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rottenblur · 5 months

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Post workout pump|A.ANDERSON

Abby x fem reader 2.3k

Summary: Your gym rat Tinder date isn’t one to not kiss on the first date, a coffee date is much more interesting with her.

WARNINGS: public shit, public fingering??? Dirty talk, Abby being bold as hell, head!! Fingering, quick mention of that liquor. Fucking on the first date.

Abby’s Tinder profile was simple, a couple of gym rat pictures, and a couple cute candid ones someone had taken of her with a background of beautiful scenery. The one that made you swipe on her was a picture of her smiling in the forest, normally you wouldn’t go for “outdoorsy” people, you wanted someone you could comfortably rot away with.

It was her fucking smile. The way that her hair practically glowed in the sunlight peaking through the trees, how her freckles complimented every feature on her face. It wasn’t just her looks though, you weren’t that shallow. Her bio was simple, simple in a way it didn’t seem like she was faking it for people to like her.

“Will fight for you.” And you believed it with every inch of your body, she looked like fought off bears for a living. She could break you in half, part of you wanted her to.

Your conversation on the app was short, you gave her your number pretty fast, I mean she asked for it.

You got a text from a random number quickly after you gave it to her.

(7xx) 8xx-6xxx: Hey beautiful.

You replied quickly.

You: Hey.. this abby?

The typing bubbles popped up immediately, she responded fast and used punctuation, which was rare. In your experience, and probably rare to everyone on dating apps. To be honest, this was your first time on a dating app, you had too much on your plate to even think about dating since high school.

Abby: [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Abby: Sure is.

The picture was a live photo in a gym mirror, she had dumbbells resting by her feet, her body covered in a tank top and loose basketball shorts. Her muscles were huge, you didn’t think someone could be that strong, the sweat making them shiny didn’t help how hard you were staring right now.

You: oh my god…

That’s all you can get out, you have no thoughts.

You: i’m blushing

You throw your phone, you’ve only been talking to her for maybe an hour and yet she already has you wrapped around her finger.

The text bubbles pop up, she’s typing.

Abby: Aw, such a sweet girl, already blushing for me.

If you weren’t blushing before, you were now. You couldn’t stand another minute not being with her.

You: are you busy today? I need to see you

Text bubbles pop up, then disappear, come back then disappear again. Read, for ten minutes. Were you moving too fast? You put your phone down, tidying up your room to distract yourself from the stress. You get into the shower, your phone on the sink counter for music. You wash your hair when your phone starts ringing, fuck.

You grab the towel hanging up, drying off your hands and step out of the shower to pick up your phone, it’s her. You press the green accept button and put the phone up to your ear, pushing your wet hair out of the way.

“Hey.” She says. Her voice, oh my fuck, her voice. It was gentle but so heavy with intent, she sounded like she only spoke if she meant it.

“Hi.” You respond back, wrapping the towel around your body and stepping out of the bathroom to make sure she heard you well.

“God, you sound adorable. I’m not busy, just at the gym right now but I’m free in thirty minutes if you wanna go for coffee.” She says, you can hear the dumb bells banging in the back now.

Your mouth falls open, she really wants to see you? A date? Today? You forget to speak.

“Yeah, yeah please. Where to?” You respond back.

You hear her laugh slightly, then take a breath. “I’ll text you the address beautiful, you’ll like it I know you will.” God people making decisions for you was suddenly so hot.

You agree and giggle, uncontrollably. “Bye bye.”

“See ya.” She says then hangs up. Fuck you were nervous.

You get a text from her, the address was a small locally owned coffee shop just down the street from you, maybe she lived close. Surprisingly you had never been there before, maybe you could have met her sooner if you stepped out of your comfort zone more often, you would have met her sooner.

Twenty minutes had passed, you got back into the shower, finishing it and getting ready. Drying your hair and throwing on a cute fitting outfit, something easy, or just easy access, hey you weren’t against doing stuff on the first date, especially not with her.

You walk to the coffee shop, texting her when you arrive at the front doors, her assuring you she was already there. She was early, you liked that.

You walk inside and that's when you see her. She was in the back, in a booth manspreading under dimly lit lights. You walk over towards her, her hands set on the table, fiddling with a stir stick. She looks up and sees you, her blue eyes light up. She stands up, she towers over you. You look up at her, her freckles are even cuter in person.

“Hey beautiful, you look you know..beautiful.” She says looking you up and down. You smile at her muttering a greeting back. You were almost shaking, she was perfect, everything you could have ever wanted.

“You want a drink? I’ll order, just finished mine.” She says, placing a hand on your upper arm, it engulfed your arm in full. You nod and tell her your order. She smiles at you and walks off to order, you sit down scooting to the inside. A one-sided booth, leaving no choice but to sit right next to her, her boldness was attractive.

She comes back, placing your drink on the table in front of you, scooting herself right next to you placing hers next to yours. You pick up your drink taking a sip, as she lays her arm on the booth behind your back spreading her legs, getting comfortable. “Was that picture from today?” You refer to the picture she sent you earlier. She nods turning her head to look at you.

Her strawberry blond hair slightly damp presumably from a shower, her blue t-shirt clung to her arms, her jeans tight to her legs. God.

“You like what you see?” She says tilting her head at you, looking you up and down in return. You nod shyly looking away as you fiddle with the end of your skirt. She catches that, flicking your hands away, replacing them with hers. “You wear this for me? I like it, looks really good on you sweetheart.”

God the pet name, her hands on you, on your clothes. Her compliments, she has you melting. “I wore it for you Abby.” You say looking at her, she looks up from your legs to your eyes. She smiles, rubbing your cheeks, keeping one hand on your thigh. “God you’re adorable, I got you blushing already.” She takes her hand off your cheek and takes a sip of her drink.

“What made you want to talk to me?” She says as she rubs her thumb on your engulfed thigh. You’re fighting to not squeeze your thighs together. You look at her lips, and her eyes then respond. “You’re pretty, I mean you’re hot, you’re intimidating it’s attractive.” You say. She nods, humming a response to you.

“Well, I thought about how fucking cute you’d look with my head between your thighs.” She said it so innocently, her hand moving up under your skirt, you couldn’t handle it your trap her hand by squeezing your thighs together.

She clicks her tongue at you tapping your thigh with her free thumb for you to open your legs. You submit to her order, opening your legs for her. Her finger grazes your clothed clit, your panties wet from her teasing. You look at her and finally respond. “I’d like that, alot.” Your cheeks were burning up, your whole body was burning up with need.

She leans in closer to you, whispering into your ear. “You’re so perfect, so fucking ready for me, so beautiful.” A whine falls out of your mouth, uncontrollably. Her fingers continue dancing from your clit to your slit, teasing you no, torturing you.

You place one elbow on the table, the other gripping Abby’s thigh, you were dripping onto your skirt it was unbearable. You finally mutter out exactly what you need to say.

“I need you Abby, I need you.” You say. She pulls her hand away, awwing in response, turning your head towards hers with a grip on your chin. She smiles and shakes her head. “Ask nicely beautiful.” You lick your lips and nod. “I need you please, please Abby.

She lets go of your face, standing up and holding out a hand for you, you take it letting her pull you up out of the booth. Your legs were weak, even trembling, she noticed this and smirked at you.

She drove the two of you to her apartment, so fucking close to yours, her hand on your thigh the whole way there, her glances never made you blush any less each time. She parks her car and guides you up to her apartment with your hand clutched all the way there.

She unlocks her door, leading you in first, she walks in behind you, and kicks off her shoes. She grabs you, pushing you against the door connecting your lips with hers, locking the door with one hand, the other wrapped around your waist.

She pulls away, looking at you with those lustful blue eyes, they looked much brighter when you first met her but now there's nothing darker. She locks lips with you picking you up and carrying you towards her bedroom, her hands full of ass.

She’s mirroring your whimpers into the kiss with grunts, your arms wrapped around her neck. As she enters the bedroom with your legs wrapped around her, you fiddle with her braid, undoing it and running your fingers through the loose strands.

She throws you down onto the bed, the plush duvet sinking behind your back. Your quick breaths are loud in the quiet room, Abby stares are you eating you up with her eyes. “What do you want beautiful?” she says to you, stripping her jeans off revealing her grey boxer briefs, a wet spot that catches your eye. Apparently, you're not the only one worked up.

When you don't respond she hums a “hmm?” to you pulling you from your thoughts. “I want you, I want to feel you everywhere Abby.” A quiet grunt comes from the back of her throat. She leans to you, putting her knees on the bed and caging you in with her arms. She kisses you, her tongue tangled with yours. She pulls away to strip her shirt from her body, tossing it aside.

You admire her body, stripped from her tight t-shirt her muscles look even bigger. She places your hands on her shoulders pulling your shirt off. She leans down to unhook your bra and kisses you.

She scans your body, her eyes make you want her even more. She kisses your lips, pushing her knee in between your thighs applying the perfect amount of friction as she moves to make out with you.

She kisses down your bare chest sucking purple spots all the way down your stomach, your neck to your hips littered in hickeys. “So fucking good for me.” She mutters out as she flips the hem of your skirt up onto your stomach. She kisses the inside of your thighs, whines and whimpers falling out of your mouth with need.

She leaves marks leading up to your panties, now even wetter with want. She pushes them to the side, taking a quick lick and sucking on your clit then looking up at you. Her eyes, her face from the angle could make you cum right there and then.

“You taste so fucking good beautiful.” You were melting. She attaches her mouth back to your clit spiralling circles with her tongue, holding your hips down with one hand.

She rubs your hip as you fight to ride her face, take control. She sucks your clit and pushes two fingers inside, filling you so well. Her fingers found places inside you, you never knew existed.

Her tongue quickens it's pace as so does her fingers pumping in and out of you. Moans fall from the back of your throat, you can hear Abby’s grunts vibrating against your clit.

She disconnects her mouth, pumping and curling her fingers to the perfect spot at a brutal pace, she looks up at you, arched back gripping the blanket. “Such a good fucking girl.” Her praises push you over the edge. She connects her lips back pulling you quickly to your climax. You look down to her, as your thoughts dissapear.

You pulse all over her fingers, and she pulls them out, kissing your thigh. She looks back at you, as she sucks you off her fingers. “So good sweetheart, so goddamn good.” She crawls her back up to your lips kissing you gently.

She whispers into your ear. “You make such pretty noises for a slut.” That shocked you, after all those praises, she degraded you. It had you ready for round two all in eight words.

She lays next to you, looking you up and down. “Want a drink?” She asks.

You nod, she gets up tossing you her t-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear from her drawer, a pair of black boxers. They were loose resting on your hips as the shirt went to mid thighs.

She walks out of the room, and you follow her sitting on the couch as she pulls a bottle of dark liquor from her bar cart. You lay down, she sits down placing your legs on top of hers passing you the drink. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at you, placing her hand on your thigh.

“Wanna stay the night?”

A/N: AHHHH I wrote this really fast if there are any spelling mistakes/ grammar mistakes LOOK AWAY. I love Abby thank you.

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seeingivy · 9 months

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you belong with me

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama

an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS

You’re a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater.

What do you hate today? Being class president.

You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasn’t in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back.

“You just did that shit because you were pissed at me.”

“I did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.”

“To the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.”

“They’re also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-”

“You’re just pissed about the sweetheart thing. That’s why you’re doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.”

“Toji, I’m not even mad about-”

You’re met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.

You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. It’s still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it.

“Come in, bunny.”

“Loud and clear, Toru.”

He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. I’ll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.”

“Much appreciated, Madam President. That’s very generous of you.”

You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin.

“For what it’s worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.”

“That’s why it’s even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesn’t see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?”

“Heavy is the head that’s dating Toji Fushiguro.”

He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot you’re dating.

Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, he’s a great football player and yeah, he’ll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesn’t have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, he’s loved (which Gojo doesn’t understand at all).

He’ll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses.

But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones he’s heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when they’re going to class, call them names when they walk by.

No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl he’s been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window.

To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile you’ve had since the first day he’s met you.

And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window he’s stared at for years, where he’s loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention.

I love you.

Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started.

Nanami’s already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place.

“Hi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?”

“We’re not best friends.”

“Sure we are!”

You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. That’s how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you.

“Are you still fighting with that dog?”

“That dog has a name. And it’s Toji. And I’m not sure, he didn’t pick me up for school this morning.”

“Did he at least tell you he wouldn’t?”

“No. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.”

Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what he’s saying, what he’s been saying for the past few months.

