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colleendoran · 3 months

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Great Big Good Omens Graphic Novel Update

AKA A Visit From Bildad the Shuhite.

The past year or so has been one long visit from this guy, whereupon he smiteth my goats and burneth my crops, woe unto the woeful cartoonist.

Gaze upon the horror of Bildad the Shuhite.

You kind of have to be a Good Omens fan to get this joke, but trust me, it's hilarious.

Anyway, as a long time Good Omens novel fan, you may imagine how thrilled I was to get picked to adapt the graphic novel.

Go me!

This is quite a task, I have to say, especially since I was originally going to just draw (and color) it, but I ended up writing the adaptation as well. Tricky to fit a 400 page novel into a 160-ish page graphic novel, especially when so much of the humor is dependent on the language, and not necessarily on the visuals.

Not complainin', just sayin'.

Anyway, I started out the gate like a herd of turtles, because right away I got COVID which knocked me on my butt.

And COVID brain fog? That's a thing. I already struggle with brain fog due to autoimmune disease, and COVID made it worse.

Not complainin' just sayin'.

This set a few of the assignments on my plate back, which pushed starting Good Omens back.

But hey, big fat lead time! No worries!

Then my computer crawled toward the grave.

My trusty MAC Pro Tower was nearly 15 years old when its sturdy heart ground to a near-halt with daily crashes. I finally got around to doing some diagnostics; some of its little brain actions were at 5% functionality. I had no reliable backups.

There are so many issues with getting a new computer when you haven't had a new computer or peripherals in nearly fifteen years and all of your software, including your Photoshop program is fifteen years old.

At the time, I was still on rural internet...which means dial-up speed.

Whatever you have for internet in the city, roll that clock back to about 2001.

That's what I had. I not only had to replace almost all of my hardware but I had to load and update all programs at dial-up speed.

Welcome to my gigabyte hell.

The entire process of replacing the equipment and programs took weeks and then I had to relearn all the software.

All of this was super expensive in terms of money and time cost.

But I was not daunted! Nosirree!

I still had a huge lead time! I can do anything! I have an iron will!

And boy, howdy, I was going to need it.

At about the same time, a big fatcat quadrillionaire client who had hired me years ago to develop a big, major transmedia project for which I was paid almost entirely in stock, went bankrupt leaving everyone holding the bag, and taking a huge chunk of my future retirement fund with it.

I wrote a very snarky almost hilarious Patreon post about it, but am not entirely in a position to speak freely because I don't want to get sued. Even though I had to go to court over it, (and I had to do that over Zoom at dial-up speed,) I'm pretty sure I'll never get anything out of this drama, and neither will anyone else involved, except millionaire dude and his buddies who all walked away with huge multi-million dollar bonuses weeks before they declared bankruptcy, all the while claiming they would not declare bankruptcy.

Even the accountant got $250,000 a month to shut down the business, while creators got nothing.

That in itself was enough drama for the year, but we were only at February by that point, and with all those months left, 2023 had a lot more to throw at me.

Fresh from my return from my Society of Illustrators show, and a lovely time at MOCCA, it was time to face practical medical issues, health updates, screening, and the like. I did my adult duty and then went back to work hoping for no news, but still had a weird feeling there would be news.

I know everyone says that, but I mean it. I had a bad feeling.

Then there was news.

I was called back for tests and more tests. This took weeks. The ubiquitous biopsy looked, even to me staring at the screen in real time, like bad news.

It also hurt like a mofo after the anesthesia wore off. I wasn't expecting that.

Then I got the official bad news.

Cancer which runs in my family finally got me. Frankly, I was surprised I didn't get it sooner.

Stage 0, and treatment would likely be fast and complication-free. Face the peril, get it over with, and get back to work.

I requested surgery months in the future so I could finish Good Omens first, but my doc convinced me the risk of waiting was too great. Get it done now.

"You're really healthy," my doc said. Despite an auto-immune issue which plagues me, I am way healthier than the average schmoe of late middle age. She informed me I would not even need any chemo or radiation if I took care of this now.

So I canceled my appearance at San Diego Comic Con. I did not inform the Good Omens team of my issues right away, thinking this would not interfere with my work schedule, but I did contact my agent to inform her of the issue. I also contacted a lawyer to rewrite my will and make sure the team had access to my digital files in case there were complications.

Then I got back to work, and hoped for the best.

Eff this guy.

Before I could even plant my carcass on the surgery table, I got a massive case of ocular shingles.

I didn't even know there was such a thing.

There I was, minding my own business. I go to bed one night with a scratchy eye, and by 4 PM the next day, I was in the emergency room being told if I didn't get immediate specialist treatment, I was in big trouble.

I got transferred to another hospital and got all the scary details, with the extra horrid news that I could not possibly have cancer surgery until I was free of shingles, and if I did not follow a rather brutal treatment procedure - which meant super-painful eye drops every half hour, twenty-four hours a day and daily hospital treatment - I could lose the eye entirely, or be blinded, or best case scenario, get permanent eye damage.

What was even funnier (yeah, hilarity) is the drops are so toxic if you don't use the medication just right, you can go blind anyway.

Hi Ho.

Ulcer is on the right. That big green blob.

I had just finished telling my cancer surgeon I did not even really care about getting cancer, was happy it was just stage zero, had no issues with scarring, wanted no reconstruction, all I cared about was my work.

Just cut it out and get me back to work.

And now I wondered if I was going to lose my ability to work anyway.

Shingles often accompanies cancer because of the stress on the immune system, and yeah, it's not pretty. This is me looking like all heck after I started to get better.

The first couple of weeks were pretty demoralizing as I expected a straight trajectory to wellness. But it was up and down all the way.

Some days I could not see out of either eye at all. The swelling was so bad that I had to reach around to my good eye to prop the lid open. Light sensitivity made seeing out of either eye almost impossible. Outdoors, even with sunglasses, I had to be led around by the hand.

I had an amazing doctor. I meticulously followed his instructions, and I think he was surprised I did. The treatment is really difficult, and if you don't do it just right no matter how painful it gets, you will be sorry.

To my amazement, after about a month, my doctor informed me I had no vision loss in the eye at all. "This never happens," he said.

I'd spent a couple of weeks there trying to learn to draw in the near-dark with one eye, and in the end, I got all my sight back.

I could no longer wear contact lenses (I don't really wear them anyway, unless I'm going to the movies,) would need hard core sun protection for awhile, and the neuralgia and sun sensitivity were likely to linger. But I could get back to work.

I have never been more grateful in my life.

Neuralgia sucks, by the way, I'm still dealing with it months later.

Anyway, I decided to finally go ahead and tell the Good Omens team what was going on, especially since this was all happening around the time the Kickstarter was gearing up.

Now that I was sure I'd passed the eye peril, and my surgery for Stage 0 was going to be no big deal, I figured all was a go. I was still pretty uncomfortable and weak, and my ideal deadline was blown, but with the book not coming out for more than a year, all would be OK. I quit a bunch of jobs I had lined up to start after Good Omens, since the project was going to run far longer than I'd planned.

Everybody on the team was super-nice, and I was pretty optimistic at this time. But work was going pretty slow during, as you may imagine.

But again...lots of lead time still left, go me.

Then I finally got my surgery.

Which was not as happy an experience as I had been hoping for.

My family said the doc came out of the operating room looking like she'd been pulled backwards through a pipe, She informed them the tumor which looked tiny on the scan was "...huge and her insides are a mess."

Which was super not fun news.

Eff this guy.

The tumor was hiding behind some dense tissue and cysts. After more tests, it was determined I'd need another surgery and was going to have to get further treatments after all.

The biopsy had been really painful, but the discomfort was gone after about a week, so no biggee. The second surgery was, weirdly, not as painful as the biopsy, but the fatigue was big time.

By then, the Good Omens Kickstarter had about run its course, and the record-breaker was both gratifying and a source of immense social pressure.

I'd already turned most of my social media over to an assistant, and I'm glad I did.

But the next surgery was what really kicked me on my keister.

All in all, they took out an area the size of a baseball. It was hard to move and wiped me out for weeks and weeks. I could not take care of myself. I'd begun losing hair by this time anyway, and finally just lopped it off since it was too heavy for me to care for myself. The cut hides the bald spots pretty well.

After about a month, I got the go-ahead to travel to my show at the San Diego Comic Con Museum (which is running until the first week of April, BTW). I was very happy I had enough energy to do it. But as soon as I got back, I had to return to treatment.

Since I live way out in the country, going into the city to various hospitals and pharmacies was a real challenge. I made more than 100 trips last year, and a drive to the compounding pharmacy which produced the specialist eye medicine I could not get anywhere else was six hours alone.

Naturally, I wasn't getting anything done during this time.

But at least my main hospital is super swank.

The oncology treatment went smoothly, until it didn't. The feels don't hit you until the end. By then I was flattened.

So flattened that I was too weak to control myself, fell over, and smashed my face into some equipment.

Nearly tore off my damn nostril.

Eff this guy.

Anyway, it was a bad year.

Here's what went right.

I have a good health insurance policy. The final tally on my health care costs ended up being about $150,000. I paid about 18% of that, including insurance. I had a high deductible and some experimental medicine insurance didn't cover. I had savings, enough to cover the months I wasn't working, and my Patreon is also very supportive. So you didn't see me running a Gofundme or anything.

Thanks to everyone who ever bought one of my books.

No, none of that money was Good Omens Kickstarter money. I won't get most of my pay on that for months, which is just as well because it kept my taxes lower last year when I needed a break.

So, yay.

My nose is nearly healed. I opted out of plastic surgery, and it just sealed up by itself. I'll never be ready for my closeup, but who the hell cares.

I got to ring the bell.

I had a very, VERY hard time getting back to work, especially with regard to focus and concentration. My work hours dropped by over 2/3. I was so fractured and weak, time kept slipping away while I sat in the studio like a zombie. Most of the last six months were a wash.

I assumed focus issues were due (in part) to stress, so sought counseling. This seemed like a good idea at first, but when the counselor asked me to detail my issues with anxiety, I spent two weeks doing just that and getting way more anxious, which was not helpful.

After that I went EFF THIS NOISE, I want practical tools, not touchy feelies (no judgment on people who need touchy-feelies, I need a pragmatic solution and I need it now,) so tried using the body doubling focus group technique for concentration and deep work.

