#you're not late for work and rinse and repeat -
Note
I'm the anon who asked if you write for mammon and adam. I just sent the ask in, but regardless of your reply i was wondering of you could write the hazbin cast +helluva boss cast (the ones you write obviously) with a super sleepy slot like s/o? Like they sleep all the dam time and are still tired as hell, so tired they literally fall to the ground while walking in silence for too much, they sit down for a second and go out cold. They move so slow it's incredible, theyre always super clingy and always hanging on by their shoulder, It's very concerning.
lmao this made me cackle. Here ya go, sweets! Apologies if you wanted something serious, I literally couldn't 😭😭 just had lunch with my mama to celebrate her belated bday and I'm very full
sloth!like partner || hazbin/helluva boss x reader
tags: fluff, comedy, this is probably mostly crack lmao, established relationships
Alastor
Okay but remember him with the Egg Bois? That's essentially him waiting for you to get ready for your date. What feels like an eternity was only roughly thirty seconds. He hopes you haven't fallen asleep in the bathroom.
"Dearest... I could just teleport you to places with my shadow provided I'm somewhere near." He suggests. It takes him a while to get used to any sort of physical contact so he's not crazy about the clinginess and does what he can to establish boundaries if and when he feels comfortable doing so.
Lucifer
Haha! You're so adorable! He actually quite likes having you on his arm, though sometimes not literally. It's comical watching you climb him and then slowly lose your energy halfway to his shoulders and slow-motion crash land towards the ground. Rinse and repeat.
Husk
By now he's quite used to you falling asleep, especially on him. You tucker yourself out so easily, he wonders what tricks Belphegor has up their sleeves lately. Husk loves you for who you are, but he is rather curious if there's anything that can cure or at least lessen your narcoleptic behaviors.
Angel Dust
Constantly cracking jokes and puns. Some of them can come off as a little mean though it's never intended to hurt your feelings. Though, he does know not to make the 'slow-burn romance' jokes every time you guys have a date night.
Vox
He's gotten used to you being constantly sleepy and rather sluggish. He does wonder if you are, in fact, a Hellborn from Sloth instead of a Sinner sometimes or if you drew the short straw. Vox is typically okay if you're constantly sleepy and a bit sluggish, but he is a fast-paced guy and likes all aspects of his life to progress at a decent speed; romance included.
Blitzø
Deadass he's watching you slowly drag yourself face-down along the ground with a soft skrrrr skrrrr along the cement. Honestly he's surprised you made it on Earth as long as you did. This was amusing but the more you, literally, drag on Blitz isn't sure what he should do. He's probably gonna start driving everywhere. Gotta keep pollutin' bb.
Loona
With how often you sleep, Loona isn't sure how you still manage to be so tired all the time. It honestly perplexes her but she's learned to roll with it. If you're moving too slowly for her liking, she'll pick you up and carry you off like royalty-- or if you're small like Millie, Loona is gonna commit you to her backpack transit indefinitely.
Striker
|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024
"Ya'llright, darlin'?" He asked with a raised brow. You just ate shit and aren't currently really doing anything about getting back into the upright position. Striker's tail swishes curiously and he gently prods you with his boot, heaving a sigh when you move.
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagines#hazbin imagines#hazbin hotel x you#helluva boss x you#helluva boss imagines#helluva boss x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#angel dust x reader#husk x reader#vox x reader#blitz x reader#loona x reader#cherubfae 2024
704 notes
·
View notes
Note
miguel and his sunshine human gf that loves to annoy the shit out of him and sometimes in order to stop her/calm her down he has to put her in an air jail 🤭
ardor and annoyance
miguel and reader who's a bundle of energy and joy. having to tame your late night rituals is no easy task, but it's one that he's always willing to take. what's more important than having your dear lover in bed with you?
pure fluff. reader can be seen as either civilian/spider. is it really one of my fics if i don't write about how much miguel hates himself even by just a little bit
dividers by @cafekitsune
What Miguel learned from being a leader, setting an example, being his mother's son, and serving as a hero was patience.
It was a value that he had slipped up on from time to time, more often with himself. If he ever found himself at wit's end with someone else, he would mope until it passed or wait to get some precious alone time and healthily expresses his emotions by making a mess of his quarters and breaking down until he'd get tired and just sleep it off, restarting this precious cycle.
Eventually though, he had begun to no longer exhaust himself by getting angry. Unless the entire multiverse was at stake (ahem), then he'd have to spring into action. But his main priority now is to fix the problem, get it over with, rinse, and repeat.
When you entered his life, he realized that there was more to his ridiculous routines, more than his self-destructive attitudes, and that true patience came with love and caring as well. Obviously, he's light years away from being content with himself, but you redirect him, navigating through when that dastardly cycle repeats, so that you can wash it away and make him anew.
Miguel isn't the only one that has his layers peeled back though, there's so much that he notices about you. That composed and mature persona that you set up for yourself, that has built good albeit only professional connections with the other spiders eases its way into a bubbly and joyful demeanor whenever you're around him.
It almost didn't make sense, Miguel just seemed like the kind of guy to not want to do that with, to not want to relax around. He couldn't even relax on his own, the thought that anyone could feel comfortable in their own skin around him was shoved into the back of his mind. That connection that he so painfully needs is put aside for prioritizing the safety of everyone everywhere else.
Your true nature is infectious, to his dismay. It's too difficult to avoid the care that you're so insistant on giving him, it started with working overtime, to enjoying working overtime, to going over to Miguel's place for work purposes, to going over to Miguel's place for non-work purposes to kissing him for the first time, and now you're dating.
The catch with Miguel having let loose around him was that all that conserved energy circulated around his apartment, whenever he got home from another long day at the Society, he'd climb into you doing five different things all at once. Reading, watching a show, watching a baking show, baking a cake, and texting.
It was hectic, nothing that he couldn't handle, but how you're not on the verge of collapsing probably deep into the trenches of the night concerned him. For slightly more selfish reasons, Miguel doesn't like not having you in bed with him. This wasn't as extreme as the missions he took up at work, but it was a mission nonetheless.
You're... Busy, Miguel doesn't know what with. He sees yarn, he sees cookie dough, he sees a laptop, tablet, phone, and headphones, and so many other trinkets that are buried under the pile that you've built on the kitchen counter. Your focus shifts between each individual station, and Miguel shifts closer and closer to you quietly.
You're occupied on the laptop, occasionally looking at the stove while you're doing so. Then returning to your yarn and now knitting needles? Before mixing the cookie dough even more and even liking the mixture off of the spoon, humming to yourself contently.
You don't even notice that Miguel is right behind you, until he secures you against his front and lifts you up with a squeal.
"Miguel!" You whine, squirming against his solid arms. Your feet swing in the air and you try to push his hands away from your midsection, but there's no use in trying to free yourself when it's with him anyway.
"Go to sleep. No más tonterías, cariño." His voice is fogged by sleep, as his grasp on you tightens. You turn slightly with what little space that you have and you can see his slumber muddled stature. Tousled hair, relaxed expression, eyes half-lidded, and he raises a brow at your staring. "What?"
"Nothing," you sigh, "I'll go to sleep, you just have to let me go."
Miguel shakes his head, rocking your swinging body from side to sidet to go along with it as well. "No, I don't trust you." There's a humorous fry to it, you accentuate the pout on your lips, and he laughs.
It takes a little while for you to convince him to put you down, you can't say this is the most uncomfortable position for you. Whenever you're around Miguel, you always wind up in his arms one way or another, but this time that principle is just being used against you. The conversation shifts, less about your captivity, more about Miguel's day, your day, anything new outside, anything new in Spider Society. The position you're in, the silky nature in his voice, it gets you groggy and Miguel can sense it.
He wins.
He handles you to the bed properly now, laying your once tireless form onto the comforter as he tucks you in. You don't even try objecting anymore, the stove is still on, the video on your laptop was probably still playing, and that knitting project will have to remain unfinished until tomorrow, but it was fine. You know that everything is fine when Miguel gets into bed with you, pressing his lips to the top of your head in one long kiss.
He wins this little dispute of yours, but you know that you've won at life knowing that your nights end like this, engulfed in his embrace, the sound of his breathing bringing you to a deep sleep as well.
#spiderman: across the spiderverse#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#spiderman#spiderman 2099#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x y/n#x reader#x you#x y/n#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o’hara fluff#fluff#romance#i actually responded to the request this time#are you guys proud of me
531 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eddie learned about two months into dating him that Steve is an active sleeper.
He was always a bit hurt when Steve wouldn't stay the night at the trailer park; dreaded watching Steve's car drive away after a night in. At first, Eddie thought it was a hit and run situation, a one night stand that spans more than one night. And yeah, it makes sense; King Steve probably just wants a new way to get his dick wet, got tired of all the babes and such. Of course this thing they have - whatever that is - isn't serious. It makes sense and still, Eddie's hurt.
But then he starts noticing things. Like Steve's reluctance to leave but his refusal to fall asleep no matter how late it is. And it's not just with Eddie either. He's noticed that Steve always seems to clock out early at any overnight event their little group have - DnD nights in Wheelers basements, Dustin's sleepovers, hell, even Buckley's movie nights. Steve is always first to arrive and first to leave.
Eddie just can't figure out why.
He goes as far as to ask Robin. Because if anyone can give any insight into the mysterious life of Dethroned King Steve Harrington, it's Buckley. But even she has no idea. She says she hadn't even noticed.
He gets his answer a week later.
They're in Eddie's trailer. Steve drove around after his shift, they're lounging in his room, Steve sitting up again the headboard, Eddie practicing his guitar, and it's midnight, bordering on Steve's usual check out time. But Harrington's been complaining about a rough day at work - something about being swamped and Buckley ditching her shift for boobies, Munson! She ditched me for boobies - and Eddie can see his eyes fluttering and his head lolling before quickly shooting up again. Rinse and repeat. Until Steve finally begins to bustle up and leave.
Eddie begs him to stay, half because he wants him to and half because there's no way it's safe to drive home when you're two fleeting seconds away from dropping comatose. They argue back and forth, Steve typically reluctant and a bit…nervous? Scared? Eddie doesn't know. And it doesn't matter because he wears Steve down and soon enough Steve is wearing Eddie's pajamas and the two of them are cuddled up in bed together.
