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doobea · 9 months

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SWEET / I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO DANCE - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: Your boyfriend doesn't realize how important little things are to you until it's a bit too late.

contents: established relationship, slight hurt and comfort??, slight jealousy, sfw, nagi struggling trying to process emotional needs of others - what else is new, also nagi centric, college au, mentions of fraternity formals, gn!reader, idk i hc'd nagi to be a compsci major but up to debate ig word count: 1.6K a/n: title is based off of tyler the creators song hehe its my fav from his album and omg thank u nagi for breaking me out of this writer's block, inspired by @celestair for the idea!!

Nagi hadn't really expected you to get so excited about attending his chapter formal. Hell, he didn't even know that they were going to have one in the first place if it weren't for Reo bringing it up in a passing conversation last week in your dorm room.

"We should go!" You said, and he remembers you hopping out of your seat, abandoning your assignment, and dashing immediately towards your closet for an outfit.

"Should we?" Nagi questioned, a frown creeping its way to his lips.

Reo slumped his arm over Nagi's shoulder, tugging the male slightly into his chest. "C'mon, why are you even paying the dues if you don't attend our events?" Reo sounded annoyed.

Nagi shrugged and went back to his phone, resuming the level of whatever popular gacha game that was released for that month. "Because you said it would look good on my resume or something." He answered flatly.

Of course, Nagi knew that he couldn't say no to this. As much as he would love to, once you and Reo were both set on something it's almost impossible to try and coax you two out of it. Nagi is pretty sure that this formal is going to be the bane of his college existence and that his computer science classes are, arguably, now the easiest part.

"It's too loud in here." Nagi wanted to go home the moment he stepped out of his best friend's rented limo. He feels too stiff with the suit he's currently wearing, the cologne is starting to overwhelm his senses, and he really didn't like the fact there's already a fuckton of people inside the venue.

Everything feels too congested.

The three of you take a seat at a table shared by Nagi's other 'brothers' and their dates. He really doesn't remember anyone's faces aside from maybe one or two from his classes, so he's confused when a handful of them start greeting him with fist bumps. All of which he awkwardly returns. Something about long-living brotherhood? Nagi didn't quite catch what they said.

"Do you guys want anything to drink?" Reo shouts over the music as he starts to get up.

"A cranberry vodka would be nice." You gently tug on Nagi's sleeve, attempting to break his unyielding attention from his phone. Reo had set a rule before they left, and it's a mobile game and social media app ban at the table. So, naturally, Nagi is stuck analyzing the weather app. "Do you want anything, Sei?"

Looks like tomorrow there's going to be a slight chance of rain which is pretty awesome, he thinks.

"Hm? Oh, whatever you're having, I guess."

Nagi misses the way your smile fades. "Um, make that two cranberry vodkas?"

"Ah," Reo stumbles around with his words for a bit before nodding away. "Sure, be back in a minute."

"Sei," Your voice is closer this time, lips almost pressed up to his ears to minimize the booming music in the background. "Wanna go on the dance floor later?"

Nagi pauses his thumb, hovering over a random European map, and he's already internally shrinking from the idea. "Do I have to?"

You laugh, it sounds a little forced. "Only if you're up for it."

He shrugs and eyes the surrounding area. The dance floor looks semi-packed at the moment and everyone looks equally semi-buzzed. Sitting at the table sounds better in his head. "I think I'll stay here but you can go on ahead."

"Oh," You exhale through your nose and laugh again. "Okay, if that's what you want!"

"Mhm," He hums back and settles his head down at the table, feeling almost exhausted despite not having to do much today.

Nagi doesn't notice that he's alone at the table until the DJ starts signaling everyone in the venue to pay attention to a couple on the dance floor. He only looks up when he hears Reo's name getting called out and starts to straighten his back when he sees you dancing hand in hand with him. The sight leaves Nagi gnawing the insides of his cheeks.

"Hey," Nagi turns to see two of his fraternity brothers looking at him with a bit of concern and he's not sure why that's making him feel uneasy.

"You good there?" Isagi asks, careful to sound casual, but Nagi picks up on it.

"What?" Nagi frowns, connecting the dots together. "It's fine. I don't really care about them doing stuff together anyway." It's a vague statement. Maybe purposefully vague.

"Eh? You sure about that, Nagi?" Bachira presses.

Nagi frowns again, tips his head down, and is in deep thought. "I'm actually not sure." He finally admits. Nagi is currently fighting off a weird feeling in his stomach. Maybe it's just the drink he had earlier.

He's always been fine with Reo keeping you company whenever he isn't in the mood. Whether it be eating with you in the dining halls, attending movies together, going to the mall, and so forth. Dancing isn't off the list either. He's seen the two of you dance before but isn't sure why this is setting him off. Maybe it's the thought of you being happier without him in your life that is eating him away.

"Shit, he's walking over."

"Waah, let's go!"

It doesn't occur to Nagi that Reo's in front of him until his best friend clears his throat. Reo puts a hand on Nagi's shoulder and gives him one of those looks. A look that insinuates something big that he can't place a finger on but knows it's full of negative nuance.