Within two weeks, I returned to normal work hours.

I got rural broadband, jumping me from dial up speed to 1 GB per second.

It's a miracle.

Massive doses of Vitamin D3 and K2. Yay.

The new computer works great.

The Kickstarter did so well, we got to expand the graphic novel to 200 pages. Double yay.

I'm running late, but everyone on the Good Omens team is super supportive. I don't know if I am going to make the book late or not, but if I do, well, it surely wasn't on purpose, and it won't be super late anyway. I still have months of lead time left.

I used to be something of a social media addict, but now I hardly ever even look at it, haven't been directly on some sites in over a year, and no longer miss it. It used to seem important and now doesn't.

More time for real life.

While I think the last year aged me about twenty years, I actually like me better with short hair. I'm keeping it.

OK. Rough year.

Not complainin', just sayin'.

Back to work on The Book.

And only a day left to vote for Good Omens, Neil Gaiman, and Sandman in the Comicscene Awards. Thanks.

#good omens graphic novel #good omens #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #dunmanifestin

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sunderwight · 4 months

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With moshang I think I'm equally fond of the possibilities/concepts where either Shang Qinghua is ludicrously attractive to demons in a broad sense (but doesn't realize it), or, where Shang Qinghua is just some weird little gremlin and everyone else cannot wrap their head around why THE Mobei Jun is so smug about seducing this man.

Or a combination, where no demon in their right mind would ordinarily look at Shang Qinghua and perceive a sex icon, but because such a high-ranking demon has clearly done so, they go "well there must be SOMETHING going on there" and then look closer and before they know it they're on the slippery slope to being horny about a guy who could help file their taxes or arrange to have their clan base's faulty plumbing fixed.

Basically it's all good. Demons en mass going "yeah yeah big scary dudes who punch good are a dime a fucking dozen around here, but do you know how hot someone who can skillfully use an abacus is?" vs demons going "the ice king is a respectable ruler but he has garbage taste in men, we all just smile and politely nod while he insists the weird rat guy he fixated on as a teenager is a catch" vs demons going "I really don't see the appeal -- wait he did what? he killed how many guys at once with 1 trick? he betrayed WHOMST? and lived?! and he knows how to get my door to stop making horrible squeaky noises?! okay yeah figures the king would marry him" but every option is a winner.

I'm also a big fan of both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua being not very attractive to demons in general, but it also being really common for demons to get super weird about first crushes and fixate hard on them, so in that sense they are completely normal choices for a couple of high-level demons to marry. Like the demon populace can appreciate the emperor actually landing his hot teacher and the king successfully marrying his teenage sweetheart. It's an idealized fantasy in terms of the scenarios, even if the actual guys are just weird humans. Nearly every average demon has lifelong daydreams about successfully seducing their first crush, so regardless of who those crushes turned out to be it's still a power move for LBH and MBJ to actually succeed.

Bonus if the fact that both SQQ and SQH are peak lords from the same sect leads to a bunch of demon kids developing crushes on the other remaining, unattached peak lords, and chaos ensuing. Especially for Liu Qingge. I think it would be funny for him to gain a flock of teenage demons with crushes, whom he keeps trying to fight off, only to discover that beating them up does NOT discourage them at all (actually makes the crushes worse). Or Yue Qingyuan getting mobbed like he's a pop star any time he makes a diplomatic visit to the demon realms. Sha Hualing deciding that she's just waiting for Liu Mingyan to become a peak lord before they make things official, since That's Obviously How It's Done, or Qi Qingqi doing a head count one day and realizing she suddenly has a bunch of unfamiliar "guest" disciples who sigh at her a lot and have funny-colored eyes...

#svsss #moshang #bingqiu #scum villain #scum villain's self saving system

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tgcg · 5 months

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argument

its a big one

TG: alright this is probably a bust

TG: more i think about it how the fuck do you even make a marinara

TG: can i even alchemise cheese or do i gotta like alchemise the milk and curdle it myself

TG: how do you even curdle

====================

TG: make a goddamn

TG: curgler

TG: whatever

TG: internet archive gonna pull through

====================

CG: ALRIGHT DAVE

TG: shit

====================

CG: YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK OFF. I DON'T KNOW WHERE IN BULGEMUNCHING VIRULENT FUCK YOU GET THE IDEA YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD THINK ABOUT MY OWN GODDAMN PLANET. SORRY TO HAVE TO DEAL A BLOW TO YOUR IMPOSSIBLY INFLATED FUCKING EGO, BUT HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT YOUR SIDE-EYE SLACKJAW HOPELESS DEADPAN BULLSHIT BEHAVIOUR IS ACTUALLY INCREDIBLY FUCKING CONTEMPTIBLE AND DOESN'T PUT YOU ABOVE OTHER PEOPLE? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THAT?

CG: OR DID YOU JUST ASSUME FROM THE MOMENT YOU FOUND OUT I'M A REVOLTING FUCKING MUTANT LOWBLOOD FREAK THAT I'M SUDDENLY NOT ALLOWED TO LIKE THE IDEA OF MY LIFE MEANING SOMETHING AT SOME POINT?

TG: okay you are wildly misquoting me where the fuck did that come from

TG: also you scared the hell out of me

TG: im just trying to science some pizza here

====================

CG: OKAY THEN, DAVE! EXPLAIN TO ME AS WELL AS YOUR AMBLING ONE-NOTE SMOOTH EXCUSE FOR A 'THOUGHT'SPONGE CAN

CG: IN SOMEWHAT COHERENT TERMS, ALTHOUGH I KNOW THAT'S A TALL ORDER:

CG: HOW YOU SAYING MY ADOLESCENT DREAMS OF BECOMING A THRESHECUTIONER ARE "FUCKED UP AND IRONIC IN A NASTY ASS WAY" DOESN'T QUALIFY AS UNDERHANDEDLY KICKING ME IN THE MANDIBLE PRONGS!

CG: YOUR AUDIENCE AWAITS YOU WITH BATED BREATH! TAKE IT AWAY, M.C. BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.

====================

TG: okay i dont

TG: know how you got a hold of that phrasing because i said that shit in confidence

TG: get out of my business bro

CG: NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLE: THIS METEOR IS A PHYSICAL, LITERAL LOCATION WE'RE BOTH IN. IT'S NOT A FUCKING PRIVATE CHATROOM. THIS MIGHT BLOW YOUR PITIFUL MIND BUT PEOPLE CAN ACTUALLY HEAR OTHER PEOPLE TALK WHEN THEY HAVE TO SHARE A SPACE! BRO!

TG: ugh

====================

CG: AND IT'S VERY INTERESTING YOU ACCUSE ME OF MISQUOTING YOU, AND THEN SUDDENLY TURN AND SPOUT FROM THAT SHITTY DRONING GROANSHAFT OF YOURS THAT I'M INVADING YOUR PRIVACY WHEN I DIRECTLY QUOTE YOUR SMARMY LITTLE SHAMEGLOBES!

CG: WOW! TURNS OUT KARKAT IS ACTUALLY BEING GENUINELY FUCKING UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING — WHO KNEW, RIGHT? WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED THAT I ACTUALLY HAVE GENUINE COMPLAINTS TO LEVEL AGAINST THE PEOPLE WHO GO SPOUTING HOOFBEASTSHIT ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK TO THEIR ECTOSIBLINGS?

TG: no dude can you shut up a second

CG: I MOST CERTAINLY FUCKING WILL, THANKS FOR THE OFFER! I'M NEVER TELLING YOU A GODDAMN THING AGAIN, SO I HOPE YOU MANAGE TO GAIN SOME WRINKLES TO THAT VESTIGIAL FLAWLESS ORB FLOATING AROUND IN YOUR CAVERNOUS NUGBONE FROM ALL THIS. I HOPE IT WAS WORTH ALL THE EFFORT ON YOUR END.

TG: listen!!!!

====================

CG: MHM! MY AURICULAR CHAMBERS ARE WIDE OPEN!

TG: jegus

TG: okay

TG: i have no defense for my literal phrasing but how expeditiously did you shadowstep the fuck away after i said that

TG: because that is some shrek tier "princess and ugly dont go together" level misrepresentation of my sweet self

TG: like if this wasnt obviously a heated platonic argument we were having i would probably be digging what the reference even if it was a shitty trope

====================

TG: i just

TG: have been thinking about some things and none of those things have got an iota of a thing to do with you or your blood

TG: thing

TG: man

TG: i dont know why you think id be so pressed about your vein juice its like

TG: a normal ass color for a normal ass guy

TG: and obviously it was a major fucking deal from how you talk about it but it doesnt need to be anymore

====================

TG: the thing is i just dont like have the same attitude as you about fighting and stuff and thats not something i am getting into right now but i am gonna make it expressly clear

TG: that its just kind of fucked up for me to sit my ass down and listen to someone spew gold and medals and confetti colored shit going googoo all over tall and loathsome ass bloodletters he never knew

TG: and have him tell me he wants to be the best guy at combat since samurai fuckin jack

TG: and thats my capital B business believe me the emphasis is there

====================

CG: SO IS THIS ABOUT ME WANTING TO BE PART OF SOMETHING YOU DON'T AGREE WITH? BECAUSE THRESHECUTIONERS DON'T EVEN FUCKING EXIST ANYMORE. I LITERALLY COULD NOT DO THIS IF I TRIED AT THIS POINT, SO YOU CAN UNKNOT YOUR “KNIGHTY WHITIES” ABOUT IT.

TG: being anti-military is not my point but damn if it isnt a thing thats probably true anyways so good job sleuthing that out

CG: WHAT IS YOUR POINT, DAVE.

TG: bluh

TG: i just said i dont wanna talk about it man

====================

CG: OKAY,

====================

CG: OKAY.

CG: I MEAN. IT FEELS KIND OF IMPORTANT TO THE CONTEXT OF THIS WHOLE UNAMBIGUOUSLY PLATONIC ARGUMENT WE'VE BEEN HAVING

CG: WHICH I'M RELIEVED WE AGREE ON BY THE WAY

CG: BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO KNOW I'M NOT GOING TO WRING IT OUT OF YOU. IT'S FINE.

