seeing any blue. Connor gives her jersey a little tug by the hem. Stella throws her hands wide on her chest.

"Me!" She squeals. David cheers and Stella collapses into giggles.

"It's you!”

Stella giggles excitedly. Then, she suddenly lays her head on Connor's chest, looking at David. She reaches out for him to hold her hand while her long lashes begin to close. Her baggie of goldfish is half falling out of her hand. She is suddenly so tried, literally crashing. Too tired to even fight the sleep anymore.

Stella keeps gripping two of his fingers as she falls asleep. Her small hand can barely get around the big defenseman’s appendages. Her cheeks become pink from being sleepy. Her pig tails are lopsided from all her I spy searching and whipping her head around at every noise. Her cheek smooshes deeper into Connor's chest as her mouth opens to pull in puffs of air.

"How do you and Lucie only have one kid?” David asks. Connor is rubbing Stella's back over her jersey, helping her settle into her sleep. David throws a little pout at the yawn that stretches Stella’s mouth open.

"Lucie won't let me get her pregnant again.” Connor moves to his right to see if Stella is sleeping. She’s close. He grabs her bag of gold fish so it doesn’t spill all over the floor.

“You gotta wear her down man. The world needs more of these kids.” Conner smiles, kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “Maybe you’ll get a boy?”

“Honestly man, I kinda want all girls.”

#Lio & Lucie

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that--unusual-person · 1 year

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Cosmic anon gets it‼️‼️

There is so much more i would do the Starscream like pick him up with my bare cold hands and shake him like the ginger girl from finding Nemo and force him to watch all Shrek movies while all stars from smash mouth plays in the back non stop. Baking him into a cake is also a great options and the salad spinner with him in is just a great way to stim❤️. Just aggressively making that thing turn around and around. i once broke a salad spinner as a kid because i did it so agressivly breaking the handle and making the spinner fall on the floor and partly breaking into pieces. I imagine Starscream just being a puddle at this point, if so then he goes right back in the jar and then i microwaves him because i wanna know what will happen. if nothing does i would bite his head (lovingly) and rattle him around like a dog with their chew toy, barking while doing so and run around on all four running in circles.

I would squeeze him like those stress toys who's eye pop out dramatically and then throw him on the wall and hope he would stick on it right above my bed, that way when i stare on the celling i can see him before i fall asleep ❤️. Bc he is so cool and awesome he should be the last thing i see when i go into dreamland and also the first thing i see when i wake up❤️.

With the others i can't say my thirst for pathetic meow meows oozes for them. Like Starscream has just this pathetic wet sock, crying in the rain while covered in the mud, hopeing you would take him back as a lover while, i will always love you, plays in the back and you just throw a shoe at him to make him go away. He doesn't tho and looks at you with those big silly eyes, you still take him back because there is just SOMETHING about him you don't find in others, kind of vibe.

He is so pathetic and loving, his dumb stupidity grin that melts your heart while his clownery makes you wanna put him in a potato sack where only his head peaks out and put him in the damp,cold, dark basement. He is so dumb and cute and ratty.

Soundwave is just straight up my loving husband that i would wife up and give all my love without the insanity. The Bot is already dealing with so much he deserves a break and a soft tenderly kiss on the cheek while i tell him how great he is. I would draw him like an old painter draws their lover and muse; full of grace and power, elegance that you don't see anywhere else. The paintings of the time where he still was by my side the only thing reminding me how he looks like while my brain slowly withers away. My mind forgetting how his voice filled my hears like a wonderful song and his touch like the warm rays of the sun. But my heart beating for him and knowing even if i forget how he looks like my it will still remember him. Writing love sick writing poetry about the fuzzy warm feeling i had in the past seeing paintings of this mysterious person i clearly knew in the past. Writing about his beauty that shines from the inside out. Watching the moon, thinking of his dazzling eyes feeling cold and lonely not having him by my side, wishing each day that he would finally be here to fall in love a second time❤️ (but your genius for the things you wrote down).

Same with shockwave, but i have to admit i really wanna bite his mono-boob while skedaddling on his body like an insect. My feelings for shocker is in between of soundwave and Starscream.