“You know, it’s very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.”

“That’s true. Everything doesn’t have ulterior motives. But he does. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me, Kento?”

“Like he’d kiss the ground you’d walk on.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesn’t budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.

“As if.”

Like you’ve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoru’s sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him.

“Nanami~~ How’s my best friend doing?” Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanami’s line of vision.

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Nanami responds.

Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom.

“So. I hear you have a robotics competition?” you ask.

“Yeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.” Getou says, smiling at you.

Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh.

You get it. He doesn’t want you there.

“Don’t act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.” you bite sarcastically.

“What? No, it’s not like that. I just-” Satoru stutters,

“So you don’t like me?” you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoru’s turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you.

“I have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I won’t be able to. But I’ll try my best, yeah?”

“Okay. Next time?” Getou asks.

“Sure, Sugar-u. I’ll see you guys around, yeah?”

You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life.

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didn’t want her there.” Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head.

“I panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of her.” Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head.

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. She’s never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.” Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab.

“She has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.”

And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more.

“Yeah, I’m sure she really loves him, Satoru.”

Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more.

He’s doing this to piss you off. Of course, he’s doing this to-

“Need a ride?”

You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you.

“Thanks.”

He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot.

“About earlier. I don’t not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-I’d like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.” he rambles, a hand in his hair.

You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession.

“I was just teasing you, Satoru. I’ll try to make it by, okay?”

He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.

“Okay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.”

“When aren’t we fighting?” you murmur, pressing your head against the glass.

“But why?”

And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all.

“Do you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?”

“Uh. That’s when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if you’re dating someone, that person can do it for you.”

“So I’m guessing Toji doesn’t want you to do it for him.”

“Not exactly. He was just saying that it’s more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since they’re also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.”

You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You can’t help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose.

He’s not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. He’s just ten times hotter.

You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over.

“Jamoca?” he says, giving you a wide grin.

You can’t help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop.

Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanami’s My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope.

On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things.

Jamoca and Satoru.

When you make it to the store, Satoru’s excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place.

Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking.

“So. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?”

“Dunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I can’t see myself doing it.”

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?”

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.”

You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees.

“I don’t know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then I….spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.”

Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what you’ve been doing because he knows it’s what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him.

He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead.

“Ouch, asshole.”

“You’ve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.”

And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go.

He can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways.

After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoru’s robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab.

And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shoko’s sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all he’s got - and losing apparently.

You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and you’re met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates.

“You’re Haibara, right?”

“You know who I am?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.”

“No we aren’t.” responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you.

“Are too.”

You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh.

“I like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.”

You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru’s eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why.

Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and it’s clear to you that you’ve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden.

Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue.

“Okay, Haibara. I’m going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.”

“I don’t Just Dance Satoru.”

“Oh yeah? You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.”

You scoff, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“As if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.”

“You’re rusty. Maybe we’ll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.”

“I could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.”

“Prove it.”

You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where they’re projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterity’s sake, you take Satoru’s sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen.

And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, you’re sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly he’s swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh.

And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points.

“You asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.”

“Did not. You’re just a sore loser, bitch.”

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“Every night, sweetheart.”

You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle.

After forty-five minutes, Satoru’s phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking.

“You okay?”

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.”

“Wait, what? But you hate that kind of-”

He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace.

And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders.

Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes.

Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field.

“Take you home?”

“Thanks, Toru.”

“You want Jamoca?”

“Not today.”

He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates.

At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“What? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesn’t see you for what you’re worth and-”

“No. No, no. Not like that. Do you think there’s something wrong with me because I’m not even the tiniest bit sad right now? I’m…relieved.”

Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him.

“Of course, not. He’s a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.”

“I know. That’s true.”

“But?”

“Does this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just can’t like people that much or something and I was the problem.”

Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish.

He can’t be selfish with you.

“Okay, Y/N. Close your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.

“Now. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.”

“What are you going on ab-”

“Just do it.”

You sigh, before thinking hard about his question.

“Someone I can be comfortable with. That’s my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. They’re nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.”

After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face.

“Bunny?”

“Toru?”

“Does that sound anything like Toji to you?”

You slump back into your chair, sinking down.

“No.” you murmur.

“You aren’t defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-”

“Hey. Don’t be rude, asshole.”

“Get out of the car.”

You crane your head out the window to see you’re in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store.

You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his.

“Hi bunny. You look nice.”

“Thank you. Are you coming tonight?”

To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since you’re the class president, which you’re sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you.

“I’m sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.”

“Oh. Okay. I wish you were.”

“I wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.”

You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane you’ve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you.

When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind.

The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say.

I love you.

And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance.

Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes.

Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish.

Be fucking selfish.

Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time.

He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion.

“Nanami.”

“Please, for the love of god, not tod-”

“Go hand this to Y/N.”

Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like they’re the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time.

Three feet away, you’re standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when you’re approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko.

“Nanami. What is going on with your hair? You can’t possibly need that much hair gel.”

“You would be shocked, Y/N.”

“That's what I said to him too. But this is for you.” Shoko says.

She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over.

“Did you break into my house, Shoko?”

“No. But I’m guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.”

They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoru’s here.

And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. He’s smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly you’re moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you can’t help but feel the anticipation of what’s coming.

Except that’s right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first.

“Can we talk, Y/N?”

"No."

You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but you’re too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, you’re both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt.

He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first.

“Come in, bunny?”

“Loud and clear, Toru.”

“I love you.”

You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that you’re basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand.

“I love you.”

“Oh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.”

You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips.

“It was always going to be you. I belong with you.”

He smiles, that stupid smile you’ve stared at, loved for years and you can’t help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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baby-yongbok · 8 months

Text

Meltdown

Boyfriend!Bang Chan x Autistic!Fem!Reader

❗Genre: Angst

❗Warnings: Heavy themes of autistic meltdown, Very detailed explanation of a meltdown, Heavy themes of Anxiety?, self-harm (no blood), Mentions of not being able to breathe, Chris is an asshole but not for long. Again, this is very detailed. + Bang Chan is referred to as Chris.

❗A/N: I'm very nervous to post this, but I want to put out content for neurodivergent community. As an autistic individual, I rarely see content with an autistic reader. It may exist, but I've never really come across it. So, here I am. This work is purely based on my experience with autism and is based on my own meltdowns. This is not meant to reflect how every person with autism has meltdowns. I hope that you enjoy!

✨️Masterlist✨️

“You always do this, you always do the same shit and then try to play it off as an accident. How many times are you going to make the same mistake?” Chris yelled in your direction, putting air quotes around the last word of his sentence. You let out a shaky breath, trying your best to keep yourself stable.

“It is a mistake and I thought that I was doing a good job at avoiding it, I don’t perceive any of my behavior tonight as suggestive. I thought that I was being friendly.” Your speech is steady and smooth, a calculated response designed in your head to avoid conflict. That was your goal, avoiding conflict, but it seems that Chris’ temper has other plans tonight.

“Friendly? Are you fucking kidding me? You were practically saying your vows with all the compliments you were dishing out tonight. Laughing at every single word that your so-called friend said. I’m surprised you weren’t sitting in his fucking lap with the way your conversation was going.” Your eyes dart around the room before landing on the bright numbers of the digital clock to your right. You focus your eyes on the bright outline, trying your best to keep yourself calm.

“Chris, I really didn’t mean -” You’re cut off by his yelling, the sudden sound making you jump a bit, shifting your focus.

“I don’t want to hear that fucking excuse. You didn’t mean it? Yeah, sure, you always say that. And why the fuck do you let him call you all of those names? Honey, sweetheart, and anything else that slips off of his tongue, right?” He moves from his spot across from you, circling the couch and stalking towards where you're sitting quickly, only stopping when there’s about a foot between you. “Are you fucking him or something? Do the two of you have history? Because I can’t think of another reason for you to be so goddamn disrespectful.”

“Wha- no, I- I never did anything with him.” Your eyes dart up to his face but your gaze quickly falls, you blink a couple of times trying your best to hold back your tears. “I thought.. I thought I was being friendly I was watching -”

“Why are you trying to play innocent?” He squats down in front of you, his piercing gaze trying to find yours. Tears start to run down your cheeks and you start to rock your body back and forth. You wipe your tears away with open hands before starting to pick at your nails. “Look at me. If you’re not lying then look at me.”

“Chris I- I can’t right now. I’m r-really overwhelmed, I’m sorry.” He sucks his teeth at you, leaning closer into your space. “Please.. Back up.”

“Look at me.” He hisses and you can feel the tingling in your hands and feet starting as your thoughts start to spiral out of control. “Do you really think that you were just being friendly? Tell me, I’m fucking listening.”

His tone picks up towards the completion of his sentence, ending in a shout. You jump again, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to comfort yourself. The thoughts in your head get louder as the seconds go by and you start to lose the ability to understand them. Every time that you try to pin point one of them it gets pulled away from you. You start to bounce your leg, fast and harsh. The bouncing of your leg paired with the rocking of your upper body seemed to have caught Chris’ attention. The real Chris, not the one that was standing in front of you seconds ago allowing his jealousy to spiral out of control in a fit of anger.

“Hey..hey” He lowers himself onto his knees, his eyes that were angry seconds ago now glazed with worry. “I’m.. I’m sorry I lost it, I know I shouldn’t have, I just..”

He reaches his hand out to touch you, a soft attempt at comforting you but it was the last thing that he should’ve done. You jump at the contact, a small whine falling from your lips. He moves his hand quickly, muttering a small apology. You bring your hands up to cover your ears, attempting to shut out the heavy buzzing of your thoughts. You start to rock your body quicker as you lean forward, shrinking into yourself.

“Fuck.” Chris hisses under his breath, his hands helplessly resting on his lap. He knows that you didn’t mean it, he knows that you have trouble interacting with your friends due to your autism. And he knew better than anyone what could happen when you got overwhelmed. He could usually see it coming and nurse you back to a more stable headspace but this time he couldn’t. This time it was him that caused the meltdown, the fault was at his feet and there was nothing he could do to fix it. All he could do was wait and watch as you went through the motions.

It was the screaming that pulled him out of his thoughts. The piercing sound of you wailing, the verbal expression of the pain you felt as you tried your best to understand what was happening in your head. His eyes fixed on you immediately, he took you in slowly, maybe too slow. Your hands were laced in your hair pulling harshly at the roots as you sobbed, you were mumbling something through your sobbing. At first he couldn’t understand but eventually he caught on and his heart shattered in his chest as he reached for your hands in an attempt to loosen your grip on your hair.

“Stop making mistakes, stop making mistakes, stop making mistakes.” You mumbled as your tears fell. Your grip on your hair tightened just as Chris made contact with you, he tried desperately to gently pry your fingers from your curls.

“Baby, you can’t do that.” He nearly whispered, his voice was easily drowned out by your screams as you tried to get as far away from his touch as possible. “Baby, please.”

“Stop making mistakes, Stop making mistakes.” Once Chris was able to loosen your grip you balled your hands into fists. Your body tensed and your breath caught in your chest. Chris watched you with wide eyes, he slowly tried to move a bit closer to you, preparing himself to stop you from hurting yourself if needed.

“You have to breathe.” The panic in his tone was evident, you could hear it but you couldn’t react. There was too much going on, too much to process. “ Babygirl, please please breathe.”

You bang your fists against your thighs, trying to get your brain to slow down, trying to coordinate breathing with thinking, moving, anything. Why couldn’t you breathe? Why couldn’t you just stop holding your breath? Why? The more you thought about it the more frustrated you got. You could feel a burning in your chest as you looked up at Chris, eyes wide with panic.

“Babygirl, look, follow me. Do what I do, yeah?” His voice is soft yet strong as he tries to mollify the panic rising in his chest. He attempts to instruct you, using his hands to guide you into making your chest rise and fall as it should. You watch his hands, trying to concentrate, Trying to ignore the ringing in your ears and the harsh buzzing of your thoughts. The longer you focus on the movements of his hand the more that you can feel your chest start to move. You take in a sudden breath, gasping a bit and choking for a second. You follow with another quick breath, gasping again and the pattern continues until the burning subsides and an intense dizziness hits you.

“You did it, you did so well, baby.” Chris whispers, his eyes wide and glossy. “You got it.”

Your body starts to relax a bit as you work to regulate your breathing. You slowly unclench your fist, resting your hands in your lap and scratching at the fabric of your jeans. Your movements start to slow and you sit up straight gradually, every move hurts a bit, the aching in your muscles already starting to set in. Your crying continues as you pant softly, you mumble the same statement to yourself a couple of times before you direct your words towards Chris.