====================

CG: …IF YOU DECIDE AT SOME POINT THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME THOUGH, MY RUMBLE VESSELS ARE STILL OPEN.

TG: i swear youre making those up on the spot at this point

CG: I'M KEEPING MY LANGUAGE'S ART ALIVE, DAVE. IT'S BASIC DECENCY TO THE PLANET THAT RAISED ME.

TG: heh

====================

TG: yknow we got these things called anatomical snuffboxes

TG: its got that right amount of vague nose wrinklage to it that i feel like youd be right at home saying that

TG: snug as a grub even

CG: WHAT PART IS THAT???

TG: its that little weird bone bit that sticks out on the back of your palm when you flex your thumb right

====================

TG: look

CG: HUH. LOOKING AT THAT IS KIND OF WIGGING ME OUT.

TG: yeah its kinda gross rose told me about it

TG: but anyways

====================

TG: are we cool

CG: I MEAN… I GUESS SO. YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY INSULTING ME, RIGHT?

TG: hell no dude never

CG: OKAY. I COMPLETELY RESCIND THE MYRIAD OF WAYS I JUST INSULTED YOU. AND I'M SORRY.

TG: nah i know its just fluff at this point

====================

CG: I STILL DON'T APPRECIATE YOU TELLING ROSE THINGS I SAY TO YOU IN CONFIDENCE. THAT WAS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND MY NOW NON-EXISTENT HOME PLANET ROTTING AWAY TO A CRATERED GRAY HUSK IN ANOTHER DEAD UNIVERSE.

TG: i swear that was like the only thing its just that she gets it and i cant keep my mouth from going on about the gettable stuff

TG: they call me the babbling brook the way my flows so audible

TG: i wont do it again

CG: NO,

====================

CG: I GET IT HONESTLY.

CG: I'M BASICALLY THE NUMBER ONE PROPRIETOR OF AIRED GRIEVANCES IN ALL OF PARADOX SPACE AND THEN SOME, AND I'D ALSO BECOME ITS BIGGEST HYPOCRITE IF I HELD IT AGAINST YOU.

TG: thanks

TG: but i mean

TG: at the gigantic risk of sounding uh

====================

TG: ………..

CG: ?

====================

TG: well

TG: i kinda just think youre better at being a guy to chill out and watch movies with than a guy to tangle fists with

TG: and i dont think theres anything wrong with being that

TG: i think its cool

====================

CG: …THAT'S AN ALARMINGLY BRAZEN OBSERVATION TO MAKE OF SOMEONE YOU'VE KNOWN FOR ABOUT THE SPAN OF SEVEN SEASONAL EQUINOXES, DAVE.

TG: i dont know what that means but it sure is probably

CG: AM I ALLOWED TO ASK WHAT EVEN GIVES YOU THAT IMPRESSION????

TG: i just got that inkling about you man

====================

TG: and you can do whatever you want with that info

TG: throw it in the load gaper or whatever if you want i dont really care

TG: give it a swirly and slam it in a locker call it a nerd break its glasses whatever

TG: but beyond this whole lord english thing weve got going on i am pretty content to never aggress my fellow man slash alien slash monster again if i can help it

TG: i think thats pretty fair given what thats been like so far

====================

TG: and yknow its cool to have some company when im waxing emotional over the narrative depth of click starring adam sandler which we are watching next by the way

CG: UGH, FIIIIIIIIINE. JUST TO MAKE UP FOR CALLING YOUR THINKPAN SMOOTH AND SUPERFLUOUS.

====================

TG: score

TG: we should argue all the time

CG: SNRK

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #meteorstuck #comix #argument

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dolliestfairy · 9 months

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𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝅄ֹ ׅ♡ ೀ ʚĭɞ ‌ིᨴּ ˒˒۪

(Crazy) Yandere [Nerd] Boy x Soft!Chubby!Fem!Reader ༢𓏲๋ ⊹ ֢

𔓘 Tw : Kidnapping, Extreme Noncon (y'all are strangers bro), Rushed Fanfic, Mentions Of Blood, Virginity-Take, Extreme Somnophilia, Stalking, Extreme Obsession, Impregnate, A little of Bondage, Seriously dude you're fucking with a crazy nerd boy who is a freaking stranger to you like y'all didnt know each other but this madman is really know you to the soul from all his stalking and stuff. this fanfic is quite the Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned.

𔓘 A/N : y'all.. this are f***king insane bro.. like this is kinda disturbing imo as a writer of this and also a lot of suffocating. Read at your own risk. me myself actually like the extreme yandere fics but this is still the prefix of it. stay safe while reading this because again; y'all are a stranger!! if a dark content yandere isnt your cup of tea then i highly recommend you to spend your shit at other blogs!! ty.

W/C : 6,4K for Stranger Fucking 💀

Currently thinking abt nerdy men who looks like they would shit in their pants when someone raised their voice at them, but the truth is; he's really really quite the strong. he's a nerdy man who arent shy at all (or maybe just a little) and he's simply just dont like to be bothered by anyone else. he's also a nerdy man who told himself countless time to just focus on studying and studying, and at the first moment; he actually manage to do it within his daily life, well until he met you.

You; plump, soft looking girl with chubby cheeks and doe eyes. you dont even know how much you affect him didnt you? arent you just dumb? walking there and then with such a tiny skirt that almost showed up your plump ass cheeks. walking down in the hallway with such dress that hugged all of your curves together perfectly. oh if only you find out how every night he would spend his time in his bedroom alone while his hand thrust his own cock up and down, thinking about you. he would be drown in his thoughts about how you would find out all his dark fantasy about you. but.. he do realize he shouldnt be doing this actually, no really, he should just be studying, but the soft laugh and those.. those whimpers terror you gave him just drove him to his edge.

And the fact that he masturbate about you when you both are clearly still stranger - is fucking crazy. he mostly had heard of how'd you talk, whimper and moan (wait.. how did.. he know?) and stuff like that while your own self being completely un guard around him. he swear to his thumbs he hated you for making him felt like this, i mean how could you?? a plump girl just trying to get into her daily life as normal as usual can make some nerd dude mad in love with her without her being aware at all?! he cant do this.. he cant do this anymore..!

And he really cant do it anymore. as he go to your apartement at midnight after finding out where you live. peeking through the window to what you were doing only to find you dressing in a short pastel rainbow dress lingerie with big bows placed in the back of your hair, dancing to some songs.. and oh my god he cant even explain how much he want to ripped those colorful dress lingerie off your body. he has no doubt at all that you have the most beautiful body he would ever sees in his entire life.

As he drown himself in his own thoughts until he heard a telephone ring -- it was your friend! your male friend! as you picked the phone up, talking with your friends, while he sees with his own eyes about the way you laugh softly at what-god-knows your friend was muttering to you. he doesnt and he would rather bury himself alive than admitting about the fact that he was really, really, envy and jealous. as he harshly breath at you, while all his body is literally focus with you. his eyes seeing you from head-to-toe, his ears listening carefully about the conversation you're having as his mouth try to resist to open it again because well um -- he is quite the drooling over there. that was it until you start to walk towards the front door where he was outside!!

As he sees you carefully, while hiding himself in the corner, and focused on the door handle you're about to open. until........

Until he quickly enough to put his arms and placed it onto your mouth, shuting you up until you passed out and bring you to your new home his home. as he open the bondage he placed at your mouth, and pinch your chubby cheeks until he sees your whimpering again. thats it! thats the thing that always drove him mad everydsy everynight. thinking about you whimper at whatever he was doing was like a holy candle for him. he then stood himself up, looking at your half unconscious body, and then start to strip you... to naked.

As he softly ripped all the dress lingerie you weared, and after he got the look at your boobs, he slowly put his hands up at where your nipples on, and start playing with it. while his eyes focused on your face, waiting the reaction he have been wait. and until then... you are moaning. honestly he have been thinking that he was in a dream that time. i mean -- he do have seen you moan by the way he always check on you secretly.. but he never except his own self to be the only one who could capable enough to hear your soft moan. as he sped up the phase of his hands playing your nipple, while his own other hand strat to undress himself.

And until he and your own finally completely naked. and... oh god to be damned. he swear he always sees you at some kind of whore while your other friend sees you just as an innocent normal girl, and he always have no doubt about his feelings That you have such an erotic body and at the end.. he was actually right. you do have a very very.. pleaseable body. as he placed his hands into your half unconscious body, lowering it until his hands touch your private part -- your pussy. he slowly but surely put his 3 long fingers in to play with you, and to be surprised or.. shocked even, that you are so so fucking damn tight! he even sure that your pussy is one of the most tightest thing he'd ever placed his hands on, as he quickly sped-ing up his pace at playing your pussy, watching you moan and whimper become one, he cant believe what he saw. you're literally still half unconscious! but yet you somehow still manage to bring out the sound he would die for with! at this rate he doesnt know if he wants to wake you up or just let you still be half unconscious so when you wake up, you're gonna have a some extra surprised with your naked body that has been covered with his cums. as he thinking about it while he placed his (quite big) cock at your pussy. trying to rip those tight wall of your pussy off. thats what he was trying to do until your pussy start showing a little drop of blood out of it.

Oh.. he get it.. yeah he actually get it. You're a Virgin arent you? oh.. such sweet cheeks.. well too bad yoi're going to give all of your innocents left as his own hands and dicks. the body of someone you dont even know at all. he actually felt (just a little) bit of guilt. but who cares anyway? you're literally still half unconscious! as he said it to himself while he tried his possible to pound your ass up at your fat pussy. going in and up in every corner. at first it was slowly, but then he start to change the position into a mating press just so the cums and the blood are still there. as he quickly but surely speeding his pace up like a mad man. at this rate he was at the edge of doesnt gave a fuck about the fact that you're still half unconscious but then he's also at the edge of shock and unbelief because of how you are still not waking up at his pounding.