Using Steve as his own personal Teddy bear, Eddie sleeps soundly that night.
At least, until about three in the morning.
Ever since Vecna, Eddie hasn't been the heaviest of sleepers. So when he hears banging in the kitchen rattling through the thin membrane walls, he's upandatem pretty quickly, abruptly women up to the fact that his boyfriend isn't beside him in the bed anymore. Another bang comes from the kitchen.
Okay, he's panicking.
Armed with the old tire iron he keeps by his bed for just an occasion like this, Eddie creeps towards the kitchen, mind racing. Who the fuck is here? Did someone break in? Something? From another dimension? Images play in head like worn film, images of Chrissy Cunningham floating in his living room, the sound of her bones snapping eerily similar to the banging now.
What he is met with in the kitchen is nowhere near as scary, but ten times more weird.
Because Steve 'The Hair' Harrington is in the middle of his kitchen surrounded by what little pans and pots the Munson's own.
"Uhm…Stevie?" he calls, ever so softly. And then louder when he doesn't get a response. "Steve?"
Steve stands like a ghost in the shadows. Eddie can't help but stare at his face, so relaxed unlike anything he's ever seen before.
Then. He speaks.
"I swear I left it here…" Steve mumbles, to himself or maybe to the dark shadows surrounding. The words come out slow and monotone. Hushed, slurred together in a broken string of consciousness. It does nothing to ease Eddie's worry.
"Left what here?" he asks, looking around at the mess for some item of Steve's he might've lost. All the while Harington just stands there, dazed.
Then. "Flowers. Told Eddie I'd get him flowers."
Eddie furrows his eyebrows, pushing forward into his boyfriend's space and thoughtlessly cups his face in his hands, making him look at him. Steve's eyes are just barely open, and they're glazed over with this lost, far off look. He doesn't look at Eddie, rather through him.
And somehow, Eddie catches up, a scoff of disbelief leaving his lips. Who would've thought?
"Okay, alright sweetheart," the grin is prominent in his voice, dripping with fondness. "You're still asleep, huh?" Something inside him surges and he finds himself grazing his other hand faintly across Steve's forehead to brush his bed hair out of his face. His eyes are all the more clouded over in sweet nonsense as Eddie pushes his hair into something that doesn't resemble a sad brown mop.
"I can't…remember where…" Steve mumbles, trying to break free from Eddie's hold but ultimately failing. He lets his head drop against Eddie's neck.
"Okay, let's get you back to bed, alright?" Because that's what you're supposed to do with people who sleepwalk right? Never wake a sleepwalker, that's what they say isn't it? "Hold my hand, it's OK Stevie." Pressed up close against him, Eddie breathed in the smell of Farrah Faucet spray and citrus shampoo and led Steve back into his bedroom, hand in hand.
"How about you try to stay in bed now," he says, leading Steve as he leans against him, skin warm and citrus and weary against his own, feeling a little too much like something Eddie wants to keep holding onto.
"Got somewhere to be,"
"Not right now, cmon," Eddie gently eases Steve down onto the bed, and surprisingly, Steve lets him. Not long after, Eddie is beside him, holding onto him tight once more.
In the morning, Steve wakes up confused, like he's surprised he managed to stay in one spot all night, but doesn't mention anything about sleepwalking. He does ask Eddie, "Did you sleep well? I didn't wake you, did I?" and Eddie just kisses him, tells him, "Best sleep I've ever had. You should stay around more often."
And when Steve agrees, Eddie decides not to bring it up.
It happens a few more times after that. Not all the time but more often than not Steve will stay over Eddie will wake up to him wandering about the house. The majority of the time it's stupid stuff; Steve sluggishly pacing around the room, Steve mumbling sweet nonsense to himself, Steve trying to take a shower in the hallway. Pretty harmless stuff.
Except for the time it isn't.
That time, they're in Steve's house, big and empty. That time, Eddie wakes up at 4am and just barely catches sight of Steve's fleeting figure down the stairs. Like most times before, Eddie is quick to follow him down the stairs towards the living room, staring blankly out the window. A metallic glint flickers across Eddie's eyes. His eyes widen with concern when he realises it's a kitchen knife. Steve doesn't move, but he's breathing real heavy, like he's just waiting for something to happen.
"Steve, darling." He begins, hating how his voice is cracking. "Will you come back to bed? Please?"
This time, Steve shakes his head. Frantic. Paranoid. Eddie watches his grip on the knife tighten.
"Can't." Comes the raspy, hoarse reply. "The lights. It's out there. Swear I saw it. I swear-!"
Softly, Eddie shushes him before he can get more worked up. He stays put a good six feet away, entirely out of self preservation. Harrington's deadly with a weapon in his consciousness and Eddie wouldn't like to find out what he does in his sleep, thank you very much.
"Saw what, love?"
"I heard a thud. It's so cold."
Oh. Oh shit okay.
Eddie isn't unfamiliar with nightmares. God, after what he saw it'd be weird if he didn't have them. After Mike's apparently real psychic ex-girlfriend cut ties with The Upside Down, Eddie was a mess. He couldn't sleep, plagued with visions of terror bat's tearing away at his flesh bit by agonising bit. He can't count the number of times he called Steve in the late hours of the night in need of reassurance. To tell him that it is over now.
Steve was a rock for him. Eddie almost envied him, with how easily he managed to readjust back into normality. Never did it cross his mind it might've all been a facade.
"Steve," Eddie begins, firmly and unwavering. Slowly, he begins to etch more into Steve's space. "Listen to me. The gate is closed. Vecna and the rest of his little hell beasts are gone."
In front of him, Steve doesn't move. He doesn't even appear to have heard Eddie at all.
Eddie swallows, trying to push the thought that maybe, after so near death encounters, Steve's finally gone mad, come undone at the seams, and this is what his mental state has come too: armed with a scarily sharp knife, ready to fight any sudden movement.
"Do you think you could put down the knife, dear?" Eddie suggests lightly, gently touching the outside of his hand incase Steve needs some sort of anchor to come back to. Underneath the edges of his fingertips, Steve's touch is warm, his pulse comfortingly steady, and Eddie holds onto it, selfishly, a little longer than he should have, that tightness he is becoming so acquainted with returning to his chest. He then slips his hand further within Steve's own, carefully taking the knife from Steve's grip and interlocking their fingers as if it were the most natural thing ever. As if it had always been that easy.
"There we go," Eddie praises as he places the blade down on the coffee table. "See? All better now."
"Better…"
"You're safe, Steve. I'm safe. Everyone is safe. Those things can't hurt you anymore."
"But- the lights-"
"Are fine." Steadily, Eddie begins to back out of the room, gently pulling Steve along with him. "Now let's get you back to bed, yeah? You still gotta get your full twelve hours of beauty sleep don't you?"
A dopey smile ghosts across Steve's lips as he huffs a laugh. It's barely anything. But it's enough for Eddie.
"Yeah you do," he teases. They're in the bedroom now. Eddie guides Steve underneath the duvet. As soon as he hits the soft cushions, he curls around himself like a child, protecting himself from the intangible cold or phantom nightmares, while refusing to loosen his grip on his boyfriend's hand. Eddie feels his throat close.
He has questions. How long has Steve been having these nightmares? How many of them result in sleepwalking? How many of them are violent enough to grab a fucking kitchen knife? Why didn't Steve tell him sooner?
But they can wait until morning.
7K notes
·
View notes
Note
Fic idea for Mary: You wear one of her favourite hoodies/jerseys whilst she's at practice, and accidentally ruin it. You feel guilty and get really emotional when she returns and you tell her what happened. She just laughs and comforts you because she loves you more than she could love a piece of clothing
material posessions II m.earps
you hummed along to yourself as music drifted around your kitchen, busying yourself cooking dinner so that it would be ready by the time your fiance returned from training, knowing that after a full day of commitments she'd be both hungry and exhausted.
however in hindsight to try and dance, sing and cook all simultaneously was really quite the ambitious task. and it wasn't long before of course, something went wrong.
you'd scooped up a large spoonful of pasta sauce to taste, and too busy bopping your head along to the beat you missed your mouth completely, spilling the bright red sauce all down the front of yourself.
now in any other situation this would be easily fixable, you'd just pop it in the wash and be done with it. however, the item of clothing which was now covered in pasta sauce did not belong to you, it belonged to your fiance.
and it just so happened to be one of her favourite items of clothing. it was old and it was faded and given the years of wear and tear from both you and her it was stretched out. but it was a jumper from her grass roots club, and you knew the incredibly sentimental connection mary had with it.
and of course, it had to be white.
"fuck fuck fuck fuck." you repeated over and over, looking around in panic trying to plan your next move, well aware that every second which ticked passed only further closed the small window of time you had to fix this before a. the stain became dried out and impossible to clean and b. your fiance returned home.
you quickly pulled it off and raced to the laundry, grabbing what you needed and scrubbing at the stain, the jumper covered in bubbles as you let out a shaky breath.
you moved to the sink, rinsing it as your eyes widened, seeing now the entire front was stained a pale red colour. "oh god please work." you whispered, dumping it into the washing machine and selecting the settings, clicking it on for a fifteen minute cycle.
"baby? i'm home!" your eyes widened hearing your fiance walk through the door, of course she would be early the one time you needed her late.
you hurried out of the laundry, quietly closing the door behind you and returning to the kitchen as you heard her take her shoes off by the front door. with wide eyes you watched the sauce bubble over and spill, quickly snatching it off the heat as your heart raced.
"hello beautiful how was-" marys words died in her mouth as her eyes landed on your bare back, spare for the tattoo which wound its way down your spine. "hi love, dinners almost done." you rambled out, trying to get your head straight again as you frantically scrambled to save the meal you'd spent the last hour labouring over.
"not that i'm complaining. but would you like to explain why you're in here cooking half naked babe?" marys taller form pressed to yours from behind, her hands snaking around you, gently caressing your abs as they slowly trailed upwards.