“I’m s-sorry. I thought I-I was doing it right I t-thought…” Your sentence trails off into a pained sob as you bring your hands up to cover your eyes. The guilt of your reaction came flooding through instantly. First you make your boyfriend mad and then you have a fucking meltdown about it? You just can’t win, huh.

“Please don’t apologize, I should be the one apologizing. I should be begging for forgiveness right now. I had no right to get that angry, I was jealous and it was stupid. I was insecure, I’ve been insecure about you hanging out with him for months and I let all of that pent up emotion out and I hurt you. I’m so so sorry, I understand if you don’t forgive me, I wouldn’t either. I know that you struggle and I still fucked everything up.” He moved a bit closer to you, a mere inch separating the two of you.

You shook your head acknowledging that you could hear him. Your brain was slowing down just a bit and you didn’t want to add anything to the whirlwind to disrupt it.

“I’ll get your meltdown kit, and I’ll pick out your safe clothes. You need to take a hot shower to try and soothe your muscles… you’re going to be sore in the morning, okay?” You shake your head, glancing up at Chris for just a second before you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your chest feels tight but you try not to let it bother you. The aftermath of a meltdown was something that you’ve grown used to after all.

“Please believe me when I say that none of this was your fault. I’m so so fucking sorry, this will never happen again…ever.” He nearly whispers the last word before he stands from his position in front of you, rushing off to get your meltdown kit equipped with sensory aids of all types along with a pair of noise canceling headphones and a pair of tinted glasses in case the light is too much for you to take in.

You keep your eyes closed as you wait for him to return, the pitter patter of his feet across the hardwood is louder than usual as he makes his way back over to you. He leaves you with the kit before rushing to start your shower and pick out your clothes. You always tell him that after you have a meltdown you just want to be left alone, you need space to come down completely. He watches from afar as you put on the headphones and open your favorite calming candle to smell. He makes sure to stay just far enough for you to have your space but close enough to be there if you need him. Once you go to the bathroom for your shower he sits outside of the door, listening for any signs of a follow up meltdown. He takes a deep breath and before he can stop it a tear falls, trailing down his cheek and leaving a path for the rest to follow. He squeezes his eyes shut as it all replays in his head. He yelled at you, he caused your meltdown, you could’ve passed out or ended up more hurt than you already are. God forbid you had a shutdown, he’d never be able to live with himself if he caused that but he could honestly barely stand himself now. He took out his phone, typing a text to Minho, hoping for someone to help calm him down before he sees you again. He’ll only allow himself to fall apart behind the scenes, he doesn’t want to add to your distress any more than he already has. A couple seconds go by after he’s sent the text before his phone is vibrating in his hands. He swipes the green button and brings his phone up to his ear. He takes in a shaky breath before he lets the words leave his lips.

“I fucked up…”

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emmie-writes-stuff · 6 days

Text

So the new chapter is out and GOOD GOD do I have some thoughts and a lot of them don’t make a whole lot of sense but I can’t not talk about this chapter

Firstly, Kaiser looks adorable (never thought I’d say that about him outside of my head but here I am)

Secondly, holy hell my heart hurts

He didn’t deserve this, no child deserves this

The fact that he had to “go to work” and just steal

HE HAS NO SHOES his little feet have got to hurt, or they’ve completely calloused up from not wearing shoes, but even then (speaking from experience) it still hurts to walk on hot ground and rocks and other stuff on the street

Yknow, I understood him hating milk before (because milk is disgusting) but now I get it even more

What a stupid reason to get upset, imma kick this waste of space excuse for a father in the fucking face AND balls because ITS FUCKING MILK

Eat some damn fiber or somethin if you got constipation issues

Who let this absolute scum of the earth reproduce???

HES LITERALTL TWELVE YEARS OLD

All the other shit went down before he was even double digits

But dangerous situations create smart kids, and Kaiser was very smart to start saving his own money

I used to have my own stash in case I ever had to run away (long story, we’re not getting into my family issues in this post, but yeah)

At least he has shoes now, protect those feet plz, they’re what keep you upright and moving

Soooooooo are we gonna acknowledge that he treats the soccer ball the same way he’s currently treating Ness orrrrrrrr

But like, it’s nice that he has an outlet to channel his anger into that isn’t a person (at least for now smh)

It’s really interesting seeing how each of the characters came to play soccer

(Side note: but he throws the ball at a picture of a woman, could he maybe be imagining this woman as his mother?)

His mother also deserves a kick to the face if I have anything to say bout it

I have no words for this

Just, can I steal him? Please? I’ll give him a good life

Fuck the snitches, how dare they

Also, you can clearly see his ribs defined, and that hurts me

I love that he was willing to let go of everything

He was ready to start fresh with getting money, was cooperating with the police, until the soccer ball was threatened

Because that is his most valuable possession

The money doesn’t matter, but the ball is a symbol to him of something that won’t leave him or hurt him

It’s a very small sense of independence and stability in this very unstable and controlling environment

The ball is heavily implied to be the first thing he ever bought for himself, it’s what defined a key part in his life

Taking that away is like taking away his soul, his outlet, and comfort, and Kaiser just couldn’t stand for it

There’s so many more things I’m thinkin and I have way too many incoherent thoughts for tumblr, but these are the ones I was able to clear up and make sense of

This chapter hit very deep and while my past doesn’t involve much physical abuse and struggles to this level, it was hard not to empathize and relate my own experiences with abuse with the ones in this chapter

I don’t wanna get into shit, it’s not somethin I exactly wanna put out in the public, but there’s so much here that I could understand and relate to and it just made everything so much more difficult to read (in a good way I guess)

Just, GOD, why did I have to become a fan before this chapter came out???

Okay, that’s my ramble for this, bye before I start going on even more tangents

#bllk #blue lock #bllk manga spoilers #michael kaiser #bllk manga #emmie rambles #holy hell this was intense #I read this before work and had to be thinkin about it my whole shift #good god #the beef with Kaiser is gone #I’ve experienced character growth

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pedroscurls · 6 months

Text

Dirty Little Secret (Part 1).

Character(s): no-outbreak, age-gap!Joel Miller x fem!Reader Summary: You meet Joel Miller, the father of the bride. Word count: 1.9k A/N: Lol, I said I was gonna post this tomorrow, but I couldn't wait. I hope you guys enjoy this first part and thank you to anyone who reads this! As mentioned, idk what to call this, best friend’s fiancée’s dad!Joel x fem!reader? Lol, I feel like that's a bit complicated, but there's an age gap in this story. This is also pulled from my own experience (only the sexual tension... unfortunately nothin' happened lol🫣) Warning: age-gap (Joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early-30s) SERIES MASTERLIST

“So… Can you make it?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Drew.” you tell your best friend, gently nudging his shoulder. “I just still can’t believe you’re finally settling down. I never thought I’d see the day.”

He laughs. Andrew - or Drew - has been your best friend since you were kids. You had moved into the neighborhood with your mom after she and your dad divorced and you remember how Drew and his family had welcomed you with open arms whenever your mom was too inebriated to take care of you.

Living next door to Drew and his family was a godsend to you, especially at the young age of eight. They protected you. They made you feel safe, made you feel loved. It was always a stark contrast between your home and his. Drew’s house, from the moment you stepped foot inside, always gave you the warm feeling in your belly and you always found yourself never wanting to leave, not wanting to go back home to the empty and lonely feeling that you experienced every night.

And now, over twenty years later, Drew and his family have maintained that unspoken promise to keep you safe, to protect you, and to always make sure that you were loved.

“Yeah, yeah,” Drew rolls his eyes. “What about you? When are you gonna settle down?”

Now it was your turn to laugh. You grab your wine glass and finish the last remaining liquid. “I’m not the marrying type,” you respond.

“You won’t turn out like your parents,” he says softly.

“Drew, I know,” you sigh. “I just– I don’t want to open myself up like that. It’s too scary.”

“You never know,” Drew smiles. “I thought I liked being single, being with a different woman every week or so, but Sarah…” he lets out a sigh of contentment. “She’s just– It’s been four years since we’ve been together and I think I fall more in love with her every day.”

“Okay, lover boy,” you chuckle. “We get it. You’re in love. You’re about to get married… But I agree with you. She’s the best, and she’s the only one of your girlfriends where she didn’t feel intimidated by me or our friendship.”

Drew sighs, “I know. It’s the curse of having a woman as a best friend.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “The women before Sarah were just jealous and not confident or secure in their relationship with you.”

Drew nods. “That’s true. Besides, you’re like a sister to me.” He smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Like a big sister?” You tease. “Just kidding, we’re only a year apart.”

“Yeah, and I’m the older one.”

Just as you were going to say something, Sarah steps out into the backyard and walks in your direction. You look over at Drew and smile to yourself, seeing the way his eyes light up when he sees her and how he immediately stands up to meet her half way, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, gently kissing her temple. “How’d dinner with your dad go?”

“It was good. He was asking about you. Same with Uncle Tommy.”

“Ah,” he chuckles. “They’re gonna give me shit the next time I see them, aren’t they?”

Sarah grins and you swear that you see Drew fall in love all over again with the sight of her smile. You can see her deep dimples on her cheeks and how her eyes soften and also seem to smile. It was one of the first things you noticed about her: the kind and warm look she gave you – it was the same look that Drew and his family looked at you.

“You know it. Now, let me go say hi to my girl. Can you go inside and pour me a glass of wine?”

Drew nods and kisses her cheek before he disappears inside the house. Sarah takes his seat and looks over at you, arching her brow.

“What?” you ask.

“I might have someone that is interested…” she grins.

“Sarah,” you chuckle. “You and Drew need to stop playing matchmaker. The past two blind dates I have been on have been terrible.”

“You didn’t even give it a chance,” Sarah sighs.

“You know I like older guys,” you smile. “I just don’t want to settle down. Getting married and all that doesn’t have to happen for everyone.”

“I know,” she leans against you. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And a man isn’t gonna be the answer.” You look over at her. You can see the concern on her features – that was another thing that you learned about Sarah. She wears her heart on her sleeve and whenever she gets worried about the people she cares about, her face and expressions tell it all. “I’m fine,” you reassure her. “I got you and I got Drew. That’s all I need.”

“Maybe I should set you up with my Uncle Tommy,” she teases, letting out a quiet laugh. “He’s older. Single. He needs a good woman to anchor him down.”

“And why’s that?” you smile. “Is he trouble, Sarah?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, he just hasn’t found someone yet.”

“Like me,” you point out.

“He’s older,” she chuckles.

“Well, your engagement party is this weekend. I’m assuming he’s gonna be there?” you tease.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” You see the light in her eyes, the excitement across her features.

“No! He’s your uncle, how weird would that be?”

“Not weird,” she laughs. “It’d be weird if it was my dad you were interested in.”

“Isn’t he like fifty?”

“More than that, fifty-six.”

Drew steps out into the backyard with two glasses of wine, one for Sarah and another refill for you.

“Is this an early celebration?” you tease.

“We just wanna celebrate with you one-on-one before the pre-wedding festivities begin. It’s gonna be a lot,” Drew replies, sitting next to Sarah and wrapping his arm around her shoulders instantly.

“Well, whatever you both need, just let me know. After all, I am your best woman,” you tell Drew.

Sarah smiles and leans against Drew, bringing the glass of wine to her lips. “It’s gonna be fun,” she adds. “But Drew’s right. It will be a lot, so this is kind of like the calm before the storm.”

“Well, cheers to that then,” you laugh, raising your glass. “Cheers to you both and cheers for what’s to come.”

You’re running late and by the time you reach Sarah dad’s house, there are so many cars that you have to park at the end of the street. You’re practically sprinting to the house, hearing the music and laughter coming from the backyard. You’re wearing a sleeveless navy blue satin dress that stops just past your knees, the thin spaghetti straps resting on your shoulders with a cowl neckline. Their engagement party is semi-formal and you can feel your feet begin to ache from the heels you’re wearing.

Your hair is in loose curls and you’re about to knock on the door when it swings open. You look up at the man, feeling your breath immediately escape you. His hair is slicked back, tinges of gray in the dark brown. You notice his beard, patchy in some areas, his plump lips begging to be kissed, but as you obviously ogle this man, you don’t realize that he’s actually speaking to you.