I wanna cling on his leg and try to shake him around (knowing it won't happen because he is a THICC BOY). he would need me to put me in those child dog leashes or cages to make me stop fooling around and chewing on him. I would probably just straight up gulp down one of his chemicals to mess with him not caring if i die or grow a third arm. I honestly hope i would be his Starscream ❤️❤️ Him observing me in my silly little jar while i lick the glass like stich at the beginning of the movie❤️

I would be the fluffy cat getting petted sleeping on the lap of the villain as they spin around to face the hero of the story.

Anyway i hope it's obvious I'm very autistic about these three.(apologies for the insane ramblings I'm sleep deprived and ate like 13 chocolate muffins).

-thick shockwave/jar Starscream anon

#transformers #maccadam #soundwave #answer #digital art

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swifty-fox · 11 days

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priest gale makes me crazy i wanna put him in a jar and then dissect him like a bug.

no but seriously he is so fascinating to me, his internal debate between allowing himself pleasure and letting the desire fester, ooh i wanna gnaw on him

John Ghostwrote this.

AS PER USUAL.... Little Beasts is inspired by Richard Siken and his absolutely amazing ability to write the violence of desire.

“I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.”

(this quote has stuck w me for yearrrrrrs)

I love the play between our baseline desires vs. societal pressure and expectations or in Gale's case, a fear of intensity of emotion. He comes from an abused background, strong emotions were something to be feared for a NUMBER of reasons and so he's spent so long repressing his he doesn't know how to handle the way John is able to bring them all to the surface. Nobody prepared him for this okay.

Some John observations in the sequel:

It’s a thrill. To hear Gale ask for what he wants, to know John is peeling back the layers of repression, at least a bit, to reach the hungry creature beneath.

There was a hungry desperation to Gale that felt so achingly familiar. Perhaps not a mirror but at the very least a twin to the own ravenous shadows of him.

He’d seen it, the way Gale's eyes glazed as he recited his hymns, the way his eyes would flick to the door of the church during mass when he thought nobody was looking. John wondered if he thought about making a mad break for it, or wouldn’t even let his imagination get that far. A rabbit in a trap that it had turned into its home.

There’s defiance in every line of him as if he hadn’t just invited John into the chicken coop.

Gale’s stubborn refusal to give a single inch of ground, even when it would only encourage John to keep pushing. Maybe that was the point, a plausible deniability to his actions that kept Gale thinking he was the poor virginal princess beset by a wolf.

He wasn’t sure if the blonde even noticed the way he came alive at John’s pigtail pulling; the way his lips parted and he turned to face him full on. A boxer squaring up for the match. He wanted John to throw the punch, just to give him an excuse to hit back.

John sees Gale and Gale doesn't like it and he also LOVES it and he's got a lot of complex feelings about it.

one more Siken quote for good measure

You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division, and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn't do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn't matter anymore.” -Richard Siken

#do not talk to me about war of foxes ill throw up I love that book #swiftytalks #little beasts #send me asks about themmm

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thesaltwateremu · 9 months

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Guys I just wanna stick the butcher in a blender. I wanna put him in a microwave and watch him spin. I wanna stick him a little glass jar where I can observe and tap on the glass

#i just think hes neat #malevolent #malevolent podcast #I support the butchers rights but more importantly I support the butchers wrongs

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thesafecafe · 1 year

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Ateez! Reaction: helping their black girlfriend on wash day

Request: here

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to help you out on wash day, and you let him, but not without some interesting adventures along the way!

CW: None really, sfw, fluff, specifically black fem reader, aspects of black hair, gifs not mine hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: This is not meant to be a reflection of the idol or their behavior in real life, this is simply a fictional depiction for entertainment purposes.