"Don't be an ass right now," is all that Reo says.

"An ass?" Nagi echoes.

He allows Reo to tug him out of his seat and Nagi almost feels lethargic from how long he's been sitting down. A final push towards the edge of the dance floor is when he catches your sullen figure.

"I'm surprised that you haven't caught on," Reo continues after a while. Nagi recognizes the tone. He doesn't say anything more, and Nagi appreciates it that much, at least.

It's funny how much his mood is able to shift. First from feeling annoyed, to borderline sleepy, to determined. Nagi thinks he's finally learning how to read his relationship with you.

It's only when he's inches apart that he realizes that you're on the verge of tears. Nagi instinctively reaches out his hands and softly cups your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs across in his attempt to calm you.

What's wrong, he wants to ask but he already knows the answer to that. He feels bad for complaining all week, but he feels even worse for essentially abandoning your needs for god knows how long.

Nagi chews on his lips as a new idea starts to brew. It's an uncharacteristic idea. An idea that pushes him to become a new version of himself—the person he wants to be but struggling to understand.

"Hey," Nagi calls out your name slowly. "Can I dance with you?" You open your mouth—probably to say it's okay and you'd rather not make him uncomfortable—but Nagi continues before you can get a word in, before your tears start falling. "I'm sorry, I should've paid closer attention." He says in a whisper.

You fall silent and Nagi is wondering if he's said something he shouldn't have. He quietly peers over at Reo who's aggressively nodding his head, throwing a thumbs up across the room. You shift awkwardly in place before giving Nagi a faint smile.

"I would like that," You sound a little hesitant, but surprisingly welcoming to the suggestion. "I mean, if you're okay with it?"

"Don't worry about what I think, you've done plenty for me already." And he means it.

Nagi migrates his hands from your face to your waist as the music shifts to something slower, more tender, and sweet. It's obvious to everyone in the room that you two are a little nervous and it's almost laughable. He's been dating you just shy of a year and has never once offered to dance with you. It comes as no shock to him that you're growing shy under his touch and movements, despite being together countless times. This feels different to Nagi, and he's positive you're thinking the same thing.

It takes a while, maybe because you're both getting used to this foreign feeling, but you eventually wrap your arms around his neck and hug closer to his body. Somehow, that short circuits Nagi's brain and he freezes in place.

"Sei, is everything alright?"

There's a wave of guilt that washes over his eyes. This act is weighing Nagi down, more than he wants to admit, and he has to pull away. Eyes glued to the ground because if he looks at you he'll start to feel nervous, confused, and small.

"Sorry, I'm... trying my best."

"Sei, it's okay." It's your turn to rub your hands across his cheeks and he doesn't realize that he's flushed in the face until you comment. "You're warm."

"Sorry," He doesn't know why he's apologizing again. For being flustered? Not knowing how to dance? Or afraid of disappointing you again? He thinks it's a mixture of all three.

"Hey, as long as you're trying then I'm proud of you." You reply with ease.

You're always kind to him. Most times, you don't push him more than what he's willing to give and maybe that's why he's comfortable around you. Even if he does know you're silently judging his actions but it's okay, because it's you. But he also knows that he's been taking advantage of this trait and it sucks having to find this out tonight.

Nagi nods. You're right, he doesn't need to worry about anything else but you in this moment.

#bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #doobea writing #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons #nagi seishiro #nagi seishrio x reader #wow nagi debut on my blog #i hope hes not too ooc here #dating guys like nagi requires uuh a lot of communication ig #i mean look what he did to reo #blue lock scenarios #blue lock fluff

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tvlandofficiall · 4 months

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more shifting mound?

#ooc #the shifting mound #slay the princess #i was NOT expecting to get any new art of her beyond adding new ending dialogue for the new updates and princesses... wow wow #edit like five seconds after. the official tumblr also posted this art so go reblog it from there instead eye emoji

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bigfatbreak · 10 months

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this is a psa: dont call your chronically ill coworker fuckin terminal all its gonna do is make me want to bite you

#maybe dont point at your fuckin chronically ill coworker #and insist they are DOING SOMETHING WRONG #AND IF THEY JUST CHANGED SOMETHING THEY WOULD BE HEALTHIER #YOU ABLEIST FUCK #anyway #ooc #out here fighting for my fuckin life and my coworkers are pointing and going “wow have you tried moving”#“have you tried getting more sunlight”#WE LIVE IN A DESERT SHITLIPS I CANT FUCKING AVOID IT

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boo-its-stress · 1 year

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So I had a silly little idea about what if Danny was ghost king but he didn’t actually have to be in charge because he is baby. You don’t put a baby in charge you put an adult in charge until baby is ready. Vlad would be the most qualified. But he’s Vlad. So. It needs to be somebody else. Batman. I’m talking about Bruce Wayne. Death touched and not ready to rule the infinite realms in his stead. I’m full of big thoughts on this but instead of organizing them and sharing them I wrote a little Blurbo.