“Are ya lost?” his voice is deep, rough, and you just want to hear it against your ear as he’s thrusting– “Are ya here for the party?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m late. I’m Drew’s best woman–”

“Ah,” he interrupts. “You are late.”

You can’t think. The sounds of the music and laughter drown out as you stare up at this man. He’s wearing black slacks and a dark green button up with the sleeves folded to his elbows. He’s staring at you too, though, hand remaining on the doorknob as he looks at you in amusement.

“You gonna let me in or stand guard all day?” you say, trying to snap yourself out of this trance. For a split second, you forget why you’re here and all you can think about is talking to this man and having him take you up to his–

“That depends,” he smirks, the dimple on his right cheek appearing. “You gonna be polite and say please?”

You blush. You’re sure he didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, but you can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on your frame. It gives you a bit of confidence as you step up to him, inches now separating your bodies.

“Please,” you whisper.

You see his smirk falter, his jaw tighten and instead of responding, he nods and steps aside to give some space between the both of you.

“They’re in the backyard,” he adds. You step past him, looking over your shoulder at him to see that his eyes had fallen on your backside. When he looks up at you and realizes that you had caught him staring, he immediately clears his throat and points towards the driveway. “I’m just gonna–”

“Wait,” you interrupt, reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Joel,” he responds. “Sarah’s dad.”

Then, he removes himself from your grasp and walks out, shutting the door behind him. You clear your throat, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself. “He does not look fifty-six.” You turn on your heel, following the sound of chatter and music as you try to rid yourself of the lingering thoughts of Joel.

Joel isn’t expecting Drew’s best woman to look like you. When he opens the door and you’re standing on his doorstep in that dress, it takes every ounce of him not to look at you from top to bottom. It helps, though, that he notices you staring at him like you want him. It actually gives him confidence that a pretty thing like you is finding him attractive enough that you’re distracted enough not to hear what he’s actually saying.

But then he hears you say that you’re Drew’s best woman. It all but crushes him, crushes any ounce of hope he was holding onto that maybe at the end of the night he’d take you to his bed. You’re off limits and you’re certainly too young for him, but he can’t help himself.

He can’t help but ask you to beg and say please to come in.

And when you do, without any hesitation, he feels the blood immediately rush towards the center of his pants. When you step closer to him, Joel has to tighten his jaw and tighten the grip he has on the doorknob. It anchors him, gives him something to ground himself or else he is going to lose his resolve… quick.

When you finally step inside and walk past him, he turns just slightly to glance at your backside. The dress you’re wearing accentuates every curve while remaining modest enough, but he can’t help himself. Though, when Joel does look up, he feels embarrassed that you’ve caught him staring.

He has to step outside, has to create some distance between him and you, but then he feels your soft touch on his forearm and it causes a shiver to run down his back. After he tells you that he’s Sarah’s dad, Joel doesn’t bother to wait to see your reaction. Instead, he leaves you standing there while he steps out of his house, shutting the door behind him and shutting the door to the inappropriate thoughts that fill his mind.

next.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel miller au #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller age gap fanfic #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #story: dirty little secret

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johnslittlespoon · 9 days

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thinking unholy thoughts of gale making john come untouched with only his fingers in the biker au… maybe john didn’t even know it was possible so when gale keeps going he gets confused and is like “i’m good im ready” but gale keeps going 😅

au post | ohhh man okay. yeah feeling super extremely sane and normal about this, never been better! thanks! ~2k words of nsfw filth below the cut sighhhh

okay, prefaced with a little more world building in my last post since we're really diving into this au now LOL. ofc things might change when i actually write it, but this is how i'm feeling things will go rn!

re: 'maybe john didn't even know it was possible'– like i said in the drabble before this, he's fooled around a little with curt, but nothing more than getting a bit handsy. he's had a girlfriend for around a year, so they were probably serious enough to get up to things too, but straight sex is very different from gay sex obviously.

the internet exists, and during the time john is pining(thirsting) over gale, he probably does his fair share of googling 'blond man with tattoos fucks brunet man', but really he's kinda intimidated by a lot of stuff, so he doesn't delve too deep into that world. when he and gale start seeing each other and john realizes they're gonna move past making out eventually (because gale is almost such a gentleman sometimes that john wants to bash his head in in his impatience), he probably psychs himself out a bit and gets into his own head and is like fuck.

gale's had years to gain experience and what if he's not good enough or does something stupid or or or, on and on. obviously these worries are completely unfounded because gale adores him and would never pressure him and doesn't expect them to just jump right into things; half of the reason he probably drags things out is because he wants to be absolutely certain things are on john's terms, and that john's not just being horny and impulsive.

john probably ends up trying to do some research so he can yk. pick up some tips, because he's got all the enthusiasm he needs when he thinks about getting to drop to his knees for gale, but he has no idea what he's doing and he doesn't realize everyone learns as they go because he's dumb (/fond) and overthinks everything. (whatever he ends up learning doesn't matter anyway, because all coherent thought leaves his head when they do start doing stuff together and gale is so encouraging and easygoing that he feels ridiculous for ever worrying.)

all that is to say that yeah, he's got like no firsthand experience when it comes to anything past the basics or anything he hasn't been doing by himself. everything is fresh and exciting and as much as he loves just hanging around gale, he's also always needy and horny (gets told he's "insatiable" quite a few times by gale) so they get up to a lot of shit and it's unfair how good gale is in bed and how he knows exactly which buttons to press to get john worked up.

at the time this incident happens, gale's already fingered john a few times, but it's always just as a build up/foreplay, usually followed or joined with gale's other hand or lips around john's cock. they haven't had sex yet, and it feels really nice when gale does this, but john always just kinda sees it as foreplay and it doesn't last for long.

so when gale's got john laid in his bed one sunny afternoon and they're making out and john starts getting whiny and squirmy from the stimulation of his fingers in him, and gale doesn't switch things up like he usually does, john's heart leaps because in his mind, surely gale's getting him ready for something else.

but he's frustrated because it feels like gale's purposefully avoiding hitting right where he needs him to, pants out gale's name against his lips, grasping the back of gale's shirt. starts rocking his hips down against his fingers, seeking it out, and gale rumbles out a "needy thing" before pressing a kiss to his cheek and crawling down the length of his body, settling himself between john's legs.

john props himself up on his elbows to watch, cheeks flushed and eyelids heavy, digging his fingers into the blanket instead. he lets out a little whine at the slow drag of gale's fingers, and that finally makes him cave, crooking his fingers just right, and john's lips part at the way the sudden surge of pleasure zings up his spine.

lets his elbows slide out from underneath himself, dropping back down into the pillow, satisfied he's finally getting what he's been waiting for since gale worked him open ten minutes ago. he waits for stimulation on his cock to join the fingers in him as usual, assuming that's why gale moved to lay there, but gale just keeps up the slow in and out and consistent brushes against his prostate and its embarrassing how much he's leaking all over his own stomach.

but then he has the thought that maybe gale's actually properly prepping him and his cock twitches and his breath catches and he props himself up again to find gale already watching him. he waits expectantly, too shy to ask, and gale doesn't offer him any confirmation, just pressing gentle kisses to his thighs and smiling when john's hips start to roll down against his fingers again.

john thinks that maybe gale's waiting for him to say he's ready, since he does often make him ask for what he wants, so even as his cheeks go hot, he gets out a breathy "gale, i'm– that's good, 'm ready."

but gale only chuckles quietly, nipping at his thigh to feel it twitch away, watching john in a way that makes him feel somehow even more exposed than he already is, and now he's even more confused and he feels like he's melting into the bed and gale's putting a little more pressure into each crook of his fingers and the sounds he's making are so whiny and high pitched that he wants to cover his own ears out of embarrassment.

"does it feel good, doll?" gale purrs, dragging john's eyes back to him, and he nods, twisting his hands in the blankets harder. it does feel good, enough so that heat is pooling in his stomach in a way that's both familiar and foreign, the sensation all different with no friction against his dick.

gale's working his hand a little faster and john's face burns at the realization that he's being finger–fucked like a girl and he drops back into the pillows, arms going too weak to hold himself up. his thighs are starting to tremble and gale murmurs that he's "making such a mess on yourself, baby, look at you" and john immediately reaches down to take his dick in his hand, but gale catches his wrist with his free hand, slowing his movements down, much to john's dismay.

"no hands today, john," he says gently, letting go of his wrist. "i want you to keep them at your side for me, can you do that?"

and john lets out a near hysterical noise but he obliges, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket again, head spinning at being given an instruction, biting down on the inside of his cheek when gale speeds his fingers up again with a "good job, baby."

the heat builds and builds as gale's fingers hit right where they need to each time, and it feels like he's just hanging on the edge of an orgasm for so long, unable to tip over that edge, eyes blurring over from how overwhelming the drawn out sweet–hot pleasure is. he's mindlessly rocking his hips down and panting out little "ah ah ah"s with each thrust of gale's fingers and he's so close to lifting his hand from his side when a sob of frustration slips out.

but gale presses his lips to his thigh again, sucking at the sensitive skin there, pulls back to murmur a stream of "c'mon sweet thing, come on my fingers, show me how good you feel, you can do it" and john chokes out a cry as he clenches around his fingers and comes so hard he nearly blacks out, back arching and hips stuttering up like he can get friction that way.

gale's hand chases his jerking movements, continuing to fuck him on his fingers as john paints his own stomach, cock pulsing, feeling like he's just going to keep coming and coming, mewling desperately and shaking like a leaf and seeing stars behind his closed eyelids.

he closes his thighs against gale's sides when it starts to be too much, hands shaking when reaches down to tiredly push at him, hips stuttering away from the stimulation, hiccupping as he tries to catch his breath. he can feel hot tears soaking into the hair at his temples, lips parted in surprise, shuddering when gale lets his movements slow down until his fingers go still.

john whines when he pulls them out, despite his efforts to squirm away from them moments before, and gale presses a kiss to his hip before he crawls back up his body, cupping john's face with the hand not covered in lube, and john's eyes flutter open, bleary when they focus in on the expression of awe on gale's face.

"fuck, john," gale sounds almost as breathless as him. "you're crying, baby. was that okay?" john nods shakily, tilting his chin up for a kiss, and gale leans down without missing a beat, kissing him so deep it feels like he wants to devour him. mumbles "you have no idea what you do to me" against john's lips, brushing his fingers over the tear streaks on either side of his face, peppering his red cheeks with light kisses before pulling back again.

"felt good?" he murmurs, and john chokes out a laugh at the understatement, draping his wrist over his forehead. "really good," he breathes out, flushing when he opens his mouth again, "didn't know that was, um. a thing." and gale half laughs, half groans at the admission, rolling his hips down, and john sucks in a sharp breath at the drag of his pants, cock twitching even after all that.

gale doesn't mind; he's more than happy to watch his pretty boy fall apart on his fingers, mouth, cock, as many times as john lets him.

#a boioioing sound effect played when i read this ask #i kept going oh my god oh my GOD under my breath #felt like a fly rubbing my hands together maniacally #this is just filth but are we surprised. probably not #NOT PROOFREAD YET ALRIGHT i need a Snack #leaving bikeriders au #johnslittlespoon asks #johnslittlespoon brainrot #johnslittlespoon spicy #buckbucky

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thisliminalspacedaydreams · 10 months

Text

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Hello!

I’m relatively unknown in the fanfiction world which is great, but I’ve got some friends who are known, and I’ve got things to say, from an outsider perspective.

I’m a writer, but I’m also a reader. I participate in the fandom in the way I know how, which is through writing stories.

Here’s what fandom should be. It’s a village, called Fandom, and people all interact in the village in some way. Write, Art, Ideas, Comments, Reblogs, Kudos, Podfics, Bookbinding, Etc etc etc. It’s a Smurf village, because currency doesn’t exist, and everyone does what they can for the community to thrive, for fucking free. They offer gifts, and encouragement, and once a week we all gather round in the center of the village and scream about it in a very unhealthy way. Some people are more active than others, some like to be known, some prefer to remain anonymous, some watch from the sidelines and everything is done with care and a warm heart between our teeth.

There are pockets of that, which, great.

Here’s what fandom is, sometimes.

1/People elevating others to the point of God, sometimes dragging other writers down (for no reason, no one asked to be rated as the best fic writer of all time) to make a point. What is the point? Is there one?

2/People harassing writers for more things. Write an epilogue, write another chapter, write this and that. Writers aren’t your own personal AI machine to make what you want to write. A lot is blamed on age, and perhaps there is an element to it, but I believe it’s just decency. An 18 years old kid is capable of making sensible decisions, just like a 24 years old, just like a 14 years old. Your age doesn’t give you a passe-droit to be a dick to people you admire (!!!???!)