"um, i got hot?" you winced at the poor excuse, your breath hitching as her large hands teasingly squeezed your breasts and her lips began to kiss at your neck. "i'll go put a top on now!" you pushed back into her, sending her stumbling away as you almost sprinted off into your bedroom.
mary only smiled in amusement, shaking her head at her fiance and moving to continue where you'd left off, dumping the pasta in with the sauce and mixing it, humming appreciatively as she sucked a drop of sauce off her thumb.
you quickly returned, top half now clad in one of your own shirts, not wanting to risk a repeat of earlier if you had another slip up. "i'll do that baby! go sit down." you shooed her away from the food, pulling her down to sweetly peck her lips before turning back to the meal.
"are you alright love? you seem a bit...frazzled." mary asked softly, knowing you like the back of her hand as you hummed with a nod, flickering around the kitchen trying to keep your head above water, the chime of the washing machine sounding.
"i'll grab it, i've gotta put my gloves in they proper stink!" mary chuckled to herself, grabbing her kit bag off the ground and standing as your eyes widened. "no no! i'll get it. you've been on the go all day mary, sit down." you firmly pushed her back into her seat with a quick smile, darting off to the laundry.
"and leave the food i'll finish it in just a second!" you yelled over your shoulder, also knowing mary as well as she knew you as the blonde sat back down with a roll of her eyes. "shit!" you muttered to yourself as you opened the washer and pulled out her jumper, the stain not clearing and now the entire jumper stained blotchy red.
"why." your head thumped down on the washer with a small groan, stomach tied in knots with guilt. "baby is there something in the oven? i think its burning." mary called out as your eyes widened and you shot up, leaving the wet jumper on top of the washer and shooting back out, slamming the door after you making your fiance jump.
you scrambled to the oven, throwing it open to retrieve the garlic bread you'd made. however with your head spinning like a top you neglected to remember your hands were not heat resistant like the oven mits you should have donned.
"fuck!" you swore as you grabbed the red hot tray, snatching your hand away with a hiss as mary was by your side in an instant. she hurried you to the sink, holding your hand under the cool water as her other hand reached up into the cupboards above your head, grabbing out the first aid kit with ease.
she mumbles sweet nothings to you as she gently pats your hand dry, kissing you in between each step as she carefully applies the burn cream and wraps your hand up in a bandage, kissing it softly once she's finished.
leaving you for a moment to lick your wounds she zooms around the kitchen like your own personal superhero, salvaging what she could of dinner and once she was sure everything was off the heat and all danger minimized she returned right back to you.
"come here." the taller girl wrapped you in a tight hug as you buried your face in her shoulder, feeling her fingers tangle in your hair gently as her other hand rubbed comforting circles on your back.
you stood there in one anothers safe and warm embrace for a few moments, lavishing in the comfort she brought to you without even needing to say a single word.
"now. what's happened then baby? you're not yourself." mary pulled away, hands cupping your face and tilting your head to look up at her as her eyes shone with a soft but sincere concern for your well being.
"well I-i just-and then i-" you stuttered, huffing in frustration as tears pricked at the back of your eyes, marys face softening even further as she caught them welling up, grabbing your hand as you tried to hastily wipe them away.
"hey, my love talk to me." she ordered softly, wiping away the tears which pooled in your eyes tenderly with her thumbs. "wait here." you sighed, gently pulling her hands off your face as her eyebrows knit together with a confused frown but she waited patiently none the less as you stepped away.
when you returned it was obvious that you were hiding something behind your back, the crease in marys forehead growing as you stood back in front of her.
"i wasn't being careful and i spilled something on it. then i tried to clean it and well...it got worse." you hesitantly revealed her damp jumper, mary taking it carefully off of you and inspecting it, turning the material around in her hands.
"i'm so so sorry mary. i don't know quite how yet but i promise i'll try to make it up to you. god you must be so angry i know how much it means to you, i'm so sorry." the tears returned to your eyes as mary glanced up from her jumper.
"hey hey hey." she placed it quickly down on the counter, her hands again cupping your face, a smile curling onto her lips. "why are you laughing!" you hiccuped out among a sob, mary pulling you into a hug with a shake of her head, surprising you at the action.
"i'm laughing because it's ridiculous that you think i'd ever be upset with you over something like this baby. i love you far more than any silly old jumper, more than any material posession in fact." she assured you, stealing a kiss as her hands gripped your hips, pulling you up to sit on the bench as she moved between your legs.
"honestly you're so cute." mary smiled in amusement as you used your top to wipe your eyes. "shut up." you grumbled with a small sigh, glancing down to the ruined jumper beside you. "i am sorry though. i should have been more careful!" you sighed out as mary shook her head firmly.
"no, i love when you wear my clothes, especially my football kits. seeing my last name across your shoulder blades brings me more happiness than you'll ever know." mary promised, hand caressing your face softly and bringing your lips to hers in a sweet and loving kiss.
"soon it'll be my last name." you smiled, mary holding up your hand admiring the small rock on your finger, the thought of your impending wedding making her heart soar.
"very true. but i especially love when you're in here cooking me a meal and not wearing any shorts. then when your top rides up i can see your cute little bum." mary mumbled into the kiss with a lazy smirk meaning you pulled away and smacked her shoulder with a playful roll of your eyes.
"perv." you teased, pecking her lips a few more times and wrapping her in another hug, your chin resting on her shoulder as the taller girl hunched over slightly.
"i burnt our dinner." you sighed looking at the mess of the kitchen behind you.
"yeah, yeah you did love." marys body vibrated with a quiet chuckle as she rubbed your back.
"get a takeaway?"
"get a takeaway."
485 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Tumblr Quick Start Guide
A year ago, I realized that every time I logged onto Twitter, I felt my blood pressure rise. It's a platform that runs on anger and outrage, and I wanted someplace better to spend my screen time. In my almost-year on Tumblr, I now realize I log on here and get one or two good laughs every time I check my dashboard.
Tumblr has given me a lot lately, but it is a bit different than other platforms. I'd like to give back a little and provide a quick-start guide on how being new to Tumblr worked for me.
Finding Things to Follow
The biggest thing I had to get used to was realizing that on Tumblr, you don't necessarily follow people or celebrities or politicians. You follow your interests. In fact, it's pretty common to follow only strangers that post things you like. That can make your empty dash daunting to fill! Let's fill it with things you love and make you happy.
Make a list, mental or otherwise, of things you're interested in. Be both broad and specific! Board Games. Magic The Gathering. Supernatural. Marvel. Video Games. 8-Bit. Urban planning. Any and all things that you like!
Pick one of your interests and search for that tag. Flip between "Latest" and "Top" and browse around to see what kind of content is in that tag. You'll notice images, art, gif sets, TikToks, videos, essays - all sorts of things!
If you see a lot of things you like, cool! Click the button to Follow that tag if you want to keep up to date on it and find things later (we'll come back to this).
If you see a post you love, check out who posted or reblogged it. Scroll around on their blog. Do they post similar stuff? Are there other things you like here? Are they posting often? If you like what they post, follow the blog! Congrats, you've followed your first blog!
Take some time and check out some other tags and follow the same process - follow tags you like and blogs you might be interested in. It's not possible to over-follow! You can always curate your list later. This isn't Twitter - no one cares if you unfollow someone. Find what makes you happy.
Go back to your main dashboard - how are things looking? Filled with things you're interested in? Excellent. If things don't work for you, don't be afraid to unfollow blogs.
Want to follow more blogs? New episode of Andor drop? Go to the "Your Tags" header and scroll around to find some more juicy content. Check out blogs you like, follow 'em if you like em, rinse and repeat! That's curating your dash!
Your Blog is Your House
Okay, so you have a dashboard of content that you like - but what do you do with it all? Someone once described a Tumblr blog to me like your little house that you can fill with all the things you like. There is no rhyme or reason, and you don't need an excuse to reblog something other than the fact that you liked it!
If you see something you like, reblog it! To me, I reblog things when I say "I like this and I want it to live in my house so other people can see it when they come visit"
Reblogging is like passing a message along to other people. You can just reblog it on its own to amplify it, or you can add your own tags, or if you have a funny reaction gif/thought/video/thousand-word-essay, add to it when you reblog!
Use tags. People actually find posts through tags here. Use them to help people discover that really cool reblog you found! You can also search for tags on specific blogs. This makes them great for categorizing posts on your own blog. For example, I use #2022 Game Journal when I blog about whatever game I'm playing so I can do a year-end review later and find all the posts later.
Like things too. Likes don't amplify posts, but they're nice to let a poster know you appreciated it! I also use likes a bookmark. Sometimes I don't have time to watch that TikTok, so I'll like it as a reminder to come back to it later.
Be Weird. You can have sideblogs to hold more specific content, but don't be afraid to just scoop up anything you like and put it in your house! Reblogging is how content gets passed around.
Random Blog Tips
Wow nice job, your blog's looking great! Before you know it, someone will find it, check out your posts, and maybe give you a follow if they like what you've made or what your reblog! The last thing I'll touch on here are some nitty-gritty tips that can help you think about all the meta stuff about Tumblr:
Tumblr is the most anonymous social media platform. No one has to know who you are. Take advantage of all the privacy options.
You can also hide likes and who you follow from public view - that's no one else's business! Turn off asks too if you want.
Play around with your settings in general - there are lots of customization options and other dash tabs that you can use to find new content. You can also turn on timestamps so you know if a post you see is a "heritage post," as they say. Content is evergreen here and I personally like to see that in action.
You can filter and hide tags that you don't want to see.
Just block people liberally, it's cool.
You can pay to remove ads (nice), but you can also leave the option to see Blazed posts on. Blazed posts are ones that people pay for impressions for - and any post can be Blazed. The kicker is, there's no ad targeting. It can be quite funny or quite annoying depending on what you want.
When viewing the notes on a post, you'll see comments, reblogs, and likes. For the reblogs section, I like to filter by "Comments only" to find what people have added to the post.
Like all social media sites, there are dark corners here. I think Tumblr more than most puts you in control to curate your Dashboard to only see what you want. Block a user, hide a post, and move on.
That should be quite enough to get started! Tumblr can take a little more time to "get" compared to other social media platforms (and get in on the long-running jokes!), but trust me, after a week, you'll notice the difference between checking your Tumblr dashboard and checking your Twitter timeline.