Bruce was on the bat computer writing incident reports on the night’s patrol. It was a quiet night and it looked like everyone might get at least 4 hours of sleep tonight. Well, quiet on the streets of Gotham. The cave was very much not quiet as Tim seemed to have had the stupendous idea to intentionally rile Damian up. Idle hands may be the devil’s playthings but apparently an Idle Tim was more likely to lose all sense of self preservation. He wasn’t too worried yet, he could hear Dick trying to keep the peace which had about 50/50 odds of working.

The sudden silence was the absolute worst thing he could be hearing right now. He spun around in that chair as fast as bathumanly possible and stood up. Prepared to deal with an attempted fratricide. But what he saw froze him in his tracks, though not quite as literally as everything else. Damian was frozen mid leap towards an equally frozen Tim who's laughing face was in the midst of shifting towards regret while Dick was reaching out to catch him. He was instantly on guard for whoever had done this, it would be an unlikely coincidence for him to be the only one (or even one of many) left unfrozen if this was a global event that had nothing to do with him. No this was likely a deliberate act but the question remained if the intent was hostile or not. Not that it really mattered because they froze his boys and he would not be relaxing until that was undone.

He felt a presence above him and threw a batarang even as he was turning to face them. And the batarang passed straight through a floating blue humanoid. A being who radiated an aura of power that was only somewhat ruined by the pendulum clock in their chest and a total lack of concern for the weaponry thrown their way. There was a beat of tense silence before they shifted into the form of a child and gave the impression of raising an eyebrow despite not having any above the unsettling wholly red eyes “Did I catch you at a bad time Bruce? I can come back.” And just like that his guard was up even further. An intruder in the batcave with this kind of power and he knew his name? That could not mean anything remotely good. He was mentally preparing alternative methods of attack should this turn to violence, as most forms of physical attack would be useless depending on what form of phasal shifting that just was.

“Oh there’s no need for any of that Bruce. I’m just here to congratulate you on your ascendancy to Kinghood.” That left him wrongfooted and before he could even muster up a response and begin with any proper Questioning, the being continued. “Well, King Regent at least. The rightful ghost king is still a child and you possess the familial relation necessary to stand in until they’re ready to ascend the throne. Should you choose to refuse this position you have 30 days to find a suitable replacement and contact the high council of the infinite realms with this information.” And just as suddenly as the… Ghost? Just as the possible ghost had appeared, they were gone.

All at once life returned to the world and there was an audible thump as one Robin collided with another. But it was Dick who screamed. For if one were to view things from his perspective, Bruce had teleported from across the room and he thought he was immune to the Batman jump scares now! With Dick and Tim briefly caught up in their own individual terrors it was Damian who noticed something was wrong. He shoved Tim aside with contempt, rising to his feet and dusting himself off as if he felt especially dirty after the physical contact he himself had initiated. “Father? What is it?”

Bruce let out the slightest huff of relief at seeing his boys in motion once more, most wouldn’t notice it at all, but the collection of current and former robins were not most people. They were all at attention, waiting to be told and willing to resort to trickery if he wasn’t in a sharing mood. “Something was in the bat cave.” All three stiffened, knowing this was serious. He returned to the computer to begin a profile on the (man? Ghost? clock?) and also to avoid looking his children in the eye. No need to give away how badly this had shaken him. “They were capable of freezing time selectively. And froze all of you while we spoke. Possibly everyone else. Oracle, is it still 1:27 outside the batcave?”

He could hear rapid fire typing before she replied. “Matches up with the time in Gotham and there’s no noticeable time delay between here and anywhere else on Earth. I’ll have to get back to you on if we fell out of alignment with other planets, but I can tell you there’s no gaps in the footage in the batcave either, it… it looks like you teleported.”

Well that was not comforting news in the slightest. Whoever this was, they were incredibly powerful. Possibly capable of stopping all of time with (hopefully) no consequences. Looks like he might actually have to take what was said seriously. For such a powerful entity would have little reason to lie about such a thing. But could he really? He might have had a few close calls with death but he was still living? His heart was still beating? How could a living man be the reigning king of ghosts? Even as a regent? And regent to who exactly? A child? Is that by human or ghost standards? Bruce seemingly didn’t qualify as a child but would Dick? The ghost had said familial relation which was incredibly vague and unhelpful. Did his adopted children count or was it only Damian? Could it possibly be some distant cousin? He didn’t know and unfortunately he had no leads to speak of. How was he even supposed to contact this High Council of the Infinite Realms? He got the sinking suspicion that was the point. That he wasn’t being given a choice in the matter.

His eldest broke him out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder, reading what he’d written before locking eyes with him. “And what exactly did he want to talk about B?”

He couldn’t help the slight downturn of his lips as he answered, “Apparently I’ve been named the Regent King of Ghosts.”

And with the widening of Dick’s eyes and a muffled curse from Tim as he missed a step and collided with a table he couldn’t help thinking he was right. The intruder hadn’t brought anything good.

When he later called Constantine asking if he knew how to contact The High Council of the Infinite Realms and the man promptly swore before hanging up? He was absolutely sure he had found himself tangled up in something that was bound to cause him at least one headache in the near future.