And all of those pounding ends when his cock start to dried out with how your fat pussy suck all his cums and sperma in. pulling his cock out of your pussy only to see the view of the inside of your pussy, being drown with his cums. as his hands hold your body up just so all the cums he had restored isnt goung to spill. and until then he slowly put his hands down, letting your body down into the mating press position, watching your pussy spilling all of his cums like a fucking waterfall. (his cum waterfall) and then he placed his palm hands at your cheeks softly, while quietly muttering about how he would take care of you, and keeping you safe and that you wouldnt need to be scared of him (even after all his done to you) as he placed his other hand at your undressed belly, and then stroke it with such gentleness because he knew that right now, right at the almost-morning time, that you're going to be swellen with thousands - thousands of his sperm, and at the end of the month, he would see you placed your own hands at your bellies who at that time was full with his kid. oh how he cant wait... he just hope that you wouldnt be freaked out about the fact that you just found yourself in a unrecognizeable place with a literal fucking stranger who is now has placed a baby inside of you. yes, a baby -- his baby.

TSUKISHIMA KEI, ITOSHI RIN, MEGUMI, Itachi, Shikamaru, Nanami, Neji, Tobirama, Deku, KUNIMI, Muichiro, SEMI EITA, Konoha Akinori, Venti, XIAO, AL-HAITAM, Akaashi, KOZUME KENMA, & hatake kakashi.

did i forgeting anyone? insert ur fav!

Dolliestfairy's © Works. Do Not Repost My Creation at Any Platfroms Without My Permission.

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celestie0 · 3 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

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hyperfixat · 8 months

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Since Belphie’s ‘animal’ is a cow here are some headcanons that make me like him more:

he has separation anxiety and his worst fear is to be separated from his brothers/family: cows are social creatures and do not tend to do well on their own

It usually isn’t so explicitly stated, but in the way he holds you close with his whole body while napping, and the way he tugs you closer with his tail in public, make way for one of his worst fears… that of losing another loved one.

personally i think he has (in his human form) larger than average hands and tongue, and cows are lickers! they groom each other to share bonds, and i think him licking mc is so cute (i also mentioned this in my other headcanon set)

Sometimes you wake up a little damp after sleeping or napping with Belphie, but you always assumed that it was just sweat from his infernal heat. What you do not know is that in those bleary moments of wakefulness that Belphie gets he takes his flat tongue to flatten your hair and go along whatever part of your body he can reach without moving too much.

while he is a sleepy little dude he goes ham for enrichment toys like balls and sticks. while he won’t chase or fetch anything, he may be caught bouncing a giant beach ball around or rubbing on certain objects

You’ve started to bring little trinkets you got from a cheap import shop up to Belphie. He seems so lonely and bored up there that your heart can’t help but ache a little. The shiny ones you buy go to Mammon, but the matte, colorful ones you tuck away into your pocket to bring up to the demon in the attic.

It’s worth it for the way he grunts and acts uninterested, but still shoves his hands through the bars of Lucifer’s magic caging him. It’s worth it when you catch sight of him bouncing, tossing, and fiddling with them when your arrival caught him off guard. It’s worth it when with a shy blush on his face Belphie admits that the gifts, no matter how cheap, meant a lot to him.

#belphie #belphegor avatar of sloth #obey me belphagor x reader #belphegor x mc #verified hyperfixat post #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #belphie x reader #om hcs #obey me headcanons #obey me belphie headcanons #obey me headcanon #belphegor headcanons

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mvnsvn6 · 7 months

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Have a mini fic about Steve annotating books and Eddie finding it really hot🖤

So obviously, Eddie's a bookworm. Before he had any friends, he spent the better parts of his childhood at Hawkins Library after school and Hawkins Middle's library during any recesses and lunches. He constantly read books, this was before Wayne got him a guitar and before he got into dnd, and being a bookworm tremendously helped him fuel both of those hobbies later on. But before then? The library was like a second home to him.

And so, recently founding out that Steve reads, like a lot, is something of a revalation. It's not that Eddie thinks the guy is stupid, but he figured the guy spent time doing other productive hobbies at home. But the guy reads, and as previously mentioned, Eddie considers himself a literature connoisseur of sorts. Writing book reports and essays were one of the few things he actually excelled at in high school.

So anyway, he found out that Steve is a book nerd by finding one of Steve's books open on his bed. Not really the strangest thing that Eddie's come across in Steve's room if he's being honest, and not the biggest indicator of nerdiness, until he focuses his attention and acknowledges the bright colors sprawled across the pages.

A burst of rainbow colors underlining what Eddie guesses are his favorite parts of the story or important stuff he wanted to remember. And obviously, Eddie has to ask him about it. and Steve explains to him that he has a whole color key and it's made up of romantic lines that make him feel warm, sad stuff that makes him tear up, stuff that is word for word undoubtedly Steve Harrington sprawled on a page. Steve won't tell him which color is which, too embarrassed by it, but he lets Eddie read through them, and then he stares at Steve in unyeilding fondness.

The look reflected on Steve's is not the same, mostly anxiety and insecurity, which Eddie immediately wants to soothe. It's so so sweet he thinks but Eddie's mouth translates the words into, "That's so fucking hot." Which, shit man, it is but he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Shut up, dude, don't make fun of me right now."

And listen, books are everything to him, this is no joking matter. They inspire his own stories, whether through a dnd campaign or writing song lyrics. It's honestly probably the most attractive thing a person could do in Eddie's opinion, he didn't know how hot until right about now, but he'll die on this hill. Annotating your books is hot.

"Listen to me when I say this Steve, while that is the nerdiest thing I've ever heard and I'm, ya know, me. It's also about the most attractive thing that's come out of that pretty mouth of yours, like ever."

And Steve folds his arms across his fucking beautifully sculpted chest and narrows his eyes just slightly, raising a judgemental eyebrow at him.

"You're being serious."

Oh he's never been more serious about anything in his life.

"Uh...yeah? Yes. Oh my god."

Yeah, real eloquent Edward.

Whatever, his heart is pounding profuesely against his rib cage because holy shit Steve is a book nerd and Eddie wants to kiss him fucking yesterday. So he gets on all fours on Steve's bed to lean forward and basically attacks his mouth before he can even think about it.

And when he pulls back, Steve's pupils are blown wide and his breath has picked up pace, and Steve keeps bouncing between looking at Eddie's eyes and his lips.

"You just kissed me."

It comes out disbelieving.

"Yeah and with your permission I'd like to continue, like stat, immediately, now."

"You're insane."

And hands weave through curls and pull.

Eddie tumbles foward, ending fully sprawled on top of Steve, and, jesus christ, body pressed impossibly close to his.

And after they're romantic, read: nerdy horniness, little makeout session, he forces Steve to read the annotations himself, going through all the books that are important to Steve. He has to stop himself from moaning to really emphasize how hot he finds it, and to make Steve slightly embarrassed, but refrains. Just lets him continue.

Eddie has never been so in love in his life.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #stranger things fic #my writing

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yuyusuyu · 4 months

Text

the return of the princess treatment chronicles ?!

synopsis. mingi loves that you treat him like a princess, really, he does! hey, he means it! he really likes it! however... he's a tad bit sad that he's the only one getting flustered by such actions while you're basking in pride of your affect on him. which is why he must show you the power of the princess treatment himself! little does he know that you, his sweets, also have a very special list...

pairing. bf! song mingi x fem! reader

genres/au. fluff, romance, comedy, established relationship, non idol au, (implied) college au

warnings. couple stuff (kissing, hugging, etc.), cursing, teasing, mentions of alcohol (and alcohol consumption), a guy being weird 💀, yunho has. a weird goofy and all knowing moment (i will not elaborate on this).

rating. mature (alcohol consumption)

wc. 3.4k

part 1 here !

a/n. my last work of the year ! how exciting~~ i hope you all like the long awaited part two of the princess treatment chronicles !! not proofread... again... lol...

reblogs and comments are appreciated as it helps with not getting shadowbanned !

MINGI looks down at you, eyes narrowed as he tries to gauge your expression, while you happily hum. he wants to ask you if you feel uncomfortable, holding his hand while he has his arm thrown over your shoulder, instead he asks the opposite.

"be honest," he says, his tongue darting out to lick his lips while your gaze flickers up to him, trying to see him through the worn edges of mingi’s hoodie, before going back to what's in front of you. "do you know about the list?"

"what list?" you ask, a brow raised at him. you push the door open to the bar and walk in after he does. "oh!" gasping, you grin at him, entwining your hands. "are you talking about the poems you have in your notes app?"

mingi gapes at you, ears turning bright red and his cheeks matching the color. "what? no!"

"oh," you blink at him. "well, that's the only thing i've read on your phone. which reminds me…" stopping before you reach your usual table, you wiggle your eyebrows at him, lips tugged to form a lopsided smile. "who are you writing those love poems about, hm? are they about me, loverboy?"

scrunching his nose, mingi leans down and bumps his forehead with your own, eyes darting over every feature on your face. you quiet down, the words you wanted to say getting caught in the back of your throat at the intensity of your boyfriend's gaze. with a low hum, a small smile breaks out on his lips. “and what if they are about you, hm?”

your eyes widen in a comedic manner, face feeling unbearably hot as you gently push him away. mingi laughs wholeheartedly at your flustered reaction, following after you as you hurriedly slide into the same booth as yunho's, who stares between you and mingi with an eyebrow cocked. mingi shrugs, taking a seat next to you and effectively sandwiching you between him and the other giant in your trio.

“what's got you looking like that?” yunho asks, blinking as his hand reaches out to grab a fry from the tray he ordered not too long ago.

“mingi,” you mumble, reaching out and grabbing a handful of fries, popping one into your mouth and chewing slowly. “by the way, he’s acting weird.”

“he’s always weird,” yunho replies, deadpanning. mingi leans over to whack the back of the blond’s head, emitting a whine from him.

“am not,” mingi huffs, eyes narrowed down at yunho. naturally, he throws his arm around you, his hand playing with material covering your shoulder. “by the way, did you tell her about the list?”

completely ignoring his question, yunho turns his attention towards you. “you know about the list?”

“what list?” you ask, exasperation laced in your voice. “the only list i know about is the one filled with love poems he dedicates to me.”

“you know about that, too?” yunho looks over at mingi. “dude, you are so bad at hiding stuff from yn.”

“what list are you guys talking about?” you look between both of your best friends, pouting.