Your blood pressure will thank you.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
the mundanity of my grief disgusts me.
i go to class late every day and no one knows i'm rotting inside. the sun burns my skin and all i do is sigh because i forgot to bring money for a cab. a scream is forever stuck in my throat; stuck and never let out because that would be considered a public nuisance. my mom asks me what i want and what i want is a break but what I tell her is "anything but dosa" because that's the answer she wants to hear. your emotions are valid but they must be kept under tight wraps from 9am-5pm, 'cause it's important you stay sane during work hours. i sit cross-legged in my ratty sweatpants and write poetry and the hypocrisy of it sickens me to no end because ultimately i don't care as much as i should about the things i write. no, all i can think of is that i need to stop and start studying plant physiology. you can write odes and ballads about decay and call autumn the season of fallen angels but you still won't spare a glance at the pile of dried leaves on the side of the road because you can't be late to work.
you're sad but it's not hip or cool or pretty or even significant. i keep looking at the clock when i break down because I can't waste more than 30 minutes on this, that's plenty of time to wrap up all my drama and prepare for tomorrow's paper presentation. no one gives a fuck about your day but they should. it should be on the goddamn news, broadcasted on every channel because it's your day. a whole day. a day of your life, your world, your everything. no one cares but they should. but does it really matter, being on the news? no one watches the news anyway. oh look, you're out of groceries. you miss your mom's cooking. you seem to have a permanent headache these days and think of calling your uncle because he's a doctor. was. was a doctor. he's dead now. right. you're still out of groceries. wake, sleep, rinse, repeat.
the mundanity of my grief disgusts me. can someone burn down this world? i'd do it myself, but i have an exam this thursday.
#fellas poetry is hard when your life is monotonous as hell#you can't even be sad in a creative way#don't think i'm romanticizing grief btw sad sucks in all versions#im just saying this particular flavour sucks ass#wow i sure am an eloquent poet#my writing#prose poetry#words#writeblr#prose#grief#monotony#time
206 notes
·
View notes
Text
Let Me Take Care of You Azriel x Female Reader
All fluff
You heard the front door open and watched an exhausted Azriel walk through. He leaned back against the door after shutting it, rubbing his face with his hands while letting out a heavy sigh. In an instant you were approaching him, placing a soft kiss on his lips before taking his hand, "come on, love." You say gently leading him towards your bedroom and into the master bath. You gently nudge him to sit down on your vanity bench before starting to fill the tub with hot water. You kneel in front of him and unlace his boots. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you." He says softly as you remove one of his boots then the other. "You take care of me enough, please let me take care of you for once." You said taking off his socks. Your hands slide up his legs and you undo his pants before gently pulling them off along with his boxer briefs. Next to come off was his shirt, pulling it over his head leaving him naked. You take a moment to appreciate his body before you start undressing.
After you're standing naked in front of him you take his hand and gently guide him into the hot bath. He sits between your legs with his back to your chest. You carefully start washing his hair, your fingertips gently massaging his scalp as they glide through his hair. He lets out a soft moan as you massage his temples and behind his ears. You feel his body relax against yours. After a while you carefully rinse his hair making sure to keep the water out of his face. Next you set about carefully washing his wings, knowing how sensitive they are. Your fingers massage the soft membrane before moving towards the muscular areas. You gently clean them as Azriel shutters a little from time to time. You rinse them off and focus on the rest of him. Massaging his shoulders and back, knowing that's where he stores a lot of stress and tension.
Once his back and shoulders are free of knots you wash the rest of him. The water begins cooling and he drains it before filling it back up again, a clear sign he doesn't want this to end yet. He gently pulls your legs in his lap before leaning back into you. His head on your chest. You reach for his hand and gently start massaging his palm before focusing on his fingers. He watches you as you work. You know how he can be about his hands, you pull his hand to your lips and gently kiss the back of it before pkacing a kiss on each fingertip. You gently release his hand and repeat the kisses on the other before massaging it. "You're so good to me. Not sure what I did to get you, but I'm glad I did." He says as he settles in against you. "You deserve to be happy Az, I know you don't feel like it somedays but you do."
As the water starts to cool again he helps you out of the tub. You grab a towel and start gently drying him off. Starting with his hair and working your way down. "You don't have to do that love." He says as he watches you. "I know I don't have to. You've been working so hard lately I just want to take care of you for once." You say before kissing him softly allowing him to deepen the kiss. You break the kiss as you bear his stomach growl. "Let's get dressed and get you fed." You both walk into the bedroom and get dressed in comfortable clothes, Az puts on a pair of grey sweatpannts and you steal one of his shirts. He follows you downstairs and into the kitchen before taking a seat at the table. You made chicken and noddles and madshed potatoes for supper and the house kept it the perfect temperature while you were taking care of Azriel. "Babe if you keep doing this you're going to spoil me." He says. "You spoil me so why shouldn't I spoil you in return." You say with a smile. "Thank you for tonight." He says with a smile. "Tonight's not over." You say with a wink.
208 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wanting
summary: There's something between you and Price, something that both of you want to act on, but you won't, because you're dating someone else.
pairing: John Price x Gender Neutral!Reader
word count: 2551
warnings: Domestic violence. The violence is not shown, but the aftermath is. If that is triggering for you, please do not read.
a/n: should i open my requests up again?
You sit in the boardroom listening to the CFO drawl on and on about something you care little about. You do your work, you get paid, you go home to your boyfriend, rinse and repeat. You’re not happy, not in your home or work life, but there is one shining silver lining to working at the place you work, and he’s currently pressing his thigh against yours. You feel the heat from his skin seep through his pants and yours, causing you to shiver when he adjusts and the pressure changes points, leaving your thigh colder in some places than others.
The meeting doesn’t last much longer however and soon everyone is filing out of the conference room, talking about how they’re going to be heading home for the evening, leaving you and John Price sitting alone in the conference room.
You clear your throat and stand up, putting your stuff away in your shoulder bag, when John stands as well, turning to you and holding a hand out, like he wants to touch you but doesn’t.
“[Y/N], wait,” he says, making you pause as you face him. He reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder, and you feel yourself unconsciously leaning into his touch. “What is this?”
You look at John from underneath your lashes as you ask, “What do you mean?”
He sighs, squeezing your shoulder before moving his hand to the back of your neck. “What is this that we’ve been talking around?” You sigh and tip your head forward. John massages your neck as he says, “I don’t know how much longer I can take this, [Y/N]. I can’t keep myself away from you, and I don’t think you can keep yourself away from me for much longer either.”
You lean forward and rest your forehead on John’s shoulder, shaking your head. “You’re right. I can’t.” You lean back and turn your head so your lips are millimeters away from John’s arm, the sleeve of his button-down rolled up to his elbow. “But I’m not a cheater. I won’t cheat on Adam.”
“Are you happy with him?” John asks, moving his hand from your neck to your chin, moving your head so you’re looking at him once again.
You sigh again, closing your eyes as you think about how you’re going to say what you want to say, but when you go to speak, all you say is, “No.” You pull back slightly, shocked at your own words, but as you think about it, no. You're really not. You’ve been fighting non-stop for the past however many weeks, he refuses to help you with anything, and furthermore,you keep thinking of a tall, mustached, handsome ex-military man. “No,” you repeat, finally looking into John’s blue eyes. “No, I don't think I am happy.” John goes to speak or maybe kiss you, but you lean back, shaking your head. “But I’m not a cheater. And nothing can happen while I’m still with Adam.”
John sighs but nods. “Alright. Alright.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be here when you do. I can even be there for emotional support, if you need?”
You shake your head. “No. I think I’ll be okay…”
John nods again and brings you into a hug. “Okay. Okay.”
You pull away from John and run a hand over your head, letting out a held breath. John looks like he wants to comfort you more, but one look from you makes him think again, and he takes a step back.
“Call me? Later today?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah. Sure,” you say almost dismissively, though more distracted than dismissive.
You hear John leave, hearing him pause at the door for a moment, but you don’t look over, continuing to stare down at your sensible shoes.
—————
John is about to eat dinner when he hears a knock at the door. He gets up and slowly approaches the door, wary of anyone who would knock on his door at this late hour, but when he looks through the peephole, he immediately throws the door open to you, shivering and slightly wet, with a bruise forming next to your right eye.
“Adam didn’t like me trying to break up with him,” you say in between chattering teeth, unable to look John in the eye.
He reaches out and pulls you into him, clearly not caring about your dripping state, and you bury your face in his chest and cry. He just holds you, letting you cry out your emotions as much as you possibly can. When you feel you have a relatively more stable grasp on your emotions, you pull back, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. John reaches out and brushes gently underneath your eye with his thump before gingerly touching at the bruise next to your eye. When he touches it, you hiss in pain, and he pulls his hand back like he was burned, and looks down at his thumb like it wronged him.
Whatever he sees makes him stiffen, and he says, tensely, “Let’s get you inside.”
You nod and allow yourself to be led inside and to the couch that’s right inside the front door. When you sit, you watch John walk into the kitchen. You hear the tap run for a moment before he comes back holding a wet washcloth, and sits down in front of you. He holds up the washcloth next to your face and asks, “Is this alright?”
You nod, whispering, “Yeah,” and he starts cleaning your face with the cloth. When he pulls it back, you look down and feel your face go cold at the sight of it. “Is that… blood?”
“Yeah,” John says through clenched teeth. His hand grips the cloth tight in a fist as he spits out, “I’m gonna kill him.”
You put your hands out on John’s upper arm and sit up, pleading, “No, John, please, I- I don’t want this to escalate. I-I just want to move on. Please.”
John turns to you and you see the hurt and anger in his eyes as he says, “But, he hurt you…”
He brings his free hand up and captures your chin in his fingers. You close your eyes and lean into the touch, taking John’s hand and placing it on your non-injured cheek. “I’ll be okay. I just need you here right now,” you say, turning and kissing John’s palm.
John sucks in a breath, and you open your eyes, looking through your lashes at him. “I’ll be okay,” you whisper.
John leans in and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he kisses your forehead instead. Your eyes slip closed again in both relief and disappointment but flutter open again when John pulls back.
“Sit tight, okay?” he asks, and you nod, leaning after him as he gets up. He walks back into the kitchen and you sit in the livingroom, tapping on your knees and bouncing in your seat as you wait in silence, the only sounds the ones coming from the kitchen. You can’t see very well into the kitchen, even if you lean out of your seat, so you just sit anxiously, waiting for John to return.