When he found the first green sticky note that appeared between one blink and the next he was ready to have words with whoever put him in this position. He sincerely hoped the King he was playing regent for wasn’t Jason.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #ghost king Batman #Blurbo #This is my first post the formatting may be wonky #The writing definitely is like wow that’s some OOC shit #Feel free to add this is a vibe with no plans #but clockwork has a new soap opera #Bruce is much less amused #He has a conspiracy board dedicated to which child fought a death god #And won #Ugh somehow the first paragraph had disappeared at first. I fixed it but how even???

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carlyraejepsans · 5 months

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Do you enjoy underfell? I thought you disliked aus /genq

i don't dislike the concept of AUs itself, I'm just not a fan of like... the subculture that spawned around them in the UT fandom specifically and how it eventually took over almost all canon content (especially when it limits itself to the bros)

i like aus visually! i am an artist at heart after all. it's just that, if I'm going to care about them as stories and not just fun design ideas, my bar is uhh almost impossibly high the further you move from canon lolol.

#uf being one of those! the story is centered on certain characters (mainly asgore) behaving very ooc #so as a stickler for canon I don't have much interest in it #but there is a very clear visual idea and motif in the redesigns that ties every character together very efficiently #and also fucks like a rabid rhino #so i can appreciate its visual/aesthetic aspects instead #i mean you can't understate the impact that good *artists* specifically had on the proliferation of aus back in the day #good writing is almost inseverable from good characterization because dialogues and characterization ARE an integral part #of what makes writing good. while good art (as much as it too is tied to its own conventions) is free-er from the bounds of accuracy #as was as being easier & faster to consume. writing has to be read first. you can just look at a piece of art and go ''wow that looks sick''#without thinking about logical details/accuracy #you can show a pic of sans to an artist who's never touched the game and they might draw you the most gorgeous piece of art you've ever seen #it's significantly harder to do for writing #swap aus are a fun design challenge to see how you'd incorporate different aspects of some characters visual signatures into another #it's a game of translation of sorts. but if you want to treat it like a story well... the matter becomes a lot more complicated #answered asks #au tag

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applejuicebegood · 4 months

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All My Love - Platonic!Gaz x Teammate!Reader

Fem!Reader

Summary: Stressing over the cooking for that evening and bad memories, Y/N finds Gaz who talks them through what their feeling. A/N: Wrote this for the very sweet @midnights-song and @kaoyamamegami for their very kind words on my last fic. This one is a sorta fallow up, please enjoy! Masterlist

Cw: Descriptions of absent + alcoholic mother, mentions of PTSD-related flashbacks, elder-child syndrome Word Count: 1960

The smell of cedar smoak and garlic clung to your hands and hair. A dull ache snaked its way up the back of your knees and into your thighs. Wringing your hands with a damp tea-towel you looked over your kitchen, the results of your labour tucked away in the humming oven and boiling on the stove top. Flour and spices swirled together across every vacant surface, oil-stained pots and bowls crowded your skink, and potato skins and egg shells were crowded in a pile across from the filled compost bin you were meaning to take outside to feed to your chickens. You puffed out a long breath, resting your wrists on your hips. You had finally finished all of the cooking for tonight's supper for your teammates.

Your experience with cooking has been relegated to that of your small family. The distant memories of your aunts and grandmothers crowded in the same kitchen where you stood now, knives and peelers making quick work of the harvested meat and potatoes your farm had cultivated. It was the only thing you recalled as you struggled to discern the cramped handwriting of the recipes left behind by your family. Their jovial laughing and quick gaelic speak now distant memories carved into the cabinets and countertops. Smeared on the vintage china and cast iron skillets hung on the oak walls. If you stayed still and concentrated enough you could remember the feeling of your grandmother's rough palm on your supple cheek and her lips on your forehead. The smell of milk and wheat wafting through your senses.

You were much younger then. Your fingers easily slipping onto the knife's blade and your wrists burned from boiling pasta water. You needed to use your baby sister's step stool to stand over the cutting board properly. Your mother was too busy passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey slipping from her limp grasp to worry about feeding her children. You were the eldest, therefore it became your job to try and emulate the effortless dance you watched your female relatives perform every holiday season or family reunion.

Now you were quicker, easily controlling the tools in your scarred, tattooed hands. Your time in the military proved helpful in quickening your reaction speed, allowing you to cut through the squash and potatoes faster than before. You had begun the cooking process that morning, refusing the offered help from your teammates. Insisting that guests shouldn’t be expected to cook and that you could handle it. And you could, although it resulted in the ache in your thighs spreading into your lower back, causing a hushed groan to escape from your throat as you tugged at the roots of your hair.

You quickly turned at the harsh thumping of boots on the creaking wooden stairs. Drawn out of your spiralling stupor.

‘Holy.. smells fucking amazing in here lass..’ ‘Language! Johny!’ You say through clenched teeth, motioning to the living room couch where your baby sister was supposed to be sitting next to your captain. The volume of the football game on the TV turned down. Johnny winced in apology, hushing his booming voice to a whisper. ‘Sorry.. Sorry, here you go sit.. I’ll clean’

Johnny says after looking you over and taking the towel from your hands. Your team had gotten good at noticing when exhaustion or strain worked its way into each other's bodies. Your hunched shoulders and wide eyes giving away your building stress. ‘Oh Johnny no.. you don’t have too-’ ‘Yea.. yea, Go sit lassie.. After mak’in all this food I’m surprised you're still standing’ Johnny says ushering you to the living room before patting your shoulder and turning to find a starting point in the stack of dishes.