3/I won’t even touch on the subject of hate reading because that’s just straight up insanity.

But it’s just… hate and tantrums and anger breeds more hate and tantrums and anger. There isn’t a virtuous way out of that, and I’d love for people to…just, cater to a more positive experience for everyone.

When your fingers are typing rot on your computer, you are venomizing everything that it touches: the people who will read it AND the people who will respond to it.

So far, from what I have seen, this behaviour leads to only one thing: depressed writers/artists/etc who stop writing/drawing/etc, or pull their work, or take breaks, or retreat from the limelight because it is too much.

You are pushing too much.

Enthusiasm is wonderful. It’s a powerful tool and should be used, everyone on this fandom is posting because we looked at The Thing and thought, “yeah.” No one in the history of the world (I hope) has posted after thinking “that is straight up shit and I hate it with a passion.”

Enthusiasm does need to be curated in a healthy way. I understand that Fandom is for fans, but it is also by fans. No one here is better, everyone here is different.

Some writers have a voice that resonate with more people, or stories that resonate with more people, and that is perfectly fine, but, once again for the people in the back, do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

In what universe, in what galaxy do you believe complaining about someone’s work will make them go “oh right, nevermind all the work I put into this thing I love, let me just do the thing a random stranger is asking me to do.”

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Maybe I sound like bitch, but by god, the shit I’ve heard from my “popular” friends the past few months is absolutely mad. Mad, people.

You are normal people, and SO ARE THEY.

They have lives and interests and they are people. Treat them as such.

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, I hope everyone enjoys Le Mange Dieu et le Dévoreur de Mondes, which we wrote and enjoyed writing, and which does not mean other writers weren't doing their own thing and writing other stuff in the meantime, and I HOPE we can all start to have some fucking respect for the people who spend hoursdaysweeksmonths pouring over a project and posting it for fucking free, all at once, so it’s not stressful for the reader. YOU.

Because against all fucking odds, we actually care about our readers. When you’re being nice.

Thank you and good day from a Fandom Elder.

#fanfiction #fanficwriter #marauders #fandom #MDDM #jegulus fic #marauders fandom #let's be cool yeah?

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thesharktanksdriver · 1 year

Text

Call Sign: Sharky (Platonic)

Part 1, part 2 part 4 part 5

Sorry if parts repeat like some people noticed. There’s not much I can do about it and it seems to be a glitch with the keep reading line. My posts are long and I don’t wanna clog people’s pages so y’all will have to deal with it

Also thank you all for your support!.

The topic of your Call sign is often ones that’s discussed with confusion with 141

Each time you were asked you’d come up with a new story something like “dad was a marine biologist”, “I was raised by sharks sharkboy style and was taken in by the military” or “I just wouldn’t shut up about them”

It leaves all them confused and silently curious

Call signs most of the time have meaning to them

Now some can certainly be stupid or embarrassing but they get them for a reason and Sharky is a specific one

One that came with you when you had found yourself transferred over to 141

Which had meant that only you and your past squadron knew that meaning

And meant ghost, Soap and Gaz we’re clueless as to getting it except from you

Price is not it the same situation as them, partially because he knew your past captain

In fact he’s good mates with him, they had used to serve together before climbing both their ways up the ranks

Even got your recommendation from him

But when he decided to ask the question of your Codename he didn’t really expect that it had more than what meets the eye

“Your wondering about their Codename?.” He questions looking over to Price whom sits beside him at the bar. Price nods, making his old friend laugh a bit and add “I’ll have to give some context first before we get to that point”.

“Context of what?”

“Oh, of when they first joined”

When you had first joined you were much different to how you were now

You were a shy little thing, less confident to how you were now. Downright afraid of the others on your team

There was a very clear and tall wall you put between yourself and everyone else no matter how they tried to reach through to you

It took a long while but after some time one of them had gotten through to you

Salamander, but everyone at the time called him Sal for short

He was an a older soldier, mid-50’s with a wife and kid

It’s that reason why he was able to connect to you, having experience with a child of his own

He showed you the ropes, helping bridge that gap between you and the others

You began to open up more, talking in hushed mumbled before they evolved to full on discussions

You knew a lot of weird and obscure facts, stuff most of them hadn’t known about

You specifically talked quite a bit about marine life since a few of them were ex-navy and you thought that would be funny

It admittedly was especially when you joke that “you’d think they’d teach you about this stuff when your at sea” and “maybe I’m more navy than you guys”

It was nice, you were opening up and some had even began trying to debate each other over call signs for you

They weren’t really sure what to give you yet but it was the mission that finalized it

“The mission?”

“Yeah…the mission. What gave me their name”

The mission was ok at first, that’s the main thing you remember about it

No initial panic just clear waters both figuratively and literally as your footsteps crunch down on golden yellow sand

But then like a nuke dropping everything went to shit

It’s blurry to your mind what had initially happened but you ended up hiding behind some washed up driftwood

Sal was beside you clutching his neck as you did your best to keep him from bleeding out

The shrapnel lodged in his neck was too deep, blood pouring through your fingers as you pleaded with him to hang on

Your vision was blurred by tears as you watched the life drain from him

He often talked about his wife, his kid, and yet he now laid here beside you. Forgotten in the sand as your hands shook

Something came over you, that primal urge that every living creature had in times of peril

The urge to survive no matter what

Your adrenaline was running high, the pops of gunshots making it worse along with the red that began dying the once yellow sand

Your breath is getting quicker as you begin to see red

And then you can’t remember what happened other than the overwhelming feeling of panic and the urge to protect

When the haze over your mind cleared the pungent taste of iron filled your mouth and clogged your nose

You feel shaky, almost as if your entire body was hollow

taking a step back you almost trip over something, making you stumble a bit as you look down to see the dead face of the enemy staring back

Pure terror is twisted on his once moving face that bows stuck in the perpetual horror he died while feeling

Your attention is drawn away when you hear your captains voice, it cuts through the static that muffled the crashing waves and squawking pelicans that sounded so distant

His hand is on your shoulder, his eyes staring down at you with worry as blood dribbled down from your lips

Your dazed and confused. Eyes wide and pupils blown out

“Captain what happened. Why do I taste blood?” It’s such a simple question but it shakes him to his core, you sound so afraid. Like a kid

You are a kid compared to them but this just makes it more obvious

The remaining part of the squadron both injured and tired watch on as their captain talks to you gently

Your shaking like a leaf, blood drenching you as he draped an arm over your shoulder and walked you towards them

You don’t stare at your teammates though, you instead stare at the once blue water that was turned scarlet red

Off in the distance you see the distinct shape of a fin or two poke out from the water

The crashing of the waves felt louder despite the fact you walked farther and farther away

Rolling in and retracting back out in a cycle

You notice near a body in the sand two fingers, discarded and bloodied and a memory flashes in your mind

The enemy, captain, scuffle, bite, spit out, kill, safe, move on

It now explains the blood that isn’t your own that you spit out

You fill in the blanks about what happened by asking your teammates afterwards who are nervous to answer

Seemingly afraid to send you into a panic attack after learning what had happened

Apparently you went apeshit on the enemy, to the point the team did barely anything as you did the brunt of the work

You used your pistol, when you ran out of ammo you used the empty gun and your knife

At some point one had grabbed the captain, was about to put a bullet through his head before you intervened

The human jaw despite how weak it is compared to the bite of something like a dog or a big cat, it’s much more powerful than we give it credit for

Exerting up to Around 125 kg of force or 162 lbs per square inch

Usually something like this doesn’t happen much considering you’d have to get through skin, tissue and tendon but you had done it via your adrenaline

You bitt off the guy’s fingers, not one but two and then spat them out

You then killed him, his body dropping down to the sand just like his fingers did

It’s what earned you your nickname Sharky

You see

Shark attacks are much less common as one would think compared to how their portrayed in the media. Sure, they do happen but it’s less likely for one to be lethal

Your more likely to be killed by a deer or mosquito than a shark

They usually attack when provoked or when confused after mistaking a human for a seal

They dislike our flavour, so after an attack they usually discard us after the initial bite

Much like how rare a lethal shark attack actually is in comparison to other animal related deaths it’s rare that someone can bite off someone’s finger

And like a shark you spat it out

Thus your clever nickname given to you by your teammate Kansas after remembering your ramblings of the aquatic sea creature

“It just kinda stuck after that” he says taking a sip of his beer before placing it down onto the countertop, his thumb circles it’s rim as he looks down into the gold liquid. “Their a good kid. Their happy right?” It comes out as somewhat hoarse, he’s more choked up than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, their happy. Hasn’t been a day I hadn’t woken up to find them with a shit eatin grin”

“Good. Funny how they’ve brightened up from such a shy kid.”

He pulls back from his chair, placing down his cash plus a small tip for the bartender who accepts it eagerly

“Good to see you again Price. I’ll keep in contact” just as he’s about to leave he adds one more thing “ps, they write about you a lot”

“Write?”

#platonic #Sharky y/n #captain price x reader #modern warefare 2 x reader #modern warfare x reader

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beelsnack · 4 months

Text

Imperfect - Obey Me! Boys and an MC With Scars

Continuing my trend of hyper-specific self-insert fics lol

This is me projecting a little bit, I have quite a few scars. I'm diabetic, so I don't heal very well. Also, the scenario described in Mammon's part actually happened to me, so...yeah, ya boi is projecting.

There is a part two in the works, I just don't want to make this post too long.

Content Warning: Mention of self-harm in Belphie's part.

-----

Lucifer: “Can I ask you something?”

The two of them were enjoying a rare moment of peace, sipping on hot drinks together in the early morning. Most of the occupants of the House of Lamentation were still asleep, or the ones that were awake were busy doing their own thing. For once, it felt like the world was allowing them to take a break.

Lucifer set his coffee cup down and regarded them with the soft, fond look that he seemed to reserve for them alone. “Of course, my dear.”

“If you could…” the human cleared their throat, shifting their weight around nervously. “If you could get rid of my scars, would you?”

Lucifer’s expression hardened, and for a moment they were worried they had made him angry. An apology was halfway out of their mouth when Lucifer stood, making his way over to their side and cradling their chin in his gloved hand.

“If you wished it, it would be so,” he rubbed a thumb over one of the pock-marks on their cheek. Not only had cystic acne left a constellation of marks across their face, they had always bruised easily so even the mildest of injuries left scars.

“But you are exactly the way you need to be as you are,” Lucifer continued. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

Mammon: “Did it hurt?”

At first the human thought that Mammon was attempting to use a cheesy and potentially blasphemous pick up line on them. But when they looked up from the TV show the two of them were watching while curled up in their bed, they realized that he was looking at the faded red-purple marks adorning their legs.

“Well, it didn’t fucking tickle.”

Mammon flushed. “I didn’t - I mean - uh, shit, um - “

They shoved him good-naturedly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Both of them sat in silence before they decided the awkward tension was too much. “You wanna know how I got these scars?” they asked, in a terrible Joker impression.

“Not if you’re gonna sound like Heath Ledger while telling me.”

The human snorted. “It’s not even that cool, honestly. I was helping move some furniture, and the house had a pretty long set of concrete steps. I was going backwards down the steps, lost my footing and ate it from about six feet in the air.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Mammon hissed, wincing in sympathy.

“I have one on my arm, too, but that one’s a bit more faded,” they held up their forearm. The discolored patch of skin was barely visible in the dim light from the TV, but Mammon could still tell it couldn’t have been a pleasant experience. “Had a split second to chose between bashing my head in or fucking up my arm.”

“...I’m glad you chose your arm?” Mammon shrugged.

“Me too,” they laughed.

Leviathan: He was staring.

The human was starting to get a little uncomfortable with how intensely Levi was looking at their face. They knew the scar on the left side of their face was intense - it had been a constant reminder of the house fire they had survived when they were younger. But Levi didn’t have to stare at it like he was committing it to memory.

“I’m just thinking…”

“Thinking about what?” The human wished they had a hood to hide behind or something, they were starting to get angry.

Levi must have realized his error, because he suddenly turned bright red and looked away, hand covering the lower half of his face in embarrassment. The human felt a little bad, but at least Levi wasn’t gawking at them anymore.

“...y’look…lrpzuko…”

“...Come again?”

“I said you look like Prince Zuko!” Levi blurted before pressing his hand harder against his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m just gonna - “

“Wait,” the human pulled up their phone camera. “...I kind of see it, holy shit.”