“nothing!” mingi says, attempting to distract you from the conversation at hand by peppering your face with kisses.

it works.

when mingi pulls away and you stop giggling, you feel heart pick up its pace with the pretty smile mingi wears, eyes forming crescents as he looks at you. he presses one last kiss on your nose, nuzzling his head into your cheek before standing up, whispering about how he’ll go get you something to drink.

once mingi is gone, you abruptly twist around and pinch yunho’s arm, holding the skin in between your fingers while he whines. in the midst of yunho trying to swat your hand away, you lower your voice, “did you tell him about the list?”

with a successful smack to your hand, your best friend huffs and raises a brow, lips slightly pursed. “and why would i tell him about that?”

“it’s just,” your gaze flickers over to your boyfriend, watching him talk with the bartender, “i… you know…”

yunho hums, “it’s important. i know… i wouldn’t tell him about it, you know that.”

“yeah… yeah,” you nod, “you’re right.”

“what’s he right about this time, sweets?” mingi slides in next to you, handing you a beer bottle. his arm goes to rest around you again, his fingers mindlessly playing with your hair.

with a scoff, you reply. “that he’s weird.”

“i am not weird,” yunho throws you a dirty glare, emitting a shout of protest as he steals your beer. “and you can’t drink.”

while yunho sticks his tongue out at you, momentarily distracted, mingi reaches out and grabs the beer from him. “i’ll drink my girlfriend’s beer, thank you very much.”

you take the bottle from mingi and take a swig from it, mumbling how you’ll drink it yourself. yunho bites back the grin that wants to appear on his lips, noticing the flustered expression on your face while mingi simply laughs and tells you to give it to him if you don’t want to finish it.

oh, you are so smitten and mingi is so going to complete that list of yours.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: BE HONEST (BECAUSE I HATE LYING PEOPLE! YOU CAN THANK MY EX BOYFRIEND FOR THIS! AND ME FOR ADVISING HER TO ADD THIS —JEONG YUNHO, HER BEST FRIEND)

yunho’s note at the end of your writing makes your lips curl upwards, a soft chuckle leaving them. with a finger running down the expanse of the worn out page of your old physics notebook, you close it and push it back into your bookshelf just as the door swings open. mingi walks into your room, shoulders sagging as his feet drag against the wooden floor. you huff through your nose, turning around and opening your arms to which he falls into them, groaning in relief as his form hunches over you to dig his nose into the crook of your neck.

“rough day?” you ask, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck before you flatten your palm and thread your fingers through his hair, surprised that his hair is damp. he probably came over as soon as he finished taking a shower and changed into his pjs. “don’t you feel uncomfortable?”

“yes and no,” he mumbles. “yes: rough day at work today. too busy. no: i don’t feel uncomfortable. you’re like, the most comfortable person ever. i like hugging you, you know? oh, and you’re also—”

“baby,” pushing him back by the shoulders, mingi pouts at you, making you giggle. “you’re rambling.”

“i like rambling,” he blurts out, “just with you, though. i don’t like doing that with others.” his fingers absentmindedly rub figures into your hip.

snorting in amusement, you bring him into a hug and feel him let out a content sigh. “you’re awfully honest today, mings. it’s a,” trailing off, you grin, eyes twinkling in mischief, “...stark contrast to your usual boy cries wolf self.”

mingi clicks his tongue tiredly, “yeah, well, i don’t have to be like that with you. i’m just plain ol’ song mingi with you. hey, can i stay the night? i like sleeping with you.”

you hum, rolling your eyes in a playful manner, trying to ignore the fuzziness of your mind. the male grumbles something incoherent, and he grabs your hand afterwards to pull you towards your bed, basically tugging you to fall into it with him. mingi lifts himself up slightly to pull down the duvet, making you do the same before he’s already pushing it back up, snaking his arms around you and pulling you closer to him with a grunt. “you need a new bed.”

“no i don’t,” you laugh.

“yes, you do. it’s too tiny for the both of us.”

he’s right—his feet always peek out from the end of the bed.

“you’re awfully honest today.”

“just because i can be myself with you,” he mumbles into your hair, his grip around your waist tightening. “it’s not tiring to talk with you. i don’t have to pretend to be someone else. like with my coworkers! so tiring...”

“is that so…”

you’re met with soft snores coming from your boyfriend and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: BE YOURSELF! (DON’T PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE YOU’RE NOT! THANK MY EX BOYFRIEND FOR THIS AND ME FOR TELLING HER TO ADD THIS —YUNHO)

mingi grabs your hand and brings them up to his lips, brushing them against the skin of the back and letting your entwined fingers fall back between the two of you, swinging it idly. “why are you nervous, sweets?”

“why wouldn’t i be nervous is the real question here,” you say, glancing up at mingi. with a small sigh, you continue, “i just want your family to like me, mingi.”

he grabs you by the shoulders, twisting you so that you stand in front of him and tugging you into a hug. as he rocks both of you from side-to-side, he laughs quietly, “don’t worry, yn. they’ll like you just as much as i do. my mom is going to love you right off the bat.”

“and how do you know that?” you question, tilting your head up.

mingi scratches his cheek in a sheepish manner, “i, um, talk about you to her a lot.”

the front door of his mom’s place opens, his mom smiling widely at the sight of you and her son staring at her with wide eyes. you can tell she wants to tease the both of you but resists the urge to do so, instead ushering you two inside, apologizing for having you guys stand outside in the cold for so long. and just like that, as soon as you take off your shoes and hand your coat over to mingi, you’re whisked away by his mom and sat next to his aunt where you end up laughing to the point of tears at the stories they tell you of mingi’s childhood.

“one time, i was sick and i don’t really like chicken soup, so mingi tried making me a vegetable soup and even made a dance called ‘the veggie get better soon’ dance.”

you laugh in disbelief, “auntie, you're joking right?”

mingi’s mom shakes her head, laughing along with you. “now why would i lie about that? oh, does he still have that habit of needing to sleep with something?”

“yes. i’m his victim.”

“oh sweetie… good luck.”

his mom and aunt start talking about something else that you should, in theory, pay attention to. however, your favorite person's laugh fills the air and effectively grabs your attention. mingi sits on the couch by the door, playing with his baby cousins while the older one tells him something you can’t quite hear. but you watch as mingi throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut and his smile trembling from how hard he’s laughing, his body shaking.

“oh,” his mom lets out a content sigh, smiling fondly.

you peer over at her. “he hasn’t changed one bit, i see.”

and you think you can agree with her—that mingi hasn't changed one bit since you met him. your heart aches and silently hopes that he never does change.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: TREAT HER RIGHT! (I SWEAR IF I END UP DATING ANOTHER DICKWAD I WILL CRY! AND I WILL PERSONALLY CRY WITH HER! —YUNHO)

yunho talks about something that just happened to him, taking a sip from his red party cup and wincing at the pungent taste of horribly mixed alcohol. he mumbles something to his best pal, but it doesn't quite meet mingi’s ears. you see, he is a little occupied with keeping an eye an you, who had left his side earlier to greet some of your friends at the small party being held by one of his friends. when you were ready to go back to his side, some stinky guy decided to keep you from doing just that. he watches with a stoic expression as the guy continuously shimmies closer to you, a frown soon etched onto his lips when he notices the way your polite smile wavers and your eye twitches just the tiniest bit.

you’re annoyed. and rightfully so! he would be annoyed too if some person were to keep him from going back to you!

so he walks over, jaw tensing when he hears something he should never hear.

“why are you acting like such an ass? i’m just trying to ask you out—”

mingi silently grabs onto the back of the shorter male’s collar, pulling him back just enough for him to glower down at him. “apologize to her.” he’s surprised at how he, oddly, sounds calm when anger is bubbling in his chest right now.

the guy rolls his eyes. “why should i? and who the hell are you?”

“her boyfriend,” he barks out a chuckle, leaning down to be at eye level with him, “and i don’t like the way you just treated her. apologize to her while i’m asking nicely.”

the storm that rages inside him calms down, your touch lulling him back to you. mingi glances back at you, your skin hot against his. he lets go of the guy roughly, barely acknowledging the way he stumbles away as quickly as possible. with his hands cupping your cheeks gently, he tilts your head to the side, eyebrows pinched together in worry. “sweets, are you okay? are you feeling sick? you feel really warm—”

that’s because he’s doing quite the number on your heart right now and you’re not sure what to do with the growing feeling in your chest, the one that you’re so afraid of after the last fiasco that was your previous relationship.

this calls for a guidance meeting with yunho soon!

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: BE THERE FOR HER! (I WILL PROPOSE TO YOU ON THE SPOT! SHE REALLY WILL! —YUNHO)

“you’re in love with him,” yunho shrugs.

you gawk at how easily he said that. “i—well, i’m not sure if he feels the same way!”

your best friend gives you a pointed look. “are you blind or something?”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.

“only a fool wouldn’t be able to see how much mingi loves you… so i guess that makes you a fool, yn!”

your conversation from earlier replays itself in your mind. you can’t believe yunho just… said that to you and left afterwards to deal with your brain melting down all by yourself. now you lay in your bed, curled into yourself while you hear the clock in your living room tick and tick and tick away, the sound making time feel like it’s on a loop.

with a frustrated sigh, you screw your eyes shut and grab a pillow from behind you, moving it to the front so that you can hug it while you contemplate the meaning of your existence and the heavy weight of yunho’s words in your mind. but then you hear your front door open and close, followed by some shuffling.

“dear robber,” you shout, “i’m a poor, poor student that just graduated. i’m literally so broke right now, so i suggest you make yourself a meal in my kitchen before heading out.” the door to your room creaks open; you squint an eye open, seeing mingi lean against the doorframe. “aren’t you supposed to be on your way to work?”

“yunho told me you were feeling down, so i got someone to cover my shift under the excuse that i have a stupid fever.” he hums, pushing himself towards you. kneeling down in front of you, mingi brushes some of your hair away from your face.

curse yunho for opening his big mouth.

you make a mental note to yourself that you will be having a talk with that man before shaking your head, merely stretching your arms out and making grabby hands at your boyfriend. he chuckles, shedding his glasses off and putting them on your nightstand, sliding in beside you as you scoot over to make more space for him. you let out a content sigh, resting your head on his chest where you can easily hear the steady beating of his heart. you melt in his arms, your worries washed away as soon as he wraps an arm around your waist.

it’s silent for a minute.

or maybe less than that.

“you need a bigger bed. it’s too small for the two of us.”

snorting, you hit his back softly. “no i don’t.”