When he does, he’s carrying two plates, and something underneath his arm. When he sets the plates down on the coffee table in front of you, you see he has a pasta dish. The portions aren’t that big, like he only had one serving for himself and just split it for you and him to share.
“Sorry the portions aren’t very big…” he says, trailing off.
“This is your dinner,” you point out simply, not touching the plate and even curling in on yourself.
John chuckles. “It’s fine. I probably would have had leftovers, anyway.”
You think he’s just saying this to make you feel better, but he grabs the plate and holds it out to you, so you accept it anyway and start eating. You didn’t realize how hungry you were and you devour your plate in minutes. You think you hear John chuckling at you but you ignore it as you feel yourself begin to feel a little better.
You set the plate on the coffee table, and say quietly, “Thank you for that.”
“Of course,” John says, still getting through his own plate. “Here.” He takes out what he was carrying underneath his arm before and hands it to you. It’s a bag of frozen peas. “I don’t have any ice so this is all I can give you right now.” he scratches the back of his neck nervously, and you smile at him.
“It’s alright, John. I appreciate it,” you say genuinely. You put the bag of peas gently against your quickly forming bruise, and John smiles that closed mouthed, pitying smile of his that both irks you, and endears you at the same time.
John finishes eating quickly and stands up once more, taking your plates back to the kitchen, coming back quicker than before. He sits back down on the couch, his thigh pressed against yours, and he slings his arm over the back of the couch. Taking the hint, you lean into John’s space, resting your head on his shoulder. He leans down and kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of it. You tilt your head up, moving the bag away from your eye.
“You’re not dating anyone right now…” John says, trailing off, and you shake your head, unable to say anything as you sit, enraptured by John’s bright blue eyes. “Can I kiss you?” John asks, and you nod, closing your eyes before you feel John lean in, his slightly chapped lips pressing against yours.
You gasp at the feeling, and John uses this to hesitantly extend his tongue, the velvety, wet texture pressing against your own lips, like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips through his tongue. His mustache tickles your upper lip, and you feel yourself huff out a laugh. John laughs as well, and you kiss him through shared laughter.
You kiss him quickly a few more times before pulling away, your eyes blinking slowly as you come out of the daze that was kissing John Price.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now,” John says quietly.
“Me too,” you admit with a whisper, feeling your cheeks heat at your admission. “I-” you cut yourself off as John leans in, but he freezes at hearing you talk, his eyebrows raising as he waits for your to continue. You sigh. “I don’t think I should… date… god that sounds so juvenile but I can’t think of a better word,” you ramble, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I- I think I need help… before I… date, anyone,” you explain.
John gives you that damned closed mouthed smile again, but genuinely he says, “Okay. I can wait.”
You smile at him and lean in, kissing him one last time before pulling away. You can see a slight flush on his cheeks and he smiles a genuine and open smile, before he pulls away.
“Alright,” he says, hands on his knees as he pushes off the couch. “Why don’t you take the guest room. I’ll show you where the towels are, and where the bathroom is, alright?”
You nod and John holds out a hand for you. You take it, and let him pull you up, and forward.
#my work#my writing#reader insert#cod mw2#john price#captain john price#captain price#john price x reader#john price x you#john price x y/n#john price x gender neutral!reader#john price x gender neutral reader#cod john price#john price cod
188 notes
·
View notes
Text
words, how little they mean, when you're too late
⚘ ‹ chapter index › pt. 1 pt. 2
⚘ ‹ featuring › gojo x reader
⚘ ‹ tags › implied cheating, angst, you deserve better, breaking up, gn!reader
⚘ ‹ word count › 0.774k
⚘ ‹ note › title is from sad beautiful tragic by the wonderful taylor swift. i wrote this because i was feeling very hurt and thought hey what if i make myself sadder lol
You wished he could have told you instead.
You sat on your bed; knees curled up to your chest. You wondered where Gojo was at right now. He was always bad at updating you, even with the effort he tried to show. It seemed like whenever you tried asking him to do things that would assure you of his affection, he’d tell you he’d respect it and do it–but half-ass it in the end.
The same old cycle: he ignores you, you hurt in silence; you beg for reassurance; he promises you the same thing. Rinse and repeat.
You pondered at the idea that hey, maybe, you were the problem. The self-help books and articles you’ve read told you to focus on yourself, and you do; you’ve picked up your old hobbies, tried new ones, and pieced yourself back together when you were dealing with your issues. You tried not to bother him with these things, since he often just says the same thing, and leaves you be.
Today, you didn’t text him. Last night, he’d left you to read and came back to your apartment as dawn was breaking. “Work was busy.” He’d muttered, trying to hold you, then promptly fallen asleep. His arms felt like burning metal on your skin.
Last week, you caught a bruise on his neck when he was drying his hair (“Geto pinched me really hard.”). Three days ago, you noticed faint lines on his back (“My back was really itchy.”). Yesterday, Geto called and said he saw your boyfriend leave with someone. Tonight, there was no communication from Gojo at all.
You pursed your lips and closed your eyes. This life wasn’t real, right? Maybe it was a sick and humorless glitch in the simulation.
It had been like this for two months. You tried not to doubt him. He’d always given you everything you wanted, so surely, he must love you still? Surely, there was no one else?
Your empty lock screen mocked you as the clock ticked to two in the morning. In the past, Gojo would have left work at five and told you he was coming home. You’d be commuting from your job and texting him on the train about the silly things that may have happened during the day, elaborating when you finally see each other.
Now, he would leave for work when he wasn’t supposed to with a chaste kiss on your cheek as you pretended to sleep. When you hear the door to your apartment close, the tears always came right after.
Confronting him was a tiring concept when the signs were screaming at your face to be heard. You wanted to put up a fight, wanted to make a scene, or call him names. You wanted him to hold you and say you will always be the only one, even though the words sound like poison to your ears.
Eyeing your bags by the door, you sighed. The ride to your parents’ house was a long one. You rented a car, so you could get away without a fuss, but you couldn’t seem to push away your optimism that perhaps this was all one big misunderstanding.
Your phone screen lit up, and you felt your heart drop as you read the message.
Gojo: they’re asleep right now, we could try doing it there like you’ve always wanted
Nausea churned in your stomach. You dropped your phone as harsh reality came crashing down on you. You ran to the bathroom. With shaking hands, you gripped the sink as you threw up. The sound of the faucet running filled the room with your breathing. Your chest heaved in effort, your eyes blurring your surroundings, and you thought of his lips on her neck.
Picturing the memory of his smiles, and your love for how it showed his crinkly eyes, you always thought they were yours to see up close forever. You always believed he would be yours forever. Maybe he was never yours for a while.
A sob escaped your lips as your fingers dug further into the sink. You caught sight of your reflection: red-rimmed and tired eyes, tear stains on your cheeks, and the general air of a person whose denial came to murder them in cold blood.
There was nothing left you could do when the elephant in the room had already been revealed to you.
You took one last glance at yourself in the mirror. Stepping outside the bathroom, your phone lit up once more.
Gojo: i love you
You deleted the message, grabbed your bags by the door, and didn’t look back.
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru angst#gojo angst#jjk headcanon#gojo satoru headcanon#gojo headcanon#jjk hc#no rainbows just reader questioning their worth and knowing better#slay#ashe.writing
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤
Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, fluff, comfort, crying, swearing (as usual)
Been feeling a little inferior to those around me lately. It's something I'm sure we can all relate to, so I hope this brings comfort to those who feel like they're never good enough.
Katsuki Bakugou is surprisingly good as a comfort character.
Today was just not your day. You've had these days. The ones when you would feel like you were about to cave inward. The days that you feel your strong front collapse because of the stress and pressure you exert on yourself.
Today isn't any different. Everyone in your class is constantly testing the limits, sky-rocketing past boundaries, while you...well, you...
You're just learning how to grow and improve. U.A. is a school where you need to aim for the top if you don't want to be left behind. Because of this, you feel like you're slipping further and further behind in class.
Momo is good at academics. Shoto is good at combat. Everyone is improving while you're trying so hard not to seem like a failure.
You're not bad, per se. But just seeing your classmates overcome their own boundaries and overtake you sow seeds of deep insecurity in your heart.
Today, was the day something finally snaps.
Bakugou comes over to help you study, armed with assessment books and dons thinned-rimmed glasses that make him look more intelligent and more mature. He still yells, mind you.
Every time you get a question wrong, he screams his head off while pointing out where you went wrong. He waits for you to solve the problem, and if you get it wrong again, the cycle continues. Rinse and repeat.
It got to the point when you were on the brink of tears, drawing a shaky breath as Bakugou eyeballed you write your equations with a quivering hand. You knew you'd asked for his help, even mentally fortressed yourself to focus on what you can do to improve, but...
"Dumbass, come on! This problem's fucking easy, an idiot like you can handle it!" Bakugou barks.
It's a final nudge over the delicately crafted wall that blocks out your emotions. A droplet of sorrow weasels its way past your defences, and your dam breaks.
Tears of helplessness flood your eyes as they splatter on your paper, your shaky hand pausing as you attempt to control these overwhelming feelings of inferiority gushing out.
Bakugou's still here, he can see everything, you scream at yourself...but your tears can't stop flowing. You just sit there, frozen, with tears streaming down your face and a trembling hand clutching your pencil so hard it could break.
Bakugou practically reels at the sight of you crying.
"I-I'm so sorry, Bakugou, I just," You sniffled, nose getting clogged up. "It's just...I-give me a minute," Grabbing a couple of tissues, you hastily blow your nose, trying to salvage the scrapes of dignity you have left.
"W-We can continue now, I just-" You try to clear your voice, or at least stable it to some degree. "That was just-"
"Fuck work, Y/n," He states bluntly, noticeably calling you by your first name. He tosses the book off your desk, slams his glasses on it and spins your chair to face him. "What, in the name of everloving hell is going on? Nah, don't shake that pretty little head of yours. Don't you lie to me," He snarls, words softening. "You're going through shit and you're clearly struggling, so What. Is. It."