You sigh. The instinct of obeying your higher ranking sergeant hadn’t seemed to wear off yet. Walking to the couch you expected to have your little sister squeal and jump into your arms. Only to find her little body curled against your captain’s side. Her hands bunched up under her chin, the delicate skin of her eyelids shut. Price’s head rested on the back of the couch with his arms stretched out over the cushions, his mouth slightly agape. You quietly leaned down to brush your sister's forehead, as if in response she snuggled her cheek against Price’s side at your touch, not wanting to be woken up just yet. Price twitched in his sleep, pulling Emi closer against him. You kissed the side of her head, pulling the knitted blanket up over her shoulders and across your captain's lap. The warm prick of relief spread across your skin at the realization that your baby sister had grown comfortable enough to fall asleep in the circle of your captain's embrace. Hoping that she had found someone other than you to admire and emulate.

You made your way to the back porch, pulling on a leather overcoat to protect your warmth from the bite of the winter air. As you swung the glass door open, the brush of cold against your warm cheeks soothed you, your breath clouding up in front of you. You looked out onto the backyard of your farm, a few metres of blanketed gardening space trailing out to the fenced off cliff side. The clothesline pole used in the warmer months stood to the right, the cable attached to the house swinging in the swirling wind. The fence built to keep your cows and sheep and your sisters from roaming too close to the cliff edge poked out from the dull white snow. Past the drop of land, you could see the storm-grey waves churning and thrashing against each other like fighting children. Stretching further into the distance. You slowed your breathing and shut your eyes, trying to test if you could hear the water slap against the cliff side. When you were little, you would climb through the wire fencing and peer over the cliff's edge, never realizing how if you took only a few more steps death would embrace you like the waves embraced the fistfulls of grass and pebbles you would toss over the edge. Sometimes you wished you could return to that state of not even being afraid of falling from a cliff face.

‘Hey.. Y/N?’ ‘Oh! Kyle.. shit you scared me!’

The jolt of surprise at Gaz’s voice ran up your spine and over your chest. In your daze, you didn’t realize Gaz settled on the porch's couch, a book from the living room shelf open in his lap. The deck held a few mismatched outdoor chairs and a couch, crowded with old throw pillows and spear blankets. Small metal lanterns hung overhead, painted and decorated by your sisters when they were both in primary school. The dwindling candle light gently swayed over Gaz’s smooth brown skin, a warm break from the multitude of grey stretching out before you.

‘Heh sorry, here.. Sit. You look like you need a break’ Your boots scuffed against the deck floor as you settled yourself by Kyle. You tucked your legs up underneath you with a groan. The pain settling in your legs. You were still fixated on the blurred horizon line stretching beyond the haze of clouds that were beginning to roll in from the town harbour. Gaz’s presence beside you blurring like the apparent ending of the surrounding oceans. ‘Hey.. you alright?’ Gaz asked with the snap of his book shutting. ‘Yeah.. yeah of course.. Just, just thinking about.. Ya know, I mean… I-I just want things to be good for you guys’ You say, looking up at him. Folding your arms over your chest. ‘What.. What do you mean? Y/N.. things have been perfect, I honestly don’t know what else you could do to make this trip more enjoyable’ ‘I know.. I mean- I think, I don’t know Gaz.. I just worry that.. that this isn’t.. Ugh! I don’t even know what i’m saying’ You chuckle, gripping your head as you run a hand through your hair. Glancing at Gaz you notice him scratching the jagged scar on his forearm.

It was during a mission in your last deployment that an enemy soldier split his skin open with a combat knife. Your stitches were frantic and clumsy, being that you were in the back of a moving helicopter for the evac and you had to watch the consciousness drain out of your friend's face. You noticed how as the cut started to heal Gaz would scratch at the scar absently, something that annoyed you being that it would remind you that the split wouldn't be so gnarled had you been able to keep your shaking hands steady. ‘You really have no clue how to stop worrying..’

His tone was sad, grey like the ocean waters.