“...but you do.”

you laugh this time, and mingi triumphantly smiles because he knows that whatever had you down in the dumps is now gone from your mind, the sign of your shoulders relaxed is a tell tale sign that he’s doing a pretty good job at making you feel at ease right now.

HOW TO MAKE Y/N FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU: SAY THE L WORD TO HER FIRST (BECAUSE I WILL NEVER AGAIN SAY IT FIRST! YOU CAN THANK MY EX FOR THAT! FUCK THAT GUY, NO ONE LIKES HIM! —YUNHO)

celebrating the day that is gift giving, christmas, on the twentieth with yunho and mingi became a tradition as soon as you three started college. it is a tradition that, a year after graduation, won’t ever change. so you’re sitting on the ground in front of the small tree in yunho’s apartment, a couple of presents littering the ground around it which makes for a pretty funny sight, if you do say so yourself. mingi sits to your left, giggling as he tries grabbing the presents that are tagged as his while yunho gets up with the goal of making hot chocolate for you guys to drink before the clock strikes twelve.

only because his goal is to get you two alone in hopes that mingi says he loves you first… but you don’t have to know that and neither does mingi!

you slap mingi’s hands away as he tries tearing the wrapping paper from one of the smaller gifts in his pile. he whines and pouts, rubbing his hand. “i can’t believe you just hurt me.”

“that’s on you,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him.

it happens out of the blue: mingi leans over and shoves the hood of one of his stolen hoodies over your head. you yelp in surprise and try swatting his hand away while he laughs, only for him to let out a noise, something between a yelp and a high pitched squeal, as he somehow ends up toppling over you. groaning, you manage to remove his hand from the hoodie and pull it back, narrowing your eyes up at mingi. he ignores the look on your face, his hand slowly finding itself touching your nose, your cheek and then your mouth, his thumb running over the expanse of your bottom lip softly. you watch him intently, your chest rising and falling quickly.

“you’re really pretty,” he mumbles, replacing his thumb in favor of brushing his lips against yours in a brief kiss. instead of pulling away, he says something else—something that has you tearing up. “you’re pretty inside, too. you have the most beautiful soul ever… one of the reasons why i love you so much. more than you’ll ever know, i think.”

the corners of his lips tug upwards to a form a pretty grin while he wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. “why are you crying, yn?”

“because i love you and i thought…” you clear your throat, “i thought that you didn’t feel the same way…”

“and i told her that she was a fool,” yunho pipes up, placing the two cups of hot chocolate on the table. “but i told you that mingi loves you and you didn’t want to listen to me.”

scoffing, you take off the antler headband from mingi’s head and throw at it yunho. he raises an unamused brow as it flies past his head and hits the wall. “...really?” he looks into the distance. “hey, author! i think it’s my turn to have—”

“what the hell is he going on about?” mingi whispers to you. you both sit up and watch your crazy best friend talk to the air in front of him, waving his arms every once in a while like a madman.

with a grimace, you reply. “i don’t know… do you want to knock him out and see if that does anything to him?”

“...yeah, i think i’ll do that.”

perma taglist. @asjkdk @kodzukein @hrt4jeno @jeonride @lissiesykes @satsuri3su @atinytownclown @sanhwaism @ad0rechuu

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katiexpunk · 30 days

Text

Caller Number Nine | Pairing Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a radio host of a popular late-night segment on relationships, advice and more. After a particularly bad night of calls, your final call of the night takes you by surprise.

Warnings: Javier is a flirt. Alcohol/marijuana. Humor/Banter. Flirting. References to infidelity and a man's negative view on his wife's postpartum body (the reader puts them both in their place). Both reader and Javier are lonely. New York. Slightly dom Javier. Biting. Javier gives reader a hickey. Murphy the Cat (this cat is DEA). Bodegas and a wholesome shop owner named Carlos. Some Spanish. TUWOMT call back to Paddington 2 but in a Javier AU. Javier calls the reader a slut once (she likes it). Praise kink. Thigh riding. Use of pet names. Just a hot fuck. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Pizza on ranch. Dave Portnoy gets mentioned (iykyk). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions.

W/C: ~6K

A/N: Let's just say this story was inspired by the slutty mustache that has made a triumphant return. I’m also just really into pizza with ranch right now, too, idk. If you need me I’ll be internally freaking out about the fact that there are almost 1,400 of you interested in my silly little stories. Thank you. 🥹🖤

Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3

People suck at listening. You used to, too. But over time, call after call, you have become intimately acquainted with the quiet moments—the pauses between heartbeats, the breaths taken before confessions spill forth, the silence that stretches like a canvas waiting for emotions to color it.

These moments, often overlooked in the noise of daily life, are where you find the truth that guides you through the tangled web of love and relationships you navigate every night on your show.

For you, the quiet is not emptiness but a space brimming with potential. It's in these pauses that you listen most intently, not just to the spoken words but to the ones that tremble on the edge of silence, too shy or too scared to make themselves heard. You have learned that what is not said can be just as important as what is, and you can hear those unspoken fears, dreams, and desires.

Each night, as the clock winds down and the world outside your studio window holds its breath, you lean into the quiet, inviting it into your show. You encourage your callers to do the same—to listen to the quiet within themselves, to the truths they've buried under layers of fear, doubt, or societal expectation. "In the silence," you often say, "you'll find the answers you've been too busy to hear."

Most of the time the callers are open to your feedback, their hearts open and kind.

Most of the time.

Tonight isn’t one of those times.

++++

“Have you ever had Brussels sprouts made for you at midnight by a gorgeous woman in no pants following multiple orgasms? I have, and they’re fucking delicious,” one caller said. It was obvious after minutes of talking to him that he was failing to heed your advice that if he didn’t stop sleeping with women who weren’t his wife, she would likely find out one day and leave him. God, you hope she does.

“I love her, you know? I just don’t find myself that physically attracted to her after she had the baby, it’s not my fault…” another said. Ugh, fuck off, dude. You were quick to shut that one down, to tell him that he was being a boy, to go to the store and buy his wife some goddamn flowers and apologize for being such an asshole.

Like a broken record stuck on repeat, this is how the night continues. One bad call after another, each seeming to echo or outdo the last in its what the fuck factor.

In the dimly lit recording studio, a soft hum of equipment fills the air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of LED lights on the soundboard. You think briefly about letting out a scream before your last call, surely the foam walls would absorb the sound.

The glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on your face, accentuating the furrow of your brow and the downturn of your lips. You're a picture of frustration, a stark contrast to the empathetic persona that your listeners know and rely on. Each bad call tonight has chipped away at you. You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples for a brief moment before looking up at the clock, its hands inching their way to your liberation.

Just one more call.

The phone lines blink red. Your hand, a little steadier than you feel, reaches out and cues up the next caller, your voice finding strength as it always does when you speak into the void.

“Hi there, caller number nine. You’re on the air with Midnight Confessions. What’s on your heart tonight?”

“Ah shit – oh, uh probably shouldn’t say that on air huh – mm, wasn’t expecting to get through,” the man admits, his tone telling you he’s nervous, and probably a little drunk.

“Guess it’s your lucky night then. And it’s a late-night show, you can curse all you want to. What’s your name?” you ask, trying to ease him into the conversation.

There’s a pause, the kind that tells you the caller is weighing his options on whether he should give you his real name or not. Finally, he exhales softly, his mouth close to the receiver, enough for the exhale to cut through the static.

“I’m Javier. And you are?”

“You can call me the voice of the night,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, the first genuine one in hours.

“Didn’t realize I called the crime fighters hotline.”

The joke catches you by surprise and you let out a little laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before,” you respond before eventually giving him your real name. “So tell me, Javier, what would you like to talk about tonight?”

There’s another pause, longer this time, before Javier’s voice returns softer, and you can tell the tone is about to shift.

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight ma’am,” he says, and you can tell he’s seconds away from hanging up.

“Javier, wait –” you say, but he doesn’t respond. The line hasn’t disconnected, so you know he’s still there.

“Listen, I don’t know you – and you don’t have to tell me anything – but I can tell from the tone of your voice that it sounds like you’re carrying quite a bit on your shoulders. It’s brave of you to want to open up about it. Sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone you know,” you say, letting the dead air hang heavy for a second, “let me try to help.” You try not to make a habit out of convincing callers to spill their guts, but something about this call, this man, compels you to.

Javier sighs a sound that carries a world of worry. “I don’t even know where to start. My whole life, I’ve defined myself by my job, and without that, I –” his voice starts to crack, and he stops. You hear the clank of an ice cube against glass, and he continues again, “I realize how alone I am, how I don’t have anyone or anything. I feel like the only company I have these days are the ghosts of a past life.”

You don’t have the full context of his confession, but it hits you deeper than expected, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar. You think about how most of the time, when you’re not working, you’re either turning to dust on the couch or in the company of fictional men you read about in books.

"Javier," you start, your voice softer, threading through the silence with care, "I understand more than you might think. You're not alone. It might feel that way right now, but I promise you’re not,” you say sweetly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “Losing a part of our identity, especially one that's been a cornerstone of who we are, is like losing our direction. But it's also an opportunity, a chance to rediscover yourself, to find new aspects of your life that give you meaning and joy."

You pause, giving Javier space, letting your words hopefully seep in to provide some comfort.

“What does that mean – that you understand more than I might think?” he asks, not acknowledging the rest of your statement, a curiosity in his voice.

“It means –” you start. Oh god, here we go. You’re not often like this with your callers, but this feels different. The studio, with its blinking lights and the gentle hum of the machinery, suddenly feels more intimate, as if it's just you and Javier at this moment, connecting through the airwaves.

“When I was little, my mother always knew my things, quirks, you know? Things like the fact that I’m scared of heights, that I get cranky if I don’t eat breakfast, and that I only like ranch dressing on pizza and never salad. It’s all trivial, small little details, but from this, I think I learned that being known is to be loved.

You take a deep breath, and let the silence swallow you whole for a moment before continuing.

“When I say I understand more than you might think, I mean that I’m still one of those people who’s waiting for someone to tell me how much I mean to them, still hoping for someone who will know those things about me, too,” you pause.

“Someone who will hold my hand tightly when I’m on a rooftop so I don’t somehow tumble over the edge, someone who will make sure I eat breakfast, even if it’s just a shitty granola bar, someone who will buy the fancy ranch, even if it only gets used on greasy pizza.”