A new round of tears hit your eyes as you choke back a sob. "I just-" Your voice is barely coherent now. Your watery eyes meet his, and it makes your breath hitch.
Bakugou's eyes were glowing with genuine care. Under those piercing, vermilion-red eyes, you can see his raw intentions laid bare.
He cares.
The words spill from your mouth as you babble, forcing yourself to admit the things you've wanted to hide, deny or avoid this entire term.
How you spent the entire lesson on Mathematics just barely grasping the teacher's words.
How hard you've been working.
How everything you do or try still makes it seem your improvement rate is put on the lowest setting of a slow-moving conveyor belt.
And Bakugou just...listens. He sits there patiently with an attentive gaze, each word you say making his eyes gaze softer and softer until it reeks of empathy for you.
He lets you explain how you feel, and doesn't say a word as you stuff your face with tissues and strewn them on the ground.
"You done?" He asks gruffly when you stop talking, making you nod your head vigorously at him. His eyes narrow on you, "Good,"
In a flash, he stands up and grabs you, pulling you into his embrace as he wraps his warm, comforting arms around you.
"Now listen here, Y/n," He says, voice hushed but holding conviction. "I'll say this once and I'll say it until it gets into that thick skull of yours. You have no right to work yourself down that hard. I don't care what words you're branding yourself as inside that blasted mind of yours, but you are not a failure."
He takes a deep breath and continues. "You are fucking incredible no matter how stupid you think you are, and you're already working even harder than most extras in our level. So can you please stop hurting my Y/n and realise how amazing you really are?"
Your breath catches.
My Y/n.
You must be going deaf or something. There's no way in a million years that he'd call you that.
"Bakugou-"
"Say it."
"I-I-" You bury your head into his shoulder, stumbling over the embarrassingly confident words he described you with. "I'm not a failure," Your voice wobbles. Bakugou raises an eyebrow. "And?"
"I'm fucking incredible." You say, heat rushing to your cheeks.
You both pull away as you wipe your tears away. Bakugou cracks a satisfied grin. "Good. Now screw this shit, we're getting a tub of ice cream in here. You need a goddamn break."
He doesn't fix your problems magically overnight. But that caramel ice cream is a sinful treat as Bakugou makes you take a nap right after the tub is finished.
It's the best sleep you've had in months.
--
When Kirishima hears about this the next day, he is adamently shocked that the both of you can so boldly claim that you're still "just friends".
Katsuki Bakugou is truly, a fucking idiot.
#bakugo x you#katsuki bakugō#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki#fluff#bakugou fluff#my hero academia#mha fanfiction#mha#bakugou katuski x reader
317 notes
·
View notes
Text
washing machine heart (18+)
toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart, baby bang it up inside.
cw; implied cheating, workplace romance, reader is the bad guy here, hurt/no comfort, eventual sex, p in v, afab reader, vulnerable wesker
pet names; dear (reader receives)
a/n; i love mitski and angst
albert isn't a stalker. not normally. he's observant, for good reason- he has to be. if he wasn't alert at all times, his life would be on the line.
that's the justification he gives himself for watching you so casually flirt with chris, and chris flirting right back. it makes his heart tick in just the worst way imaginable. his stomach tenses, a searing wave of heat washing over his back. he hates this.
you're unaware of the watchful eyes on you. how albert wesker feels about you is none of your concern, mainly because you don't work for him. and maybe it's because of that fact that you enjoy flirting with his crew so shamelessly. touching chris's arm, watching his cheeks pinken so slightly from it. chris's hand finds your waist and just as you're leaning closer, the bell signaling the end of the workday rings.
you smile seductively at Chris. "well… i've gotta go, but i'll swing by sometime, okay? pinky promise." you give the bigger man's bicep a light squeeze and then make your exit.
it hurts. albert wesker is actually hurt.
he goes home late that night after finishing some much needed paperwork, his thoughts only on you as he drives. you, again, as he gets out of his car and locks it. you, accompanying him inside while holding his arm.
and you, in his bathroom as he showers. it's not always sexual, he's a more emotionally complex man than he'd like to admit. when he imagines you with him, you're always clinging to him somehow.
sometimes, you're holding his hand as he walks through the r.p.d, other times you're kissing him with all you've got and he can't say no. if only that was real. at 38, he's accepted his life of solitude. he can't exactly have a partner with what's to go down soon anyway. it's best if he abstained.
and he does, for the most part. he goes to work, watches you flirt with chris, or barry, or jill, or even rebecca- whoever you feel like- and then goes home. rinse and repeat for weeks.
that is, until your flirtatious gaze falls on him for once. your touches on his shoulder don't go unnoticed. of course, you get little physical reaction out of him. nothing but a measly blush as he brushes your hand away.
then, you stick around until all the other s.t.a.r.s officers are gone, and it's just you and him at the end of the day.
"hey, al?" you give him a small smile, almost shy. a blush tints your cheeks, your eyes more innocent now.
"yes?" he looks up from his paperwork, still sat at his desk. pen in hand, a metric ton of papers sat on either side of his desk.
"well… i was wondering," you start, approaching his desk nervously. he stops his paperwork completely. his heart is pounding in his ears, "if you'd like to go out with me sometime."
this must be a joke.
"dear," he adjusts his glasses, "you're joking." he states plainly.
"no, i'm not. i mean it." you step closer, so you're directly in front of his desk. he leans back in his chair and sets his pen aside, his gaze fixed on you from behind his shades.
"when?"
"tonight."
"where?"
"the bar."
"what time?"
"when are you off?"
"seven."
"eight, then."
"fine. don't be late. goodbye."
successful, you walk out of his office feeling light on your feet.
the date goes well. you two drink and he's surprisingly charming under the layers of stoicism and otherworldly nerdiness. he wonders if he's dreaming the entire time. he's wanted this for so long, and now that it's happening, he feels… anxious. like he's waiting for the shoe to drop. you're stunning. too good for him, for who he really is, not the facade he's putting on now.
-
the other shoe drops in a way he wasn't expecting.
you're almost a year into your relationship. he's working all the time. it's hard for you, even harder on him to be away from you. his days off are few and far between, which he cherishes every chance he gets. while he's not the utmost affectionate person in the world, he tries. and he tries so hard for you.
"oh my god," you whine quietly as he takes you from behind, your back arched with your faced pressed into the mattress. this was meant to be quick- you have errands to run and a job to go to, all within the span of two hours. he's thrusting into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, soft groans and breathy moans leaving him, too.
you're stupidly close, especially with how he's rubbing your clit. your cunt flutters before clamping down on his dick, a loud moan leaving you.
"fuck, chris, oh my god!" you whimper as you finish.
albert has never been an angry man.
"what?" he's pulling out and tucking himself away. it settles in just exactly what you've said. just how much you've revealed within a matter of mere seconds. you turn over and sit up against the headboard.
"why did you- what is going on? tell me. tell me right now." he sits down on the bed, his hands clasped in front of him on his lap.
"nothing is going on." you're a bad liar. you always have been.
"then what was that? why?" he's nauseated. upset. betrayed. he loved you, let you in when he swore he wouldn't, kissed your scars and told you that you're the only thing he lives for.
"i-i don't- you- it's not what you think, honestly." it's too late. he's getting off the bed, running his hand through his hair as he paces. this is his karma for living. you. agonized, he leans against the doorframe to the ensuite bathroom and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"you're sleeping with him, then. that's it. that's all it is, right? just sex, not- not love, is that right?" he can't bring himself to look at you.
"he- chris keeps me company, al. you're always so busy, and it's not my fault-"
"not your fault? what, so it's my fault?"
"i didn't say that,"
"you didn't have to. i knew something was going on from the start- you always liked him more than me, so why am i even here?" he might cry.
you're grimacing.
"can't i love you at the same time i love him?"
"no! why can't you love me!? did you ever love me? was i even on your radar?" he throws his glasses on the bed and covers his eyes, trying to will away the tears.
you approach him and he stumbles back against the bathroom door.
"don't do this to us." he whispers, taking his hand away. his gaze lingers on the floor.
"it's too late."
#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#resident evil#albert wesker#albert wesker x reader#resident evil fanfiction#writing#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#albert wesker angst#angst#resident evil x reader#resident evil angst#hurt/no comfort#implied infidelity#implied cheating
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.
Best Part of the Day
Prompt Day 17: Platonic Stobin | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: S4, Platonic Stobin, Ride to School, Pre-Steddie
Steve honks the horn, and sips from his mug of coffee. It won't fit in his cup holder, so he has to rest it on his thigh. He honks again, and a minute later Robin rushes out of the front door of her house, towards his waiting car.
Arms flailing, she screams, "Hold on, I'm coming!"
It makes Steve chuckle. She's the one about to be late to school, not him. He's graduated. Family Video doesn't open for another two plus hours. He's got plenty of time to kill this morning, but he knows she doesn't want the tardy. He knows her like the back of his hand. The front of his hand?
His whole hand. For sure.
Robin fumbles with the trunk, and he watches as she unlocks it. It was just easier to give her the damn spare key instead of him having to get out every morning and unlock it.
She finally piles into the front seat, with a huff, "What are we waiting for? You're gonna make me late, dingus!"
He rolls his eyes.
"Good morning to you, too," he says, handing her his mug of coffee. He might as well. She's gonna take it from him, sooner or later. She always does. He opens the console, and hands her the bagel that he's wrapped in a paper towel, before leaning to look back over his shoulder, reversing them back onto the street.
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she's alternating between drinking coffee, and eating the bagel. Getting sesame seeds all over the floor mat. He'll have to stop by the car wash and vacuum it after he drops her off.
"There's an away game tonight," she says, done with the bagel, and now holding his coffee in one hand, putting her mascara on with the other. He watches, not sure how she's doing it one-handed.
"Yeah, the kids have told me a thousand times, like I've somehow suddenly forgotten how a basketball schedule works since graduating," Steve says, annoyed.
"I have to ride the activity bus to the game, but if you can forge me a note again, I'll ride home with you. Dibs on the front seat," she says.
Steve laughs. He's been roped into taking Dustin, Mike and Max, and Dustin's gonna hate that she's called dibs, but fair is fair. Dustin can have the front seat on the way to Hartford City.