‘Worrying ‘bout you lot is my job.. It’s not something I can just.. Turn off’ You were frustrated, picking at the loose threads of the embroidered pattern lacing around your skirt. ‘I get that. I had that during my first break home, not being able to remember how to.. Ya know.. Be normal. To be a person and not a soldier. God, it would drive Ma mad, how I could only get up at five in the morning and.. Ya know.. The flashbacks’ You watched him as he talked, his rich brown eyes cast down at his hands. ‘There really isn’t a proper way to “be normal”, not after what you've been through, what you’ve seen. But that's not something you have to figure out on your own.. I mean hell, most of us would be dead if you weren't on this team Y/N’ ‘Ha.. I know’ ‘Exactly, what I mean is.. You've got people around you who would do anything for you. And we are probably the only ones who know what it’s like to be stuck in trying to remember who you were before deployment. It’s something we’ve all experienced, so don’t you believe for a second you should go through it by yourself.’ Gaz leaned forward, placing his hand on your knee. You instinctively took his fingers into your own, his hands cold. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, gently nodding your head. Your smile tight, trying to hold back the growing dampness in the corners of your eyes. You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over his knuckle. He squeezed your fingers back, a silent language you shared when words were too daunting to put together. You always found it shocking how this kind of comfort felt like it was being directed at someone else. Like it was a puzzle piece ripped in half, it could still fit in the piece but it appeared foreign. You weren't used to it, and how easily it appeared to flow from Gaz. In his words and in his viable willingness to help you. The unusual sensation of being understood made it hard to express your gratitude for it, Gaz knew this. Which is why you both sat there, in a shared understanding only the both of you as colleagues and friends could have. ‘You smell great by the way’

His blunt comment caused a ripple of laughter to fall from your lips, a tear drifting down the bridge of your nose. ‘You dick..’ You scoffed, leaning your head onto his shoulder, tucking your arm under his.

‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’

You mumble, directing your attention back to the grey horizon line. ‘What does that mean..?’ Gaz asks, following your gaze outwards. You respond with a simple sigh. The stress and aching dissipated for the moment, something you didn’t want to risk losing with your supposed inability to properly thank Gaz for his tenderness and care.

A/N: ‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’ translates to 'your such an angel' in Irish Gaelic

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torntruth · 1 month

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'you gotta be friends with me' i mean , i'm trying. i would like more friends. you gotta help me out with the how.

#[ ooc. ] 𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐒.#you ever see that in some people's rules and you're like:#wow! you make that seem easy.

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headchamberlain · 4 months

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"2nd Fyodor post of the day because I love him! Anyways,

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE ONE CHANCE J LOVE YOU ILL BW YOUR FOOTSTOOL YOU CAN RIP ME APART IM BEGGINF YOURE AMAIZNG PLEAPLEPSKPELSPLSPLSPSLSPLSPALS HAJAKAHJAHAJAKFOE IM IN UTTER BLISS WGEN IM AROUND YOY PSLPS ILL DIE FOR YOU ILL KILL FOR YOU ANYTHING IM BEFFING HAJAJAJAJA IM GOJ G DERAL I LOVE YOU. I LOVE FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY"

#ooc:#wow #i gen typed all this to be in character #i have a wattpad acc where i play as ivan #im trying to comment on every fyodor fic #as ivan #im dedicated

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ghouljams · 11 months

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fae!soap’s darling is one of those crazy makes you throw up poems in her notes app girls

Ding ding ding, here's the threat, the hard darling, the crazy girl

Warnings: Very public sex, themes around addiction/interventions(if you squint)

This is really Gaz's hunting ground. The thumping bass, the technicolor lights, the sea of people. But Soap isn't looking to hunt tonight. He's drained, wasted some of his best magic on a musician that wouldn't pan out. What he needs is thoughtless, what he needs is sex. He catches your arm as you walk past him. The prettiest thing in this hole.

"Can ah buy ya a bev, Bonnie?" He asks, watching your eyes flick approvingly down his body.

You've never been one to pass up an easy catch.

He presses you against the wall, his tongue insistent against yours, hands gripping your hips tight. You get the feeling this guy just got out of a relationship. This sort of intensity only comes from trying to forget someone. Which is good for you, means less talking.

Soap slides a hand from your hip to push between your legs under your skirt. The club is loud, crowded, not very well lit, good for a quickie. You're already wet at the prospect of it. You can feel his smile against your lips when he feels just how soaked you are. He pulls away from kissing you to press closer, speak in your ear where he knows you'll hear.

"All this for me, hen?" He's cocky, you like cocky.

"Could've been for my date if he'd found me first." You tell him, you don't think he's used to being a second choice. Cocky guys never are.

"Just have to make it f'me then," He tells you low and dangerous, fingers rubbing you through your underwear. You smile, tipping your head to suck at his neck as you rock against his fingers.

He's good with his hands, you'll give him that.

Soap pushes your panties to the side, fingers collecting your slick before pressing into your hole. They’re thick, dextrous, crooking to stroke your walls with practiced precision as the heel of his hand grinds against your clit. You hum, your hips following the stroke of his fingers. He pushes them against the spongy spot near your entrance over and over, stirring need in you like he has a direct line to your orgasm. You press against him, twist your fingers in his shirt desperate to hold onto something while he works you up. You drop your forehead against his shoulder, grind against his hand as you focus on the tight knot in your stomach.

“Come on sweetheart,” He whispers, lips catching the shell of your ear, “be good for me, yeah?” You nod all too eager to cum when you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg. That’s what you really want, you can pluck at a few strands and push yourself over the edge if it means you get fucked after. You shake against him, his fingers never stopping as your walls flutter around them. You can feel the slick dripping off of you when he pulls them out.