You hear Javier chuckle through the line.

“Something funny?” you ask, a little confused, slightly embarrassed that this call has somehow reversed the roles and you’re the one spilling your confessions over like a broken yolk into his hand.

“No, no – it’s just ranch on pizza, that’s uh, that’s…disgusting,” he admits, a playful tone to his words, the sadness before seems to be gone, but you know his humor is likely just a mask.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know ranch on pizza is a classic, and quite delicious. Thousands – no millions – of people like ranch on their pizza, it’s not that weird,” you quip.

“Right,” he rasps, “I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.” You bite your lower lip and try to ignore the heat that’s risen to your cheeks, the little thrill you feel in your stomach from your banter. You’re quickly brought back to reality when you look at the clock and realize your call time is nearing an end.

“Well, Javier, you're my last call of the night and I’m afraid it’s time to wrap the show up. Is there anything else I can help you with before I let you go?”

“No,” he says, his voice a low rasp, thick like honey, “thanks for saying all of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, the smile still on your lips like sugar from cotton candy. You slump back into your chair and the line disconnects.

++++

As the clock ticks past one, the studio lights fall to darkness, leaving only a solitary desk lamp to cast long shadows across the room. You loop the familiar weight of your backpack over your shoulder and put on your headphones.

You lock the studio door, and step into the brisk night air — it’s March, technically Spring, but the remnants of Winter are still holding tight. The city's pulse is tangible, even at this late hour, as you navigate your way to the subway. With only the Eagles in your ear to keep you company, you watch as the Graffiti-streaked walls blur past.

Once off the subway, you think about heading straight home to promptly melt into your mattress, but the rumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since lunch.

Might as well go see Murphy. He’s always happy to see you.

You round around the corner and the bodega lights come into view. The ground beneath you is damp and you’re careful not to step into any puddles as you make your way to the shop. You push open the shop door and the familiar chime of a bell alerts Murphy to your presence.

“Hi Murphy,” you coo, crouching closer to the ground so he can rub up against you. “How’s my favorite boy?” You say, scratching his favorite spot under his chin, feeling the comfort of his soft fur and rhythmic purr. If Murphy had it his way, you’d live at the Bodega, ceasing only to exist to give him love.

Your stomach growls again and you rise, “Gonna get some dinner now, okay Murph?” You walk through the tight aisles, grab a can of tuna as you pass by the canned goods, making your way to the frozen section in the back.

Chicken nuggets it is, you silently tell yourself before grabbing the frozen bag and making your way to the register.

"Hola, Carlos. ¿Cómo va tu noche?" (Hi, Carlos. How’s your night going?)

"Oh, hola.” As much as you’d love to practice your Spanish with Carlos, he needs to practice his English more and you’re more than happy to oblige.

"Good to see you. Listened to your show tonight, what a piece of work some of those people were,” he responds, using his index finger to punch numbers on the cash register.

"Tell me about it. How much do I owe you?"

"$7.50. Murphy says thank you for the donation,” he smiles, holding up the canned Tuna, and like clockwork, Murphy jumps up on the counter and starts assaulting the can with his cheek.

“Like he gave me any choice,” you respond, handing over $10. Carlos gives you your change and you give Murphy a few final loving pats on the head.

“¡Hasta mañana!"

"Buenas noches."

Back in the quiet of your apartment, the microwave fights you, its door refusing to stay closed until you jam it shut with a wooden spoon. With dinner finally spinning inside, you sink onto the couch, the night’s weight lifting off your shoulders. You feel yourself nodding off before the sound of the microwave beeping and the rumble of your stomach wake you up.

Dinner done, you smoke a joint, the smoke curling lazily in the lamplight. Your mind goes fuzzy and you stare up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the popcorn on the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the thought of your last caller and you let your mind wander as you imagine what he might be up to tonight. Is he asleep? Or is he staring up at his ceiling, lost in thoughts as you are?

The only thing you know for certain is that you’re both alone tonight. At least there’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.

The city outside continues its restless murmuring, but your mind goes silent as you fall asleep.

++++

You're grateful to have the next night off. Not like you have plans, but at least you don’t have to show face or wash your hair. Even if you did have to go out in public tonight, it wouldn’t matter — that’s the beauty of New York. You could look like a gutter rat and nobody would give a shit. But still, the freedom of an evening without obligations feels like a luxury, a small pocket of time where the demands of the world fade into the background.

Staring at your nearly empty fridge, its emptiness staring back at you, you sigh. Fuck. And then it hits you, unexpected but undeniable, a craving for pizza. Not just any pizza, but a pie from your favorite local spot, where the crust is always perfectly crisp and the cheese melts in a way that feels like a hug for your taste buds.

Stepping out into the evening rain, you make your way to the pizzeria that’s only a block away. The moment you open the door, a warm wave of garlic, tomato, and baked dough envelops you. The line isn’t long, but it gives you enough time to deliberate over your order, though deep down, you know you’ll end up choosing your usual — a Margherita.

You peek up from your phone and notice the man in front of you at the order counter. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, his tight jeans outlining a figure that speaks of strength. Dark hair and tan skin contrast strikingly under the fluorescent lighting. He orders confidently, his voice smooth, almost familiar. As he’s about to cash out, he adds “Can I get a side of ranch too, please?”

“No problem,” the cashier says, a little too happy to oblige his request. She’s flirting, you don’t know her, but you can tell. When the cashier asks for a name for the order, it confirms what you think you already know.

"Javier." The name hangs in the air, a familiar sound that sends a jolt through you.

It couldn’t possibly be.

The words escape your lips before you have a chance to second-guess it.

“I thought ranch on pizza was disgusting.”

He turns to face you and oh. You might have guessed that he was attractive from his voice, but seeing him is something else entirely. He’s strikingly handsome, with a dark mustache trimmed perfectly above his lip, his jaw stark and chiseled. The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk.

“Shit. Caught red-handed by the crime stopper herself,” he says with a wink.

Okay, so he’s handsome and charming. You’re so fucked.

As Javier steps aside, your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you place your own order. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you do.

“No plans tonight?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Not really, just this. Might swing by to see my boyfriend on my way home,” you say, noticing the way his expression shifts into disappointment, it’s subtle, but it’s there.

“Oh,” Javier says. He thinks for a second that maybe you were lying last night about understanding what it’s like to be alone.

“Yeah, we’ve got a hot date with a can of tuna,” you respond, smiling as you watch his very visibly confused face, the furrow of his brow. You can tell he’s not quite sure how to respond, the words a tangled knot in his brain, or perhaps conjuring up some weird kinky thoughts about what a date with a can of tuna could entail. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh. “He’s a bodega cat up the street, I usually swing by every night after work and I’ve developed a soft spot for the little guy. His name’s Murphy.”

“Wait, Murphy? From Carlos’ shop?” Javier asks, and you’re a little surprised.

“You know Carlos?”

“Yeah, yeah — he’s friends with my father. Great guy,” he adds, nodding to the pizzeria worker who hands him his order. You notice the blush on her cheeks when he says thank you.

You watch intently as the other worker packs up yours, placing two to-go containers of ranch on your box.

You grab your pizza and use your free hand to grab one of the containers of ranch and extend it to Javier. “For you,” you smile as you hold it out to him.

“Eat with me?” He asks, grabbing the ranch from your hand, your skin briefly touching.

How could you say no?

You smile and nod, and follow him through the restaurant. He holds the door open for you and places his hand on your lower back as he guides you out. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s just being a gentleman, but something about the touch causes something in your core to run hot, a hint of arousal in its warmth.

In typical New York fashion, you find a relatively clean stoop to sit on. With the pizza boxes open on the step in front of you, the steam wafting in the cool night air, you smile at Javier.

“Are you ready to have your world rocked?” You ask, holding the pizza up long enough for the strings of cheese to disconnect from the box. He does the same.

“After you, Cariño.”

Cariño. So he’s a flirt, too.

You dip your slice into the ranch, a perfect amount clinging to the tip, before you bring it to your lips. The anticipation builds with the scent of garlic and herbs wafting up.

You barely pause to savor the moment before you declare, “Some people say the first bite of pizza is the best, but I disagree.” You dunk it back into the ranch and take another, this time bigger than the first, “The second bite is really where it’s at.” Since when did you become Dave Portnoy?

Javier watches with amusement as you delight over your dinner. “Go on now, after you,” you nod, continuing to work on your pizza like a starving dog. You watch as he delicately dunks his pizza into the ranch, and like a baby bird, takes a small bite. You study his expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement, as he carefully chews. His face gives nothing away, a poker face if you ever saw one, until he finally delivers his verdict, “Can’t say it’s my favorite.”

“What?” you gasp, half in disbelief, half in jest. You playfully nudge him, your hand reaching out to liberate the neglected ranch from his box. “Let me save this from your indifference,” you tease, claiming the ranch for your own. The banter feels easy, much like it did when he called in the other night.

“So tell me, Javier,” he stops you “You can call me Javi,” he says.

“Javi,” you smile, picking at a tomato on your second slice. “What made you want to call in the other night?”

He looks at you as you bring the tomato to your mouth, and lets his gaze linger on your lips. You notice.

“That’s a good question. Um,” he says, taking another bite before continuing, his elbows on his thighs, staring out into the street. “Truthfully, I was a little drunk, and a lot alone. I think I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“I get that,” you acknowledge.

“What? You probably talk to dozens of people every day,” he responds, turning to face you this time.

"False. I listen to dozens of people every day, but I don’t really get to talk. At least, not about things that matter, not truly." He gives you a long look, then nods, understanding etched into his features. He doesn’t pry further.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both work on finishing your pizzas.

"What about you?" you finally break the silence.

"What about me?" he echoes, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"I spilled my plans for the night, my glamorous date with Murphy. What's on your agenda?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. His tight bicep muscles press up against your arm.

"This," he gestures broadly to the city around you, wrapped in the open night. Then, with a sheepish grin, he adds, "Well, actually, I was planning to go home and watch Paddington 2."

You laugh hard enough to let out a little snort. He looks at you with affectionate eyes, like you’re the cutest thing he’s seen in a while.

“Paddington 2? Like, the bear movie?” you manage between chuckles.