They head down the highway, and Robin tells him about her morning. He nods, listens, and analyzes more about Vickie than he ever imagined possible. It's a ritual at this point. She pines. He gives advice she won't take.
They argue. They banter.
Rinse, repeat.
Day after day, morning after morning.
But it's often the best part of his day.
He's trying to explain exactly why she should just go for it, when Steve catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and realizes they're about to be broadsided by a van, that as far as Steve can tell, has no driver.
Steve slams on the brakes, stopping short as the van whips onto the highway from a side road, cutting him off. The driver's head just barely popping into view, mere seconds before he needed to make the turn.
"Watch it, asshole!" Steve screams, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.
"Uh, Steve?" Robin says, and he turns to look at her, and she's wearing the coffee. Brown splotches staining her white blouse, running all over his leather seats.
"Are you hurt? Did you get burned?" he asks, patting her arm down, like that'll help.
"Well, it doesn't feel great! But I think I'll live," she says. "But I don't have time to go back home and change, I'm going to be so late. Detention for me, yay," she says sarcastically.
"Take off your shirt," Steve says, and she cuts him a look, "Not like that, Jesus, Robin. I don't want to see your boobies."
He snaps his fingers, and gives her the hurry up motion.
So, she does, and he takes off his shirt, too, and stretches his hand out to offer it to her. She takes it, and slips it over her head. It's too big, but she says she doesn't care, because that's the style, apparently.
"Thanks, dingus," she says, and he slides his arms back through the holes of his vest. No shirt underneath. He looks ridiculous.
At the school, they both get out, and Robin digs out her notepad, and turns around. Steve lays the notebook on her back, and writes the note, forging Mrs. Buckley's signature to get Robin off the activity bus on the way home.
"There, done," he says, swatting her on the back with the notebook, and she takes it and rushes towards the building, turning back towards him.
"Thanks, Steve! See you tonight!" she yells and then she turns and runs away from the parking lot faster.
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but he smiles as she goes.
"Nice fashion statement, Harrington," Eddie Munson interrupts, as he climbs out of the same goddamn van that caused this whole problem in the first place. He should have known Eddie "The Freak" Munson was involved.
Steve looks down at his bare chest.
"Well, I had a shirt until you cut us off and Robin spilled coffee all over herself," Steve snaps.
"I don't know what you're talking about, that doesn't sound like me at all. I'm a great driver," Eddie says, digging around and coming up with a black, metal lunchbox.
His drugs. Steve knows all about Eddie, and his dealing business.
"Yeah, sure you are," Steve snips, turning to get into the driver's seat. He has no interest in engaging with Eddie Munson at ten 'til eight in the morning. No goddamn way.
"Nice to see you, King Steve," Eddie snarks, walking awfully slowly towards the school for someone that nearly ran them off the road to get here today.
What a dickhead.
Notes: Eddie definitely saw Steve in that no-shirt/vest combo and when presented with the opportunity to see it again in the Upside Down, and in his own vest no less, he took it, lol.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!
If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!
#steddieholidaydrabbles#platonic stobin#stobin ficlet#steve and robin#pre steddie#steddie#steddie ficlet#steve x eddie#steve harrington#robin buckley#eddie munson#thisapplepielife: short fic#thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles
56 notes
·
View notes
Note
hmm savv what would u do with mutual pining and woozi? :3c
daisy,,, beloved,,,,,,,,,, how dare you make me think about mutual pining w/ woozi ( /hj ) (i am already pining for him and thinking abt MUTUAL pining is going to drive me actually insane methinks g o d sdkjflskjdf)
ok so. SO. after vibrating in my seat and fantasizing abt lying down in the middle of the floor for the rest of time as i think about this concept, i have come to the following conclusion: mixtapes. and i mean in the classic "hey i made you this mixtape" sense
reader and jihoon are both producers for the same label and don't really interact that much at first. in fact, they don't actually even meet for the first time until soonyoung invites them both to his birthday party and they start talking shop, bonding over teasing soonyoung, and then ending the night with a promise to grab lunch together sometime.
fast forward a couple of months and they are officially Friends. they've managed to start a tradition of getting lunch together once a week and bitching about various work bullshit, and they've also started to hang out together in group settings after realizing they have more mutual friends as well
reader is the first one to send jihoon a song. it's a few hours after their weekly vent session, jihoon having taken up most of the time complaining about shitty higher-ups giving ridiculous deadlines and stuck-up idol wannabes trying to tell him how to do his job without having a clue about what his job actually is, and he gets a message from reader that says "i feel like this fits ur current mood" with a link to a song. [cw the song linked has a somewhat startling gun sound] he clicks on the link, curious, and then bursts out laughing after a few confused moments of listening bc that was NOT what he was expecting, at all
and that's how it starts, really. a few days later, he sends reader a song with the caption "how much u wanna bet soonyoung would choreograph something to this just bc it has the word 'tiger' in the title" / "no bet he absolutely would" / "ur no fun :P" / "sorry can't hear you i'm sending it to soonyoung as we speak"
pretty soon they're sending songs back and forth almost daily
"what are ur thoughts on this" / "?? i don't speak french" / "and?" / "...ok yeah this is p good"
"is this kinda close to the vibe you're trying to get for that one group you're working with?" / "not quite. but that's ok bc IM Vibin with this one"
"i need u to stop whatever ur doing and listen to this with the bassist bass you can get with w/ ur setup" / "ok??" ... "holy shit" / "RIGHT?"
fast forward another couple of months, and reader shows up to jihoon's studio with a can of coke zero and a flash drive. "what's this?" / "this, my dear woozi-ssi, is going to be the solution to our creative blocks" and then reader goes on to explain their idea: they both have tracks that they're stuck on (personal, professional, or otherwise), and so they're gonna 'sisterhood of the traveling pants this shit' ('i literally have no idea what you're talking about'). aka: reader put some files they're having trouble with on this flash drive, and jihoon's gonna add any notes/ideas he has and then give it back with some of his own trouble files on it. rinse and repeat
and not only does it work ("ohmygod i've been trying to figure out that bridge transition for DAYS THANK YOU") but it also becomes Their Thing. like, they're used to collaborating with other writers/producers/etc bc it comes with the job, but something about this silly little flash drive... feels Special. [*cough*it's because they're catching Feelings*cough*]
tHIS IS GETTING SO LONG FUCK OKAY other things i would include in this fic:
- one noticing the other has been working on a lot more love songs lately (or maybe a lot more Sad (read: pining) love songs)
- reader has a bad day at some point and they end up losing the flash drive and they have a breakdown over it (jihoon comforts them and also helps them find it we love emotional hurt/comfort in this household)
- scenes where they're individually waxing poetic about the other to different friends and the friends are like "bro. ur in love with them" "uh, no? they just have a great work ethic and a great taste in music also their lyricism is just—" "you. are. in. love." "i admire them professionally!
AND THEN THE CONCLUSION!! one of them decides to bite the metaphorical bullet and confess their Feelings. this could be either of them, but i'm gonna go with jihoon bc i can. so of course he can't just say "hey i love you" like a normal person, he has to confess through music. so he goes out and buys a new flash drive (with a really cute cover bc he knows they'd like it) and puts two folders on there. the first folder is full of instrumental files and is titled "all the times i couldn't find the words". and the second folder is titled "and all the times i could" and it's all love songs he's written inspired by/for reader
he sneaks into their studio and leaves the flash drive on your desk while you're in a meeting, and then he Waits and waits and waits some more until it's time to go home and it's been total radio silence and his heart feels like it's been crushed. so he starts to head home in the rain (bc i am a cheesy bastard and love rainy confession scenes) but after a few minutes of walking he hears shouting behind him and he turns to see you sprinting at him while screaming his name and before he can get a word out you're clutching his shoulders, soaked to the bone and asking "do you mean it? the songs, did— do you really mean it?"
and all he can do is nod because his heart still hasn't quite found its way back to his chest yet, and then he can't nod anymore because you're kissing him. you're kissing him, and he drops the umbrella he was holding and you're both kissing in the rain bc you're both obnoxious helpless romantics and "y/n-ah, i mean it— i mean it. i love you"
"i love you too, you stupid romantic bastard oh my god"
"hey, you're the one who started kissing me in the rain"
and it ends like the cheesy romcom this turned into bc i couldn't help myself and i need to lie down in a puddle of feelings now k thx
[send me a person and a trope/au and i'll tell you what kind of plot i'd write for them]
#savv answers#savv writes#ask game#daisy 🍚#daisy im so emo and its all ur fault lskdjflksjflksj#I AM HAVING#TOTALLY NORMAL AND SANE FEELINGS RN#SO normal and sane#:''D#im mclosing it actually but its Fine
97 notes
·
View notes
Note
what hurts me most is thinking abt people realizing just how YOUNG bucky actually is
it's so fucking unfair, it just breaks your heart to even think about it, doesn't it?
consider catfa. here you have a young man barely into his late 20s, when you're technically a fully grown adult, but really you're most likely still trying to get your shit together, you know, still figuring out how Adulting™ really works - and then it's one tragedy after the other for him
Bucky has his whole life ahead of him, and instead of getting to choose a path of his own, of building a life for himself, he is:
drafted into a war he never even wanted to be a part of
captured, forced into hard physical labor and ultimately experimented on against his will
kinda roped into going back to the front lines after being rescued (not against his will this time, but let's face it, there was no way in hell that he would have gone home while Steve was still out there putting his life on the line)
captured once more when his whole team thought him dead, tortured in every possible way, taken apart, experimented on some more, quite possibly put on god knows what kind of substances, either to further improve his physical performances or to aid in keeping him docile and easier to manipulate - or, well, for both of those reasons I guess
brutally stripped of his identity, his memories, his free will, his humanity, and reshaped into a killing machine, a weapon to be used whenever necessary, and, as they say, put away wet. and then rinse and repeat for sixty-nine years.
the truly horrifying part is that they didn't just hurt him, they also forced him to hurt other people. people whose lives were taken by his own hands, when he was barely even an unwilling passenger in his own body. so here he is, just… grieving,
both for himself - the years he lost to torture and brainwashing, and can never get back again; and the life he could have had, with all the people he loved, in the place he used to call home - and for all the victims of the Soldier and their respective families, left to mourn their loved ones, often without even knowing why.
he could have lived a normal, quiet, happy life, but all of that was taken away from him.