Satan: “So where did this come from, anyway?”

He knew it probably was committing some sort of social faux pas to ask, but Satan was a curious creature by nature, and he figured that he and the human were close enough. Figuratively and literally, considering they were laying with their head in his lap while the two of them were reading.

When they made an inquisitive noise, he idly drew a clawed finger down the long, jagged scar decorating their forearm. He felt them stiffen against his legs, and when he looked up he saw the apprehension on their face.

“I…God, it’s so stupid…”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Satan urged. They hesitated a bit before sighing.

“I was fighting with this kid in…it was either middle school or early high school. I went to walk away because I was kind of getting sick of arguing with the moron, but when I turned around they shoved me hard enough to knock me over. I kinda like…flung my arm up, to protect my face, y’know? And since it was outside it got all scraped up. Never healed fully, I guess, so now I have this.”

Satan hummed thoughtfully, tracing the outline of the scar. It was faint, barely visible in dim lighting, but it was obvious that the human wished it wasn’t there.

“You fought back, right?”

“Duh.”

Asmo: “You seem very focused there, darling. Don’t quite know your shade?”

The two of them had been standing in the foundation section of the local Dephora for a while now. Asmodeus knew the store like the back of his hand and had already scooped up all of his favorite products in addition to a couple new drops that had made their way onto Devilgram. The human, however, hadn’t moved for about 20 minutes.

“I mean…I know my shade, but…” they hesitated, hand idly drifting towards the side of their neck. “Coverage is more what I’m worried about.”

Asmo’s brows furrowed. The human had a scar from when they got splashed with hot oil as a child, and they were notoriously self-conscious about it. Aesthetically, Asmo understood - it wasn’t pretty, it looked like it had hurt and if he could he would use every bit of his magical power to get rid of it completely. But it was part of the human, and Asmo loved it regardless.

He slipped a hand overtop of the humans, causing them to look up at him with worried eyes. Asmo’s own eyes softened, and he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to their forehead. “Darling, if you do want to cover it up to boost your confidence, I will gladly help you pick out foundation and concealer. But you know you don’t have to if you truly don’t want to, right? That I’ll love you no matter what?”

The human looked away, but Asmo still caught the shy smile they wore as they leaned into his hand. “I know.”

Beelzebub: “Can I help you?”

Admittedly, the human was a little paranoid about whether or not people were staring at them. But this time, it was very clear that Beelzebub was staring at them, and they weren’t sure how they felt about it. They were cooking dinner, after all, they might not even be the thing that Beel was staring at.

“That mark on your shoulder.”

Immediately, the human tensed up. They had thought that the shirt they were wearing covered up the conspicuous birthmark on their right shoulder, but apparently not. “What about it?”

Beel paused for a moment. “It looks like a potato.”

They turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Does it? I can’t really see it all that often.”

“Mm,” Beel nodded before unfolding himself from the stool he was sitting on and coming up to hug the human from behind. He leaned down to nuzzle affectionately against the mark, and the human felt their apprehension begin to bleed away. “I like it. It makes you, you.”

They remained silent for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of their lips. “Thanks, Beel.”

Belphegor: “Did you do that to yourself?”

It took a minute for the human to realize what Belphie was talking about. They had just changed into their pajamas, and they honestly had thought Belphie was asleep. But apparently he had been awake enough to notice the evenly-spaced cut marks along the insides of their thighs.

“...Yeah,” they muttered, hiding their face in his chest. So much for a peaceful night’s sleep. “A while ago.”

“Why?”

They shrugged. Honestly, thinking about that particular time in their life wasn’t something they did often, at least not consciously. Every time they did, their heart rate increased, their breathing sped up, and it suddenly felt like they were in that dark room again with nothing but their spiraling thoughts -

“You don’t have to tell me,” Belphe muttered against their hair. “Stay with me, now, okay?”

He ran a hand up and down their back soothingly, and it would never surprise them how gentle Belphegor could be for a demon.

“You want to know what I think?” Belphie allowed his fingers to trace the marks along their thighs, but the touch was distinctly platonic.

“Mm?”

“I think,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of their head. “That you were going through a lot, and those scars are proof that you made it through.”

The human stilled, processing, before they snuggled deeper into Belphie’s embrace. “You think so?”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed sleepily, hand stilling against the small of their back. “Not that I’m glad you have them, mind you, but nobody goes through hell completely unscathed and you shouldn’t feel ashamed of them.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #tw self harm #self harm

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absolutebuffoonery · 2 years

Text

PT 3 (including finale): I convinced my dad to watch merlin with me and here’s what he has to say

pt 1

pt 2

---

“They’re loving that.”

“I don’t even wanna know what they’re doing in there.”

-When Merlin and Arthur get caught in the net booby trap

Arthur, to Merlin: You’re the only friend I’ve got and I couldn’t bear to lose you.

Dad: *literally gasps and gapes at me in surprise*

Merlin: Really?

Arthur: Don’t be stupid.

Dad: *laughs hysterically*

*uther emerges from the veil*

“Wow, of all the dead people, he got the right guy”

“Was that a reference to fisting?” -the horseplay scene when Arthur threatens Merlin with his fist

“Okay that was pretty gay.”

(I don’t even remember what he was talking about here, but he was right)

“Arthur’s unconscious again, alert the media.”

“I really don’t know what to make of Mordred.”

(whenever he said something like this I had to hold in an earth-shattering screech)

“Okay, this son of a bitch has to die” -About Mordred, s5e12

“I am OBSESSED with her.” -about Gwen after she runs someone through with a sword in s5e12

(same)

Arthur: “Just... hold me.”

Dad: *just nods his head*

(I think he was simply acknowledging the queerness)

Arthur, during That scene in s5e13: I want to say something that I’ve never said to you before.

Dad: Ohh boy.

His thoughts after the finale (he wrote an Official Statement for his “tumblr fandom,” including the hashtags at the end):

Well, watching Merlin was a much more satisfying experience than when my kids made me watch Glee with them. Although it was difficult at first to accept the way they bent time to accommodate Merlin and Arthur being contemporaries, I got over it because they succeeded in creating a relationship between two boys-to-men who wouldn't normally exist in each other's worlds. In actual Arthur lore, Merlin is old and wizened long before Arthur is even born. In fact, you remember in an early episode when Gaius references magic being necessary for Uther and his queen to produce a son? Well, in Arthur lore, that magic was cast by Merlin, and Merlin was present during Arthur's childhood. But ok, let's give the BBC some breathing room because they did a good job showing the generational transition from the failings of toxic masculinity (Uther's reign) to the superhuman potential of unapologetic bromance (Arthur's reign). In fact, how many times did I furrow my brow when Uther did something stupid or said something weenie just because he thought he was being strong, but he was actually being...alone. When it was Arthur's turn to do something stupid or say something weenie, he had a posse of good bros by his side to prop him up.

Even in S5E3 when Arthur gets the opportunity to see the ghost of his father and be like, "Bruh, I miss you," Uther instead treats Arthur like shit and belittles him for not being a dick to his people. Respect through fear, I believe is what the ghost Uther was preaching. But that strategy was pretty much self-defeating, given that respect through fear got Uther prematurely dead. Luckily Arthur didn't give it too much thought and decided, "Yeah, nah, I'd rather hug my droogies and marry a servant woman and be respected for doing the right thing, so biyee douchebag." In fact I'm assuming the writers created this post-mortem meeting not as merely another display of magic, but as a tangible means of showing Arthur's wrestling match with his own conscience. Even the playful and boyish banter between Arthur and Merlin (and the way they gaze at each other adoringly) is an example of Arthur's determination to part with toxic masculinity, especially when he gives Merlin the opportunity to be right sometimes without getting his chainmail hoodie in a bunch.

This could absolutely be a lesson to voters the world over, who have the power to put real leaders in office but choose crusty old assholes instead of fresh, young minds and hearts. All the Uthers in the world are giving AOC and Sanna Marin shit for dancing. Can you believe we actually live in an era when our leaders get chided for dancing? For fucking dancing! Meanwhile AOC and Sanna Marin are attracting loyal followers in New York and Denmark, who would follow them to the ends of Camelot, while the same old self-serving ancient curmudgeons who keep getting elected are busy pulling Agravaine after Agravaine out of their bungholes. Perhaps I digress.

Their parting from lore that is a little less acceptable is what they chose to do with Lancelot. Love triangle with Gwen and Arthur, yes, but Lancelot's BBC fate was less than satisfying. There are many tellings of how Lancelot dies, both with and because of Gwen, but the BBC opted against putting Arthur's best knight at the roundtable through most of this series. How fascinating. And weird.

Anyway, the end: Avoiding spoilers, I'd say the series ended appropriately. My 20-year-old daughter is traumatized by the ending, but I know enough about Arthur lore to know that the end is appropriate and loyal to legend. Camelot enters a new era, Merlin finally gets the respect he deserves, and a strong woman rises to power (I hope she dances). Satisfying. My parting thought: Walking away from this series, I've discovered a new career aspiration. I don't need to be king of anything, but I really want a job that allows me to say, "Ready the men, we ride at first light" without getting bullied. I mean, that's just really damn cool.

Thanks for all of your comments and responses. It's been fun.

#Merlin #ArthurAndMerlinOTP #ToxicMasculinityVsBromance #ArthurWasPan #TristanAndIsoldSpinoff

#merlin #bbc merlin #bbc #colin morgan #bradley james #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin x arthur #gwen pendragon #mordred

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m4ndysk4nkovich · 9 months

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how the six family roles in an addictive household are shown in shameless, season 1

so i said i’d make this post a while ago and guess what? i lied. oops. anyways i finally did it so here you guys go!

also, i’m only doing season 1 here because season 1 is the season where the roles are the most clear. after that, some siblings share roles or change roles. in many, many ways, season 1 is much simpler, as we all know.

i most of my information from this article, and i copy and pasted some of it.

the addict, is frank. you could also say that it’s monica, however she left the family/household years prior to the start of the show. as the consequences of addiction begin to form, the addicted family member will often portray negative behaviors to others in the family including lying, manipulating, and pointing fingers of blame; frank does all of this in season 1 constantly. he lies about where aunt ginger is, manipulates his family by assuring them that he is sober, and he puts the blame on other members of his family, such as ian or monica. half of the family views him as a nuisance, and the other half views him as beloved.

the enabler, is debbie. enabler’s don’t set boundaries and excuse a lot of the addict’s behavior. for debbie, it’s not that she doesn’t understand frank’s addiction or how shitty frank is, she does (1x08), but she chooses to pretend like things are alright. she loves her dad a lot, and she wants to pretend like everything is okay. she wants to pretend like things won’t go back to the way they are, even though she knows they will. we see her caring for her dad, waking up in the middle of the night to check on him and bring him a pillow, asking him if he’s okay, she cares. nobody else really cares that much. we see her become more of an enabler in season 2/3 especially, but again, only season 1 here.

the scapegoat, is lip. many people would like to argue that it’s carl (or debbie or ian) and maybe later on, but not here. the scapegoat of the family often gets blamed for the family’s issues, usually the scapegoat is the second oldest (!!) or middle child. in many cases, this person feels their purpose is to provide their family members with an outlet for blame. so, they can take on a parent’s and other sibling’s blame in order to protect them from feeling these emotions themselves. commonly, the scapegoat of the family will eventually be unable to manage their anger and act out in avoidance behaviors, often leaving town and not returning. so, yeah, this can be season 3/4 ian, or season 6 debbie or carl, but overall, this is lip in season 1. however, lip doesn’t often take the blame. fiona does. he and fiona share the hero and scapegoat role, and eventually share the addict role, but overall the scapegoat is lip. he acts out, purposefully gets into trouble, and is blamed. does he accept the blame? no, but he gets it. and he goes off to do his own shit often, when shit hits the fan he either fixes the problem or just leaves. lip can’t manage his anger. ever. it’s something he never learns how to do from season’s 1 through 11. he uses avoidance behaviors (such as drinking himself sick) and anger to cope with his family’s hardships.

the hero, is fiona. fiona is basically the definition of the hero, which is: the hero of the family is the one who is most controlling and often a perfectionist. by keeping up with personal goals, they feel they can provide their family with the illusion that everything will be okay. normally, the hero of the family is the first child, as they are the most likely to have a type a personality and feel as though they are a leader to their siblings. because of the position they put themselves in as a leader, they may experience extreme amounts of stress. and, become unable to manage their anxiety. that all screams fiona gallagher. she works multiple jobs, attempts to control everyone and everything in her life, and provides for her five siblings. she’s the firstborn child, and the youngest child literally refers to her as his mother on multiple occasions. she dropped out of high school for her siblings, and basically risked everything for them. they are her life.