Soap opens his belt and fly one handed, pulling his cock free, his slick fingers pumping it, getting rid of some of your wetness before his hands hook under your thighs. He lifts you with that wonderful inhuman strength and pins you between the wall and his body. You wrap your legs around his waist as he thrusts his cock against your slit. The weight, the angle, god when he fills you he fills you. Gorgeous thick cock pushing your gooey walls apart to make room for itself, the length of him hitting you deep enough you feel it in your stomach. You purr, clenching around him as you squeeze your arms around his shoulders.

“Fuck you’re squeezin’ the life outta me, bonnie.” He groans as you tease your teeth against his pulse. That’s the idea. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, your t-shirt the only thing protecting your back from being scraped against the wall, and you bite him as he bounces you on his cock.

The drag of his thick length is hot enough to make your head spin. His hips snapping against yours, hitting that deep spot that makes your toes curl, that makes heat knot in your stomach again. You moan into your bite, doing your best to muffle yourself when all you want to do is scream. You’re oversensitive, and he is driving you back to the edge as he chases his own high. You do your best to meet his thrusts, distract him from your fingers threading through the tethers that lead off of him. There’s got to be something in- You pull on a painter’s thread and Soap shudders, pressing hard into you as he cums.

You feel the trap on your back light up, tugging attempting tethers into the sink like a black hole. Sexual energy fills you as nicely as Soap’s thick seed. Your legs feel a little weak when he pulls out and sets you back on the ground. You lean against the wall, catching your breath as he tucks himself back into his pants. You give him a thumbs up when he reaches to… you don’t know, check on you?

“I’m gonna find my date,” You tell him. A look of confusion crosses his face, you don’t give him time to respond before you disappear into the crowd. No need to stick around and deal with whatever baggage he’s got.

You bump into Soap at a shitty underground show your friend dragged you to, promising cheap drinks and hot potential hook ups. Normally you're a one and done sort of person, men are so emotional you really can't spare them more than one no strings attached fuck. You don't think this guy has even heard of feelings the way he holds you against his cock and grinds against you in the dim lights on the outside of the mosh pit. He certainly doesn't seem to feel anything but desperate when he bites your shoulder.

"Too many people," You tell him as he soothes his tongue over his bite.

"Wasn't a problem last time," You roll your eyes, yeah you'll give him that. People are a little more watchful here though, this show is at a bigger risk of getting busted up by the cops. You're not getting cuffed outside the bedroom again.

"Ok well it's a problem this time, so find somewhere private." You gripe, hearing a grumble of protest before Soap pulls away to glance around the venue. "Think there's a loft somewhere, might have a bed." You pick at your top, waiting on Mr. Bitey to come up with something better. His eyes dart around the top edge of the warehouse before nodding.

You half lead, half follow him to the loft space overlooking the party. You test the lock as he tests the bed, or the mattress. What is it with punk guys not having bed frames? Is a bed frame too establishment? Better than nothing you suppose, and the place looks clean. Now that you think about it this might be the band’s place. Funny.

You don’t really want to stick around here too long. You drop to your knees in front of Soap. His hand moves immediately to drag fingers along your jaw, tip your head to look at you.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else getting this view,” He tells you, you roll your eyes more focused on getting his belt open than whatever charm he’s trying to hit you with. It won’t work anyway, you’re more than protected against his magic. Still, it’s always funny seeing weavers try to work you.

“Your dirty talk could use some work,” You tug his pants down, wrap your fingers around his cock. You hadn’t seen it last time, but it’s just as pretty as the rest of him. You’re careful as you drag your tongue along his length, slicking the pump of your fingers. Soap swears over you, eyes fixed on the movement of your mouth. You put on a good show for him, kissing his thick cock between strokes of your hand, sucking at the head and lapping at the beading pre-cum. Your eyes lock on his, enjoying the way his pupils dilate for you.

“Fuck you are good at this,” He groans, watching you swallow the length of his cock. You hum affirmative, your hand leaving his cock to cup his balls. You’ve done this enough times, you should be at least competent at it.

You can feel the pentacles on your back starting to turn, the itch of warded magic. So compliments are part of it. Noted.

Soap’s hand presses against the back of your head, and you’re happy to give him a second just to feel your throat constrict around him as you swallow before you’re bobbing your head. Your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins and circling the head. You never take your eyes off of Soap, too eager to watch him lose a piece of his composure.

And he does, the cracks in his cocksure mask slipping as he swears and bucks into your mouth. Curling over you with a low moan when he does finally cum. You lick him clean as more hooks get redirected by your ward. More threads worked into your trap. Insurance.

You leave to find your friends before he can get it in his head to ask about the tethers.

You're talking to a guy at the bar, half interested too, when someone catches your arm and drags you away. You yank your arm away in protest and round on the guy only to realize you recognize him. Fuck what was his name, you've hooked up a couple times before.

"Oh hey, Mr. Clean, welcome back." You absolutely fumble whatever he's actually called. He barely seems to hear you, already dragging you towards the bathroom. The broken mirror and sticker covers stalls barely register over the way Soap kicks a stall open and pushes you into it. He locks the stall door behind you, and turns the both of you so you're pressed against it, dropping to his knees.

"Why is it every time I see you, you're with someone?" He asks, hardly waiting for the go ahead before he's dragging your shorts down.