BUT but but butt butt
here's the thing.
actually, here's a couple of things.
you see, pieces of crap like Endgame will try to convince you that, if things didn't go exactly your way the first time around, you should just give up on your future altogether and fuck off to the past, where you can live out an unhealthy fantasy and have a creepy, dystopian-coded life as-- well, not even as yourself, just as somebody else wearing your own face.
don't listen to pieces of crap like Endgame, they give the shittiest kind of advice.
because! because even after everything he went through, Bucky's still alive! his life isn't over. and that's the beauty of it! he SO can still be happy, and do all the things he didn't get to do back in the day. sure, the timing might not be what he originally thought, back before the war, but just because his plans got derailed doesn't mean that he can't build his own life now. and that's exactly what he's going to do, one step at a time - and YES, with Steve by his side, if I get any say in this (and this being my answer to an ask on my blog, I get all the say lol)
so I hereby declare that Bucky gets to be as fucking happy as can be! like, SO MUCH FUCKING HAPPINESS, YOU CAN'T EVEN QUANTIFY IT. so much fucking happiness, you'd think he might get sick of it!!!! but he won't!!!!!!
I think he does find that calm he so desperately needed. I think he gets to find himself again, gets to meet all the parts of him he thought he'd lost, the ones even he had forgotten. I think, he even gets to meet some new sides of Bucky Barnes he hadn't had the chance to discover yet.
I think he learns that some days are worse than others, and on those days, he learns to show himself a little kindness, and a little forgiveness for not being who (he used to think) he was supposed to be, and a little love for who he is.
I think he also learns that, while there are some bad days, and there will always be, most of them are actually, surprisingly, good days. I think he learns that he has the right to have good days. I think he learns that he deserves to have good days. I think he learns that it's okay to feel good; that there's nothing silly or lazy in just sitting outside in the sun, and basking in its warmth like a happy little lizard, and wishing you never had to move from that spot at all.
I think he gets to be the nerd he always was deep down; science nerd, space nerd, book nerd, any sort of nerd flavor he can find the time and will to explore.
I think he gets to build a home for himself, with the man who always meant Home to him, more than any house ever could.
I think he gets to wake up to good-morning kisses, and to good-morning fingers carding tenderly through his hair, and good-morning playful groping under the sheets, and good-morning "sorry I just kneed you in the groin, lemme kiss it better for ya", and good-morning giggles because Steve's bedhead achieves epic levels of Bird's Nest first thing in the morning, and good-morning pretty eyes looking back at him from Steve's pillow, drinking him in like no sight in the world will ever be as heartrendingly beautiful as Bucky waking up next to him in their big, big bed, and good-morning "how do you want your eggs?", and good-morning "let's skip eggs and have french toast today", because today, today he's feeling good.
and that's only the start, honey 💕💕💕
#stucky just stucky#personal#bucky barnes#stucky#i got carried away fjdhsk SORRY MY BAD HONEY#*flies into the sun*
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
All I Have To Give
“Crush” Masterlist
A/N: So "From the Bottom of My Broken Heart" came on shuffle and it made me think of young Benny. My headcanon is Benny absolutely loves pop music, particularly boybands in the late 90s-early 2000 era. Also that he's a hopeless romantic and everything kinda fell into place with him in the "Crush" universe. Hope you enjoy this little cute piece about Benny with pop songs sprinkled in there.
Rating: G
Word Count: 559
Pairing: Benny Miller & BFF! GN!Reader (reader is F in some of the other fics, but this can be read as GN), Benny Miller x OCs (named and unnamed)
Plot: Benny’s got all the love to give and he's been trying to find someone to give it all to.
Contains: Benjamin being a hopeless romantic and some late 90s-early 2000 pop music references
There goes your best friend nervously walking up to the waitress who's been the apple of his eye for the last two months. He thinks that her memorizing his usual order is a sign she's interested. You don't want to burst his little bubble letting him know she also memorized yours.
That lover boy is the most hopelessly romantic person you've ever met - to a fault. Once he falls in love, he gets tunnel vision and obsesses over them. You blame it on pop music. He'll never publicly admit it, but the Backstreet Boys are his favorite boyband. He never learns his lesson though. His heart has been broken so many times, you're sure it has turned into sand. You gotta admire him though. All these rejections and heartaches never deters him from looking for love again. He's just a puppy. Literally. Give him head pets and treats, and he'll eat out of the palm of your hands.
You remember in the summer after sophomore year, on the last day of school, Ben worked up the courage to ask his current crush at the time, Kristina out after being the Invisible Man all year. He even got a summer job so he knew he'd have money to take her out. She said yes, and after a few dates, you both saw her getting cozy with a different blonde - Jaime Carter, who had a resemblance to Nick Carter. He would even tell girls that he's related to him, which you both knew was bullshit.
That summer, you must have heard Britney's "From the Bottom of my Broken Heart" more times than any song ever. NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye" was a close second. As much as he loved "Show Me The Meaning of Being Lonely", the reminder of Nick Carter made it worse. Lover Boy was hurting and pop music was his way to soothe his heart.
Then a month later, Linda walked into the doors of his job and subsequently, into his life. As he described it to you, it was like a movie moment. It happened in slow motion while Savage Garden’s “I Knew I Loves You” played in the background. When summer ended, so did his time with Linda when she went back home. She was only in town to visit family. Gone.
Once school started again, and the new girl became the new object of his affection. He worked up the courage to ask her to the Junior Winter Wonderland Bash and Christmas came early for him when she said yes. Couple of months later, he felt like his death came early when she became someone else's valentine. All or Nothing.
Then there was Tina from the music store, Becky from the movie theater, Maria from Blockbuster, Vivian at the bowling alley. Rinse, recycle and repeat. This went well into adulthood.
And today? No different. You watch Benny as he makes his way back to the booth with an extra pep in his step.
"I got her number!" Benny flashes the napkin along with his teeth.
"Good job!" You high five him and tussle his hair. "You want the rest of my fries?" you offer.
"Oooh!" His eyes light up and his ears perk up as he digs in.
20 years later and still a puppy. And every time, you hope he gets his fairytale ending.
#garrett hedlund#garrett hedlund fanfiction#benny miller#benny miller fanfiction#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#crush
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
ʿʿ✉ ⁝﹛あ﹜endless void ˎ-
marc marquez x gn!readed
genre : angst :)
warnings : this piece is definitely kinda heavy on the reader and marc being in a bad state of mental health, so pls don't read if that may upset you. stay safe lovelies <3
a/n : i pulled this out of absolutely nowhere. i usually never write things like this, but here we are. this isn't in my usual writing style and i'm unsure if anything even makes sense, but i gotta feed the marc girlies somehow i suppose
I don't know when it started. When my worth in a relationship dwindled down into a forgotten ghost. When I felt like a stranger in an empty home. When my touch meant little to a man who favored the bike beneath him. When a track burning with the smell of failure and contempt became more flavorful than the meal left cold on the table.
It would be easy for me to say it was his fault, all his fault. But I'm not stupid, not when I myself am simply not there. I'm no longer the me I could or should be, but instead a shell of a forgotten soul. For the cold meal is mine, and I myself stopped loving the thrilling burn of a completed race. I myself stopped loving the company of a soft smile and late nights of whispered love.
It stopped being his fault, and it became mine. Though, really, it became our's. We are no longer two people with entwined lives, and a need to meet as one. We are simply two people who happen to cross paths at points in time. Two people who can only blink and stare and wonder.
"Do you love me?", the question sounds more like a dread than a pondering thought. It's said with a dry mouth and an empty heart. "Yes", which isn't a lie. You can love someone and not be with them. But you can't want someone when you yourself are a void of what used to be.
"Liar"
The word isn't uttered, but it still burns my skin with hatred and somber. I simply turn away and ignore it. Ignore and forget. Ignore some more, forget again. Rinse and repeat.
And now I stand beneath a podium I haven't visited in months, looking up at a man, a version I haven't witnessed in weeks. A ball of longing and regret lodges itself in my throat and just won't buzz. I'm a stark contrast to the cheers and screams of triumph around me, and I can't bring myself to blend in.
That night I'm visited by a friend. His hair a bleach blonde, and eyes scolding and worried. I don't bother to invite him in, knowing he wasn't gonna stay for long.
I ended up on the couch, a cup of tea resting in my palms, and eyes cast downward and away from the subject opposite of me. "All I'm saying is that perhaps, you need to talk to someone. Both of you. You're just not yourself, and it's concerning"
Silence engulfs the both of us, my teeth digging into my lips, and brows scrunched. "He doesn't hate you", my eyes shoot up, skeptical. Fabio merely sighs, setting his own mug down. "I'm here for a reason, and the reason isn't you"
I ask him to leave.
Later on I find myself curled up in a suffocating pile of sheets and blankets, alone and empty. My eyes never close, and my mind never stops. The silence is broken by the creak of a door and soft footsteps. He doesn't bother to close the door, already lifting the blankets and joining me in the suffocating embrace. He entangled himself in me, not uttering a single word.
A long breath escapes me, eyes closing for a blissful moment. The blankets were still suffocating, the air too stuffy, but it wasn't experienced completely alone.
I dreaded the morning, dreaded the next night, knowing things would probably revert back to normal. I wasn't particularly stupid; ignoring a problem never works out. Especially not when you're ignoring someone. The cycle just simply never ends. An endless circle of hatred, regret, and fear simply pushed away to be dealt with later. Ignore and forget, ignore some more, forget again, rinse and repeat.
#blame this on my playlist#also im running on little sleep#so no this is not proof read#this was kinda rushed at the end so beware#also i suck at endings sooooo#motogp#motogp x reader#marc marquez#marc marquez x reader#⸝⸝ 🕸 ꒰ moto of the gp ⋅₊#⸝⸝ ✒ ꒰ reaper writes ⋅₊
30 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
canvascrib
Canvas Crib
magg0t-bible
🌀🚪am i evil, archivist?🚪🌀
24hrloverman
24 HR LOVER MAN BABY
brokkrder
It's a magical place!
doodlefoxart
Whats Up Lads