the mascot, is carl. season 1 carl is sort of hard to characterize because he’s almost never a very serious character, hell, throughout the entire show he cries like three times. but that unseriousness kind of makes him fit into the role of the mascot. the mascot of a family is the person who may utilize humor to try to resolve tension during family arguments or drama. this may be due to the fact that they require approval from those who surround them due to their fragility. most commonly, the mascot of the family is the youngest sibling. basically, they use humor as a defence mechanism in order to not have to experience the negative emotions which may be brought about by addiction in the family. carl wasn’t the youngest sibling, but he was for about seven years, so it kind of counts. at least at this point it does. carl isn’t as aware as debbie is when it comes to the issues in the family, (1x08), and in the first (or second technically) scene, debbie tells carl he’s almost nine and needs to begin pulling his weight. he doesn’t take on the same understanding or responsibility as the rest of the siblings do, but there is a possibility that he understands and masks it by acting clueless. or, he simply is clueless. who knows. either way, if anyone’s going to be the mascot, it has to be carl.

the lost child, is ian. the lost child is a sibling who may not be as involved in family relationships as the others. this is due to the fact that they may not have shared as much family attention as the other siblings. typically, they’re the youngest or middle child. and, characteristically showcase behaviors like isolation and the inability to maintain lasting relationships as a result of addiction in the family. so, ian obviously does end up maintaining a lasting relationship, blah blah blah, but he literally doesn’t until like the last season so THAT DOESN’T MATTER. anyways. for like the entirety of ian’s adolescent years on the show (seasons 1-4), he is forgotten. he’s the stereotypical middle child, the least favorite, and forgotten. fiona never has to worry about him, monica is nowhere to be seen (but i made a post here that talks about their relationship that you should totally read), and frank hits him and simply doesn’t really give two fucks about him. ian isolates himself from the rest of his family, and rarely is actually at the house. he’s often with kash (a man in his fourties), or mickey or just doing his own thing. he becomes even more of the lost child later on (and eventually morphs into the scapegoat) but that’s irrelevant. ian’s hiding a big secret, ian is rarely home, the most attention ian probably ever gets out of frank is just getting hit or insulted. ian’s forgotten.

liam isn’t on here because he was so little in season 1. but much later on, he takes on the role of the lost child. if you want to know more about this/how the gallagher’s were based on actual people rather than just roles, read this article. i highly recommend it.

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starfirexuchiha · 1 year

Text

Unused Akechi Thieves Den conversations

There are some unused Thieves Den conversations that Akechi had with the other PTs, so I wanted to show them here. This is a long post btw.

Zorro - Yusuke & Akechi convo

Yusuke: ......

Akechi: You're looking at that Persona rather intently. Is he that intriguing?

Yusuke: Absolutely. It is an unparalleled luxury to lay sight on the physical manifestation of another's self-image. Not just any artist can claim to have borne witness to the likes of Personas, or Mementos. It would be foolish not to use this opportunity to incorporate these concepts into an art piece.

Akechi: I... see. Well, you have fun with that.

Yusuke: Ah, before you go. Would you be so kind as to show me your own Persona? I'd love to use him as a model for one of my sketches.

Akechi: ...I'm going to have to decline.

-----------

Goro doesn’t want to model for Yusuke lol

Robin Hood - Ann & Akechi convo

Ann: Seeing this reminds me of the days you still acted like a prince. Things have gotten pretty dark since then...

Akechi: Complain all you like, but this is who I am. I'm not going to change back.

Ann: I'm not complaining. It's better to know you're being honest and not hiding anything from us.

Akechi: Honest, huh.

-----------

I like how Ann is accepting of Goro’s true self.

Robin Hood - Sumire & Akechi convo

Sumire: This Persona is yours, Akechi-senpai? I'm surprised. It's very, um... noble.

Akechi: Ah, that's right. I suppose you've never seen this one.

Sumire: Never! Do you fight with it the same way? You know, "Muahahahaaa! You're all gonna die! Sayonara, suckers!"

Akechi: Heh. Are you mocking me?

-----------

Sumire’s friendship with Goro is so adorable!

Robin Hood - Ryuji, Ann & Akechi convo

Ryuji: It ain't fair that he gets to have two Personas. Aren't you kinda jealous?

Ann: Sometimes. Is it something you can train yourself to do?

Akechi: Personas are part of your personality, correct? Why don't you try acting like someone you're not?

Ryuji: Dammit, Akechi!

Akechi: Down, boy. Learn to take a jo—

Ryuji: You're a frickin' genius! Let's do it!

Ann: Good idea! I wonder what I should act like...

Akechi: Hah. And here I thought I'd seen the limits of your idiocy.

-----------

Goro was like “Why don’t you try being a wildcard?”. It ain’t that easy though lol

Morgana Car - Akechi, Ryuji & Yusuke convo

Akechi: This car was a lot more comfortable than I expected. I can't say I mind it.

Ryuji: Dude, have you forgotten how bumpy that shit was in Mementos? I thought my ass was gonna split in half.

Yusuke: Agreed on the bumpiness. It was rather effective at abating my hunger, though.

Akechi: I don't usually ride in cars with such weak suspension. It was a new experience for me.

Ryuji: THAT'S what you call it!?

-----------

You learn something new everyday.

Kamoshida Statue - Sae & Akechi convo

Sae: Honestly, when I heard there was a teacher like this at Makoto's school, my blood ran cold.

Akechi: If it was that much of a concern, why didn't you bring it up with the faculty?

Sae: It's not that simple.

Akechi: You should be more upfront about your feelings. Then again, I suppose you are who you are.

-----------

Did Kamoshida had some way of making the students’ parents/guardians not complain about him? Is that why Mishima was like “the parents know but don’t care”?

Kaneshiro (Ruler Form) - Makoto, Ryuji & Akechi convo

Makoto: Say, Kaneshiro mentioned that there was someone using other people's Palaces to do whatever they pleased...

Akechi: Yeah. I suppose that was me. I'm surprised a petty criminal like him had caught wind of me, though.

Ryuji: But Shido's the one who was takin' advantage, yeah? I thought you were just followin' orders.

Akechi: Hm... It's not quite that simple.

-----------

What do you mean by that Goro? Do you have more freedom when you’re in palaces or something because the conspiracy is not aware of what goes on in there?

Shido (Ruler Form) - Akechi & Sae convo

Akechi: I never thought the scheme would end with Shido. I always assumed some other monster would take up his mantle.

Sae: Even so, I'd already decided that I wouldn't give up on exposing the guilty parties. ...I want to keep my faith in justice.

Akechi: Oh? Something so cliché coming from you is rather surprising, Sae-san. I suspect the Phantom Thieves have rubbed off on you quite a bit.

Sae: That's a possibility. Maybe you could do with some change yourself? Like, drop the "cool customer" act and just live in the moment?

Akechi: Hah! Surely you jest. I'll pass.

-----------

Oh Goro is putting up his Detective Prince act on this one.

Interrogation Room - Akechi & Morgana convo

Akechi: How nostalgic... It makes me sick to remember that day. I can't believe I was so thoroughly tricked.

Morgana: It was quite a gamble on our end. But ultimately, our justice saw the light.

Akechi: Justice, huh... Sure, let's leave it at that.

-----------

Sounds like Goro doesn’t believe Morgana there.

Penguin Sniper - Ryuji & Akechi convo

Ryuji: Pool's pretty fun once ya get used to it. Aight Akechi, let's go a round! It's time for the Ultra Mega Poolin' Schoolin'!

Akechi: Ignoring that ludicrous title... Do you honestly wish to play against me?

Ryuji: I'm a man of my word! I know I got no chance when it comes to brainy stuff, but this? I can take ya. Or what, are you chicken?

Akechi: Heh, of course not. Sure, I'll play a round. And I won't be holding back.

-----------

I think Goro is gonna use his right hand, but Ryuji you should still prepare yourself. 👀

Loki - Yusuke & Makoto convo

(Akechi is not in this unused convo but the convo is about him)

Yusuke: To think we would fight side-by-side with Akechi once more... His personality seems to have shifted, though. It's a far cry from the Detective Prince we once knew.

Makoto: That is true... But somehow, I think it made him easier to talk to. He's honest with us, at least. I don't worry about him hiding things anymore.

Yusuke: Yes... His murderous screeching may be unsettling, but I've come to realize that is simply a part of who he is. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to paint a portrait of him, knowing this...

Makoto: If you do, I'd love to see it. ...I'd like to hear what he thinks of it, too.

-----------

Murderous screeching LOL! Again Yusuke, Goro will not model for you 😆

-----------

and that’s all of the unused Goro convos in the Thieves Den.

#unused content #goro akechi #persona 5 royal #p5 royal #thieves den #yusuke kitawaga #ann takamaki #ryuji sakamoto #makoto niijima #sae niijima #morgana #zorro #robin hood #loki #suguru kamoshida #junya kaneshiro #masayoshi shido

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alluraaaa · 11 months

Text

so @heynhay posted this art and i’m incapable of being normal so. here’s 3k words of angry pining. tee hee <3

———

Keith Kogane never does anything halfway. He doesn’t shrug or “why not, I’m not busy” his way into being a pilot, a paladin, a person. He feels everything with his whole chest so fiercely that he tastes a scream with every emotion.

So when Keith realizes he’s in love he punches a wall hard enough to break the skin over his knuckles.

Because why Lance? Lance, of all people, is the one his heart latched onto. Lance, who is loud and obnoxious and cares so much about everything and everyone. He, as well, puts his whole heart into every action, and doesn’t pull away from a fight— in fact, he starts most of them. It’s… exhilarating.

At that thought, Keith punches the same dent in the wall with his other fist.

He stares down at his knuckles, blood slowly trickling from scrapes, and scowls. He scowls because the first thought to his stupid brain is that it would be so nice if someone else wrapped up his hands for him. Someone with long, deft fingers who comes from a big family full of kids who fall and scrape their hands, so he’d have experience patching Keith up just right.

He kicks the wall this time.

———

He wraps his hands well enough. He has his own experience in violent outburst related medicine, so it’s not that bad actually. Not great, but whatever.

Whatever.

“Whatever,” he tells his gloves as he slips them over the bandages to keep them in place, as well as hide them. He doesn’t need Shiro mother-hen-ing him.

He hears a squeak, and turns to see one of the mice watching him from one of the desks, curious.

“Whatever,” he tells it, more force in his voice. He makes a shooing motion and it scampers off, probably to tell Allura.

Whatever.

He grabs an ice pack and presses it into his foot next. He kicked the wall with shoes on, but it was still enough force to leave him regretting the action. His boot now sits on the floor, with his sock on the examination table he sits on.

“There you are, man!” calls a voice, and Keith looks up to see Hunk entering the room.

“What’s up?”

“Well, we’re about to start movie night, but what’s up with you?”

“I, uh, stubbed my toe,” Keith says, knowing it comes out an obvious lie.

Hunk gives him a look that Keith can’t read, but changes the subject. “Still up for the movie? We haven’t started it, Lance wouldn’t without you.”

…

Hm.

Well.

Uh.

Keith wants to punch something again.

“Yeah,” Keith says, eloquently.

In his grip, the ice pack pops. Freezing liquid soaks his sock.

“Oh shit! You okay, dude?” Hunk says, closing the distance between them with large strides.

“I’m fine,” Keith says, maybe a little too loud. Gross gross gross gross gross— “Just. Gimme a few minutes to change.”

“Uh. Alright, if you say so,” Hunk says, looking… confused. Yeah, that’s fair.

Keith manages to calm down after that. Hunk leaves him to get a new sock and he spends a few moments in silence before rejoining the team, taking deep breaths.

And then the doors slide open at his approach, and the noise spills into his ears.

There’s a passionate argument happening between Hunk and Pidge about some technical jargon Keith couldn’t hope to follow. But he isn’t even trying to, because Lance is throwing his head back and laughing at their back and forth, face scrunched up in a way that oozes childlike joy.

And it’s only when Lance stops laughing and turns those brown eyes onto him that Keith realizes he’s been standing there in silence for a full ten seconds.

“There you are!” Lance says, unknowingly parroting his best friend. And Keith gets a head on look at that eye-crinkling, dimpled smile. “Thought you vanished or something.”