Seonghwa:

Seonghwa is very curious about your hair from the start of your relationship

he thinks your hair is beautiful, especially when it’s in an afro

his curiosity on your hair care never stops, and when you told him about your wash day being long and tiring, he offered to help

“Let me help babe! I wanna see how you do it”

he watches as you get up early, preparing all of the products you’ll need

he helps you to finger detangle your curls, and gently massages the shampoo and conditioner into your hair

he softly combs out your hair, helping you to rinse and dry it (he will start making noises and pretending you’re on an airplane as he uses the blow dryer)

his entire approach is gentle, as he doesn’t want to hurt you (or be kicked out of the bathroom)

he might get confused about the various products, accidentally handing you a heat protectant when you ask for a jar of leave in conditioner

when it comes to styling, he’s actually pretty good at helping you

he looks at your Pinterest board of hairstyles and helps you choose something cute for your next style

“What about butterfly locs, they’re pretty? No? Okay, what about flat twists?”

he’ll beg you to let him do a hairstyle, and who can say no to that precious face?

you’ll have to help guide him along, and he’ll probably turn on a tutorial, but he’ll get it, and be more excited than you are

“See babe, I knew this would look good!”

Hongjoong:

Hongjoong isn’t completely clueless to your wash day methods

he’s observed how you do things, but never fully paid attention

but he recognizes some steps, and when you ask him if he minds helping, he won’t hesitate to get started

he’ll have to ask you questions about different products and which step is next

“Babe, do you put on coconut oil before or after you wash it? Is it supposed to be solid?”

he fully washes your hair, going through detangling, combing, diffusing, and blow drying

he helps you to spread a leave in product onto your hair before helping you twist it and letting it sit under a shower cap for 30 minutes to an hour

helps you rinse, but he’ll let you do the more important steps, like choosing a style

he might suggest a certain hairstyle or two that he’s seen floating around the internet

takes much interest in the hair channels that you watch, leaning towards the tv and paying extra attention to different techniques and facts

which will make him want to try out different things with your hair

“You should let me dye it, it would look so good with purple and then little butterfly clips in it!”

you have to fend off some of his wilder ideas, but his heart is in the right place

bonus: he’ll customize some of your bonnets and wear a matching one with you when it’s time to sleep

Yunho:

extra excited boy

he loves your hair, and he’s always wondered how you manage to keep it so long and healthy

bounces along behind you as you gather up your materials and set up different stations and steps

he’ll ask what he can help with, and you can’t resist his puppy eyes

so you give him the tasks of helping you dry your hair

he’ll hold the blow dryer to whatever section you need as you run a comb/wig brush through it

when your arms get tired from combing, he’ll immediately take the comb and finish any remaining sections for you

“I got this babe, don’t worry!”

he hands you the moisturizer, but you can see he’s anxious to put it on himself, so you instruct him, and explain what each product does

take his little jobs very seriously, but giggles when he’s applying your products, just happy that you trust him enough to help you take care of your hair

he knew how seriously you took your hair care, and he felt special

he’ll give you extra compliments, making you blush

“You have such beautiful hair baby. And it’s so soft, just like you!”

it becomes a comforting thing for the both of you, an intimate way to spend time together

just you, him, and the shampoo bottle

Yeosang:

if confusion was a person, it’d be our lovely angel Kang Yeosang

but he’ll do his best, even if he feels out of place, or intimidated

you have to coax out his curiosity, otherwise he’ll just shyly stare at you, fidgeting with his hands

when you tell him he can help you with wash day activities, he’s a little shocked, but happy

“I can help? Are you sure? Of course, I’d love to!”

gentle boy #2

when he gets the hang of what he’s doing, he’ll be super focused

you hold in your amusement when you see him concentrated on brushing your hair, with a few hairpins stuck between his lips to pin back your curls

“Babe hold still, I need to finish this twist!”

will playfully give you a smack with the comb or brush if you give him a hard time on purpose

his arms don’t get tired, his muscular arms flexing with ease as he bends your hair to his will

gives you a makeshift hairstyle, patting and playing with your hair before allowing you to look at it

he’ll pretend to be a an actual stylist once you stand up, demanding “payment”

“Thank you for coming to the Kang salon today! That’ll be twenty five- ahh, okay don’t poke me, it’ll just cost you a kiss!”

overall, a 10/10 fun experience in the Kang salon

San:

100% will almost drown you

no San, you do not need to pour that much water over someone’s head to get the remaining conditioner out

once you come up, sputtering, he’ll wrap your entire head in a towel, before directing you to sit

“Okay baby, what’s next? I mean, it can’t be that hard, now that we’ve gotten past the water.”

oh how wrong the poor man is

you have thick, long, and strong hair, and he’ll break a few combs before you tell him that the bigger ones in the cabinet are more suited for your hair

after dragging the comb through your head with the strength of ten men and holding the blow dryer, he’s tired, but he won’t let you finish up without him

“Ah no babe, wait a minute! Give me a minute, and I’ll put on the hair smoothie!”

after an agonizing morning and afternoon, and a break, San will help you decide which style to do

he’ll put on your accessories for you, but he’ll let you style it

he thinks he’s done quite enough work already (and he doesn’t wanna rip out your hair, not anymore at least)

will support whatever you choose to do with your hair

“Okay, beads or hair cuffs? You’re absolutely right, both would look good!”

Mingi:

he won’t drown you, but he will get shampoo in your eyes somehow

when you start to scream, so will he, and he’ll pour water over your eyes until he’s sure you’re okay

after you make it through the chaotic process of shampoo and conditioner, you have to get through blow drying, moisturizing, and styling

surprisingly, the only other thing to go wrong is Mingi having the blow dryer set to cold, but after brief intervention, all is well

“Sorry about that babe, I didn’t know there was a cold button!”

He’ll manage to pour on a bit too much of your moisturizer, but nothing wrong with a little extra product

He’s actually not so bad at handling your hair, but he will ocasionally make noises or let out a solitary screech if something looks out of place

“Yah! Y/N, did you move that comb? I told you to hold still!”

he might reprimand you, but it’s a mostly a comforting experience to have this gentle giant humming softly as he helps you throughout the day

if you wanna give up because you’re tired, he’ll take over for you completely, allowing your head to rest against his leg as he does your hair

he’ll show you a few styles, before committing to one and styling your hair for you

he’ll surprise you both, never having done the hairstyle for anyone before, but it will look amazing on you

“No, I’ve never given anyone box braids before, do you like them baby? Yeah? I added beads, I knew it’d look good.”

Wooyoung:

if you want Wooyoung’s help, then you’d better be prepared to behave

he is indeed curious about your hair, but his patience will run thin if you don’t cooperate

he’s quite familiar with your hair’s routine, since he was already interested at the beginning of your relationship

he’s never done it for you, but he has walked through it with you, and he knows what products and tools to use

but unlike Yeosang, his pops aren’t a joke, they’re lethal and mean business

if you don’t sit still, expect the side of the comb to your head

“I don’t wanna hear it y/n! I said stop moving, listen to me next time!”

(childhood memories of your mother surface immediately after that statement)

he’ll style it how you want, unless he’s got a style in mind

“Do you want a ribbon babe? We could put one around your hair after it’s done?”

he’ll massage your head to get the blood flowing (and as a silent apology for the mortal combat comb hits to your poor dome)

does your edges, and then makes you pose so he can take pictures and brag to everyone about it

“Yes, that’s it! Look at my baby, other girls could never! I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, admit it.”

Jongho:

now, as the youngest, Jongho may not have the most experience with different hair types

but he is willing to try

he’s very curious, tilting his head when you use different products, or explain to him how each product works

“Ah, really? is that how you make your curls stand out? I never knew”

the most composed, he’ll probably sing to you as he helps with various steps

he’ll raise an eyebrow at the assorted combs you have on hand, wondering why you need so many

but he’s not judgmental at all, he’s very interested in learning how you take care of your hair, and is thankful you’re allowing him in on your process

he has a new found respect for you after combing out the back sections of your hair

“You do this every time? Without help? How come your muscles aren’t bigger than mine, this is a workout!”

his favorite part is helping you style it, since he gets to touch your hair more

he’ll ask you to get him the same products, since he likes the smell

“Oh, it’s specifically for your hair type? Well, can you at least get the same scent? It smells like candy”

He’ll take pictures to send to the group chat once you both finish up

“The others wish they had my skills”

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