"Bad timing?" You joke, he doesn't laugh frustrated with something. Not you, you think, otherwise he wouldn't press his mouth to your cunt with such an eager groan. You thread your fingers through your hair and exhale as you feel one of your hooks grab him. His tongue rolls over your clit, stoking the rapidly igniting heat between your legs, you wonder what’s got him all worked up. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’s an easy meal.

You let out a shuddering breath, his tongue following the movement of your hips as you try to keep quiet in the empty bathroom. His mouth is hot, a furnace befitting a summer fae, just at the edge of too warm for you. His lips close around your clit, fingers digging into your thighs to leave bruises for the rest of the bar to see. The suction makes your hole clench, and you can feel the way slick smears with each drag of his hungry tongue. Eating you like a last meal, fast and aggressive. Like he can’t think of anything but your cunt.

He might not be able to. You’re never sure about your dosage for repeat customers. Coaxing his energy just a little heavier, feeling the rush of it when he palms himself through his pants.

“Good boy,” You purr, enjoying the shiver that sends down his spine. The renewed need that has him pressing his tongue into you, tasting you from the source. You press your fingers a little more insistently against the back of his head, hips bucking to follow the stroke of his tongue. He needs this, you think, needs the easy rush as badly as you do. An addict chasing their high.

His tongue twists and you whine, pressing your hand against your mouth. He does it again and you know he wants to hear you. But that won’t happen here, and he sure as shit isn’t coming back to your place. Still, it’s good, electric and wet. The attention to your clit sends sparks up your spine, paying you back for leaving him last time.

His hand leaves your thigh to push his fingers into your cunt as his tongue flickers against you. His fingers crook, twisting and stroking until the added stimulation makes you push down hard against his mouth, whining loud into your hand as you cum.

You feel his tethers hit your trap hard as your legs shake. His groans against you, fingers and tongue still working your clenching cunt into overstimulation. You grab a fistful of the tethers leading off of him and yank him back. He stares up at you with glassy eyes as you pull your shorts back up and tumble out of the stall to get the fuck out of dodge.

Soap stares daggers across the bar table, his fist tightly pressed against his mouth as his scotch sweats in front of him.

"What's bit your ass?" Gaz asks, barely drawing Soap's attention away from the space over Price's shoulder.

"Ah'm bloody starvin'." Soap snaps, the other three men at the table exchange a look. He's been through more artists in the last three months than ever before.

"What happened to the bird with the violin?" Gaz tries, voice measured and slow to keep the concern at the edges. Ghost's brows twitch together watching Soap drag a hand down his face.

"Only gave me one piece."

"Any good?" Price chimes in, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. Soap frowns.

"Really good."

"Then what's the problem?" Price presses. Soap doesn't know. It used to be enough. Ages ago one haunting piece could keep him for months, years if it was good enough. He was patient, he wasn't as jaded. What happened?

"Johnny," Ghost starts, Soap turns his glare on him, Ghost glares back switching tactics as the concern leaves his voice, "Find a new meal. There's a reason leanan don't live long." Soap scowls.

"Ah found one, and they don' give two shits about me."

"Sounds like a nice change of pace." Ghost says dryly. Price nudges him.

“You got any tethers in ‘em?” Price asks, trying to ease the Scot’s tension. Soap stops, thinking. He’s met you three times, he should have something, but as far as he can feel they’ve been empty interactions. So why do you fill his head at every spare moment? Why does he want to see you so badly?

“Not one,” Soap says finally.

“Christ you’re as bad as Ghost,” Gaz groans. Price stays silent, gaze heavy, inspecting. He snuffs his cigar after a moment, and pulls a new one from his pocket.

“I’m only gonna ask this once, so I’d think real hard on it,” Price strike a match to life with his fingernail, lighting his cigar with narrowed eyes like he’s worried Soap might lie, or might not know, “How many hooks they got in you?”

Soap counts zero, nothing, tries to feel for anything new that might have latched onto him. He’d know if a human got a few hooks in him, especially if he hadn’t gotten any in them. But the longer he thinks, the more he feels them.

Intricately latticed gossamer threads dig haphazardly into him, squeezing the other tethers and wrapping around old hooks. They constrict and expand just shy of tight. Just shy of noticeable. Now that they have been noticed, the feeling makes him shudder, it’s unmistakable. Soap drags a finger along one, hissing at the blood it draws, the way the line lights up red before falling away. Gaz leans back away from him, pressing against Ghost’s stiff form. Price exhales smoke across the table, the tendrils latching onto the spider silk threads and snapping them.

#Did no one consider that Soap's darling might not be an artist?#or at least not one in anything but body language #What do you give the man that's never had to work for his darlings affection?#a chase #wow ghoul this seems like another case of two unhealthy people finding love with each other #and what about it?#I have a lot of apprehension around this darling and Soap #my worry is I've gone too ooc for Soap #but I think seeing his own destructive habits mirrored will snap him back to sweet soap #need someone to be genuine for this man #I've been thinking too many sad thoughts about Fae!Soap #Imagine a life knowing no one actually loves you they only love what you give them #afab reader #x reader #fae!Soap #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x oc #hard darling

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