“I was busy,” Keith says simply, defensively. He crosses the room, standing close to the couch to look at the viewing screen. “What are we watching?”

“Yalay’s Scream,” Pidge says, “Altean horror movie.”

“Yes, after your human horror film, I have to show you something actually scary,” says Allura, who was completely unphased by the first three Saw movies. (Hunk had to leave twenty minutes into the first one.)

On screen the movie is paused, showing a title card written in spooky Altean font. Keith may not be the best at social cues, but he can hear the clear challenge in Allura’s voice. Resolute, he plops himself into the nearest seat on the couch.

Right next to Lance. If he explodes in a violent cacophony of viscera and fondness, so be it.

The movie starts, and it’s… confusing. There’s a lot of cultural subtext and commentary that Keith doesn’t understand, but he’s long since given up on trying to.

What he does understand though, is the way Lance is right next to him, their thighs touching. He feels it every time the other boy flinches or squirms. He just hopes Lance can’t feel Keith’s heartbeat just as clearly.

When the movie has a classic scene of silent anticipation, Keith can hear his own breath like it’s through a bullhorn. The whole team sits with tense patience as the lead walks silently down a narrow hallway.

Next to him, Lance draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins. Keith turns his head ever so slightly to see Lance staring at the screen with wide, expressionless eyes.

Keith wants to do something stupid. Like put his arm around Lance’s shoulders and comfort him.

Quick as lightning, the tension in the scene dissipates. The lead is kidnapped. Hunk screams. Allura giggles.

Most importantly, Lance flinches and turns away from the screen. He’s facing Keith. He’s watching Keith watch him.

“What the fuck,” he whispers in terror, barely audible over the movie and the team reacting to it. “Why did we agree to this?”

Keith is staring. He knows he is and he should probably say something but he keeps staring.

Lance smiles, closed lips and fond eyes. “I don’t even like horror.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, eloquently.

“You do though, right? Is this actually scary or is it just me?”

Well, him and Hunk, who is trying to hide behind Pidge’s tiny frame. But Keith doesn’t know that. He’s too busy drowning. “It’s alright.” He couldn’t say a single thing that has happened on screen.

Lance squints, looking more amused. Good. Someone like him should only feel joy. “Right,” he says, before turning back to the movie. Keith makes himself do the same.

He forces himself to pay attention. Because his brain being a supercut of everything Lance Álvarez is embarrassing, even if no one else knows it.

The lead escapes her kidnapper. Someone else dies— her best friend or sibling or something. Yes yes, very tragic and sad. She takes their sword to fight the killer. Poetic cinema and whatnot—

Now hold the fucking phone and stop every single goddamn press because Lance Álvarez is putting his head on Keith’s shoulder. Keith freezes, totally rigid and unable to process anything save for the tickle of hair against his neck and squish of cheek against his shoulder.

But like. He’s sooooo normal and average about it.

The rest of the movie passes uneventfully. Well, surely there’s some resolution or scary thing or whatever but Keith doesn’t give a shit. Not until the credits start rolling and the lights turn back on— dim but still illuminating— and everyone shifts.

Pidge stands from where she was sandwiched like a human stress ball between Hunk and Allura, stretching her arms over her head. Hunk and Allura immediately occupy her empty space, talking about what they just watched. Coran adds his own commentary to the analysis— apparently he knew the director?

The noise and lights rouse Shiro, who slept through most of the film. His eyes immediately find Keith and Lance, and he smiles at Keith. A stupid, teasing older brother smile. Shiro’s known about this crush for a while, even without Keith voicing a single thought in his head. He’s apparently very easy for Shiro to read. Keith glares at him.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad! Lance,” Allura is saying, and then she’s turning to face him. “tell Hunk he’s— oh.”

The entire team sees it now: Lance, curled up in a ball, leaned against Keith. Keith, a statue the color of his lion, supporting Lance. Four different facial expressions present themselves to him, but before he can decipher, Allura is turning triumphantly to Hunk.

“See? He fell asleep, it wasn’t that scary.”

“His head exploded!” Hunk shouts. Keith thinks, when?

His gaze falls to Lance. He’s apparently a heavy sleeper, if he still hasn’t risen during the ensuing argument. His face is squished into Keith, and it’s annoyingly, impossibly, terrifyingly adorable.

Fuck.

He stands up suddenly, and Lance falls into the spot where Keith just was. But Keith is too busy striding out the door.

“Wha? Huh?” is what he hears from a sleepy Lance before the doors close between them.

———

He’s finally decided to talk to Shiro about it.

He needs advice. On how to bend his mind to his will so that he can focus on literally anything else besides the warmth of Lance’s body against his. If Shiro could get straight As in the Garrison while head over heels for Adam, he’ll have to have something useful to tell Keith.

He doesn’t knock on Shiro’s door. Little brother privileges. Just opens it and walks into the already in progress advice session.

“I’m literally gonna jump out the airlock if this keeps happening, he’s just so—”

And everyone freezes. Keith, in the doorway. Shiro, on his bed. And Lance, pacing back and forth.

Keith and Lance’s eyes meet. Lance’s eyes widen. He panics.

“GET OUT!” he shrieks, arms flailing before he points out the door.

Keith doesn’t move as he processes Lance’s panicked rage. He’s interrupting something. He looks to Shiro.

“Give us five and I’ll come find you,” he says simply. He looks at Lance for a second, then adds, “Make it ten, actually.”

Wordlessly, Keith turns and walks away, the door sliding closed behind him.

He’s in his own room, doing push-ups so he doesn’t punch another wall, when Shiro finds him. He also doesn’t knock. Big brother privileges. Just opens it and strides in and falls onto Keith’s bed with a sigh.

“What’s up, kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Keith says, finishing his push-up and moving to sit cross-legged. “What were you guys talking about?”

Mindlessly staring at the ceiling, Shiro says, “If I tell you then I tell Lance why you wanna talk to me.”

The mental image of Shiro nonchalantly broadcasting his feelings is enough to make even him let something go. “Fine,” Keith says.

“So what is it? Is it him?”

Keith sighs, falling apart to lay on the floor and also watch the ceiling. “Yeah.”

Shiro just hums in acknowledgment, waiting for Keith to continue.

“I don’t know what to do. I just keep thinking about him all the time. It’s the fucking worst.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Shiro says, suspiciously sounding reminiscent.

“And the other day after the movie? I just left! Why did I do that? The fuck is wrong with me?”

“You want that list alphabetical or chronological?” Shiro quips.

Keith just sighs. “What do I do?”

“Tell him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Keith sits up. Makes Shiro look at him. “Have you just met me?” He made Shiro order for him at restaurants for a year.

Shiro raises an eyebrow, then lets his head fall back down. “Fair.”

Keith falls back onto the floor. “Yeah.”

“So you’re just not gonna tell him?”

“Yeah.”

“And then what?”

“And then I deal with it. How do I deal with it?”

Shiro laughs, quiet and mostly an exhalation. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because my baby brother is in love and I need to support him.”

Keith groans. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No. Can I be your best man at the wedding?”

“No. Allura’s best man. Best woman. Whatever, there’s no wedding!”

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“I’ll end you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first to try,” Shiro jokes. “But you really just aren’t gonna tell him?”

“No! I can’t!”

“But do you want to?”

“Yeah, obviously.” God, Shiro is stupid.

“Then why can’t you?”

“Because it’s me!” Keith sits up again. “I can’t talk, I-I can’t flirt, I’m not smooth like him and all the girls he likes!”

Wait.

He falls back onto the floor again. “What if he doesn’t even like guys?”

It’s silent as he processes this thought. How did it not occur to him before? And then, Shiro’s making a noise, soft and muffled and—

“Don’t laugh!” Keith says sitting up once again to glare at his brother.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just…” Shiro covers his face with both hands and sighs into them, calming his amusement. “It’s just funny.”

“What about this is funny?” Keith demands, standing.

Shiro moves his hands away from his face to give Keith a look like this is the most entertaining thing he’s seen. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. But you should tell him.”

Ugh. “Fuck off,” Keith decides, walking away to leave Shiro alone in Keith’s room. Shiro’s returning laughter follows him out.

———

Cleaning cryo-pods isn’t Keith’s ideal way to spend his day, but it isn’t as bad as it could be.

“Okay, okay. Truth or dare?” Lance calls from the pod next to Keith.

“Truth,” Keith says, because just five minutes ago he was dared to clean a pod while hanging upside down, and he almost needed to use said pod as a result.

“Hmm… do you like anyone?” Lance asks, ever casual.

“Yeah?” Keith says, “I like everyone.” This whole Voltron thing isn’t possible without everyone getting along.

“No, like, like like someone,” Lance says, “Romantically.”

Keith pauses. Then he resumes cleaning with more vigor. “Yeah.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah. Truth or dare?”

“No, wait!” Lance says, and Keith hears him approaching. “Who?”

“That wasn’t part of it. You get one question,” Keith says, erasing the last specks of dust off the inner walls. He steps out of the pod and drops his rag.

“Come on!” Lance says as Keith reaches for a sponge for the next pod. He grabs Keith’s wrist, pulling him away from the sponge and into Lance’s space. “Tell me.”

Keith looks at that face he’s damn near written poetry about and swallows. He rips his hand away and creates distance between them, and he’s sure his glare is murderous. “Fuck off.”

“Aww, he’s nervous!” Lance teases, following after Keith, who crosses his arms and shows his back to Lance, a clear message to not poke the bear.

Lance literally pokes him as he saddles up behind Keith, one hand settling on an elbow and another on a shoulder.

“Little Keithy’s in love?” Lance asks, and it’s clear in just his voice that he’s beaming. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?” Keith asks through gritted teeth, his face on fire. He looks away from Lance, at the clean bare walls.

“Because I’m the best wingman this side of the universe!” Lance says, hands squeezing. “I can help you woo this mystery person. Step one,” His hand moves from his shoulder to gently tug at a lock of hair. “do something about this mess.”

Lance’s voice in his ear, Lance’s hand on his arm, Lance’s hand in his hair. It’s all too much and he’s about to do something stupid, like kiss him.

Instead he screws his eyes shut, uncrosses his arms, and presses a finger to Lance’s lips, stopping the words in their tracks. He extends his arms fully, pushing Lance away and creating distance between them.

There’s a beat of silence, neither boy moving. And then Keith feels the soft exhale of a laugh on his hand, and then another hand in his.

He opens his eyes and swivels his head just in time to see Lance pressing a kiss into the back of Keith’s hand like royalty, right on the gap in the glove, lips to skin.

Keith stares, unable to do anything as Lance, face dusted with the smallest blush, drops Keith’s hand and leans back on his heels. His smile is shaky. “Sorry Romeo, I’m just messing with y—”

Unthinking, Keith presses his palm to Lance’s mouth. “Do it again.”

Lance’s blush erupts in full force. The two maintain eye contact as Lance gently, slowly takes Keith’s hand in his again, head bowing as he presses a kiss there again, painstakingly gentle.

Keith watches as Lance moves so thoughtfully, asking permission with every shift. His hands glide up Keith’s arm, hands coming up to cup his face. There’s barely a height difference, despite Lance’s insistence, but Keith feels those centimeters like miles as he looks up into Lance’s eyes.

Lance’s eyes, which are pointed south, lower than Keith’s own eyes, to stare at his lips. His eyes flit back up, and in the eye contact a silent question is asked. Keith manages a weak nod.

Their lips meet and Keith is first and foremost blown away by how soft Lance is. He’s known for months now that Lance is capable of inhuman degrees of kindness and compassion, but it’s never been directed his way. To feel this softness, of his hands, of his lips, of how he moves, is breathtaking. Keith’s hands fall to Lance’s waist and he tries to follow along, tries to be soft too. It’s surprisingly easy; Lance makes him soft, after all.

When they part, it’s all too soon.

Lance is still cupping Keith’s face, looking down at him with pure awe. Keith’s pretty sure he’s faring about the same. They’re both still blushing, and everything is warm warm warm.

“Truth or dare?” Keith asks before he knows what he’s doing.

Lance smiles, and Keith finds the other half of himself. “Dare.”

Keith licks his lips. “Kiss me again.”

Lance chuckles, leaning back in. “If you insist.”

#voltron #safevoltron #klance #klance fanfiction #voltron fanfic #txt #mine #keith #keith&lance #if there’s any typos pls lmk i can’t keep proofreading T_T #also hello 2023 voltron fandom 🫣#haven’t been here since 2018

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