“Yep. I cried through the entire thing the first time I saw it. It made me want to be a better man.”

“I see, well I’ll have to take your word for it, I’ve never seen it.”

"Do you want to come over and watch it?" he proposes, the question hanging in the air. It’s a bold move, especially since you've only just met, but there’s an earnestness in his invitation that makes you pause, considering.

"Only if we can swing by and say hi to Murphy on the way," you quip, bumping your shoulder against his lightly.

“Deal,” he says with a wink.

++++

As the saying goes, you make plans and god laughs.

It's almost as if you could have, perhaps even should have, anticipated this turn of events.

Paddington 2 might as well have been code for want to come over and fuck?

The energy crackling between you two is undeniable, magnetic. His blend of wit, handsomeness, and confident charm weaves an irresistible allure, drawing you in closer with every word, every glance.

It's one of those rare, electric connections that you read about or see in movies, but seldom experience in real life. Yet here it is, unfolding in real-time, a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments are those you never see coming. You rarely see yourself as the main character, but tonight you feel like one.

In the narrow stairwell, his hips press firmly against yours, your back against the cold wall, arms pinned above your head. His lips find yours with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation, a crash of desire against desire. You surrender to the moment, tilting your pelvis into his, a plea for more.

The world around you is a blur; it's just the two of you, enveloped in a haze of passion. His hands, desperate and eager, fumble for his keys—a brief interruption in your heated exchange as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the heat of your gaze, the connection of your lips only momentarily severed. The anticipation builds with each fumbled attempt, heightening the intensity as you eventually enter his apartment and he has you pressed up against the door.

His lips trail from yours down the razor edge of your jaw, the hallow of your throat, over your collarbones, and down the valley of your still-clothed chest. “Javi,” you moan, and he responds with a groan into your chest. He looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes, “Can I take this off, Cariño?”

“Yes, yeah — shit, yes, please.”

He makes quick work of your shirt and assists it over your head, before returning his lips to your soft skin and working to undo your bra at the same time. “God damn” he mumbles under his breath, and you can’t help but feel the warmth rush to your chest and cheeks, “so pretty.”

You can’t even remember the last time you were touched like this, nonetheless kissed. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as he makes his tongue trail over one of your nipples, the other being teased slightly between his fingers. The sensation causes you to tilt your head back in ecstasy and you let out a soft moan. “Oh, yeah? You like it when I do that, baby?” You nod your head in response. “Use your words.”

“Yes, oh god — feels so good.”

“That’s better.”

You bring both of your hands to the waistband of his denim and pull him in closer to you, close enough to feel his hard cock, desperate to be touched. He brings his hands to grip your hair, baring your throat to him. He forces your legs apart with his knee, shoving it against your core. You begin to slowly grind on the denim.

“Want more?”

“Fuck, yes — ” you whimper with another grind against him. He kisses you again, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle until you drop them to find his belt buckle. His lips find yours once more, and he sucks the bottom one into his mouth before biting it and letting go.

He steps back, and you work to remove the rest of your clothing and shoes. You shimmy your pants over your thighs, taking your underwear with you. He thought you were beautiful from the moment he turned around and saw you, but seeing you standing in front of him, chest heaving, bare and perfect just for him, is another story. He slides his pants and underwear off in one go, kicking them off the side along with his boots.

He only gives you a moment to admire his form, cock hard and thick, the tip of it red and weeping, before he surges forward and kisses you with new passion. He licks the seam of your lips before forcing it open with his tongue, swallowing every one of your moans like they’re a gift just for him.

When you both can’t breathe, he pulls back and peppers kiss down your neck once more before he sucks a hickey into your neck, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He smirks against your skin and moves to the expanse of your shoulder, finding a new spot to bite and suck.

He forces his thigh between yours again, pushing the expanse of it right up against your bare pussy. You moan and cling to him, once again riding his thigh. “You gonna come on my thigh, baby?” He questions against your skin, feeling your shoulders shudder from his breath ghosting along your neck. He tightens his grip on your waist and rocks you forward, “Use me. Want to feel you soak me,” he hums, kissing your neck. You’re lost in the haze of your arousal, chasing the friction you so desperately need.

“Answer me, Cariño.”

“Y-yes.” You breathe, tightening your grip on him. You grind against him more, faster, harder. “Want it so bad.” And fuck, you do, you need it so bad but you’re not sure you can get there from just this.

“What do you want, beautiful?” He questions with another bite to your skin. “Do you want to come on my thigh like the good little slut I know you are?” You whine at the filth of his words, the warmth of his praise causing your belly to tighten. He tightens his grip on your hips and guides you faster on his leg, his fingers digging into your skin, hard enough you hope you bruise.

“Show me how pretty you are when you come, Cariño — make a mess of me,” Your body seizes up and you throw your head back and let out a guttural moan. The spot where your pussy rests against his thigh gets wetter. When you tilt your head back up, his eyes are what throws you over the edge. He holds your gaze as he watches you come for him, on him, because of him. “Fuck, that was gorgeous,” he moans, holding you steady as you come down from your orgasm.

“Bed. Now,” he demands, guiding you through the hall and to his bedroom.

You fall back onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a small oof, your breasts bouncing with the movement. He holds his heavy cock in hand by the base as he gently strokes himself, and watches as you part your legs wide open for him and finger yourself.

He continues to work himself while staring at your tight, slick hole, dripping just for him. His eyes go impossibly dark as he watches your fingers saw in and out, you’re really quite the sight.

“Shit, Cariño. Look at your little pussy,” his voice in between a whine and a whimper, as he steps forward between your legs and begins to position himself at your entrance. One hand on your knee, the other holding himself, he presses the head of his cock into you, making you moan, his tip alone is a stretch you’re unfamiliar with — it’s intense but good.

He’s not trying to taunt you, not really. “Just wanna make sure you’re nice and ready to take this fat cock,” he says, pressing just the mushroom head in and out of you. The slow drag of it is excruciating, enough for you to let out a plea of please fuck me. “Look so good like this, baby. Can feel you sucking me in, she wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

You nod, “More, Javi. Need to feel you inside of me, please,” you plead, holding your thighs behind your knees, spreading yourself wider for him, giving him full access to your cunt.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thrusting the full length of him into you, and ohhhhmyfuck.

Your pussy walls flutter and tighten around him, and he lets out a wrecked groan. He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with enough thrust that your tits bounce. His thrusts are hard, but slow, giving you time to adjust to his size. He’s quick to pick up the pace, causing you to sob in pleasure, broken moans leaving your lips as he knocks the wind out of you with each snap of his hips.

He draws himself nearly out, his cock glistening with your slick, and he grabs both of your hips to hold you steady as he fucks into you. “Look at the mess we’re making together, Cariño. So fucking beautiful, you’re taking this cock so well.” You’re starting to realize that he’s a smooth talker both in and out of bed.

You wail as he picks up his speed, panting and grunting, groaning as he watches the thin skin of your pussy stretch around his girth. He releases one of his hands from your hips and brings the pad of his thumb to the swollen clit between your folds, and begins to rub tight circles.

“So tight, baby, little cunt’s trying to make me come, isn’t she?” He groans, his pace slowly slightly, his stomach muscles tightening and his jaw clenched shut.

“Want you to, want you to fill this hole up with all of your come. Want to feel you drip out of me, need to feel you.” Your words spur him on more, and he continues working your clit, his cock thrusting in and out of you, “oh god, please, please, please.” You’re not usually one to beg, but something about him has it pouring out of you.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby? I will if you come with me,” he says, an intensity, an urgency behind his voice. You’re so close, you think you’ll be able to come with him, but before you have the chance to get there, you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut to try and collect himself, but he’s too close, nearly over the edge of his orgasm. His cock starts to swell and his movements get a little sloppy.

“Come in me, Javi. Want to feel you,” you moan, your voice a seductive whisper, and that does it.

His hips stutter, “Fuck, Cariño,” he groans, his voice a wreck, as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and starts to throb ropes of his warm spend in you. There’s so much that it spills out of you and down your asscheek.

“Oh such a messy, pretty pussy,” he groans, admiring the way your cunt looks stuffed full of him, the glisten of your release and his on his cock, “Milking me so good.”

“Gonna make you come for me again beautiful,” he says, cock still spearing you, throbbing and pulsing as he collects some of his spend on his fingers and brings it to the needy button between your legs. It doesn’t take much to get you there, and within seconds you’re on the brink of your orgasm.

The warmth that pools in your belly grows and radiates through your limbs until your whole body feels tingly and your vision goes white.

“Oh my god, Javi, I’m coming,” you wail, a blubbering mess of pleasure, until you’re drowning in the sea of your orgasm.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweet girl,” he groans, both out of pleasure and a little bit of over-stimulation on his already spent cock, “So. Fucking. Pretty. Such a good girl,” he says as he works you through the last of your orgasm. After you come down from your high, he gently pulls out of you, and a little trail of his come follows and spills out onto the sheets below.

“Jesus, Javi. That was something else,” you say, blissed out and thoroughly fucked. You nestle up into his chest like it’s easy, it comes naturally, a movement you don’t even question. He wraps his arm around you and plants a soft kiss on the top of your head in response.

“Can I say something?” He asks, and you look up at him a little worried. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’d buy the fancy ranch for you.”

END

If you like this, please consider a reblog. <3

Trying a thing where I don't use a tag list to see how it goes. To be notified when I post fics, follow @katiexpunkupdates

END A/N: the line she gives Javier in response to knowing what he means in the first part of the fic is adapted from a poem. I wrote it down, but forgot to name the author. So credit to the author, whoever it is.

#javier peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedrohub #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #pedrostories #narcos smut #the slutty little mustache has returned

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elaemae · 2 months

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The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.

[Twst x Obey Me!AFAB!reader]

CHP. 6

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: PROLOGUE 5

I get really happy every time one of you guys like, reblog, or comment on my chapters, Thanks guys :3

CW: ANYTIME that MC is referred with male address or pronouns it's going to be color blue. There's also a shit-ton of cursing here.

You can feel your blood pressure ascending into the Celestial Realm (faster than a newly deceased good person) as this Azul Asheng-something mf drags you into his oh-so-fancy "Monstro Lounge" while you're just peacefully trying to fuck off from his dorm.

You were unfortunately curious enough to go poke your head into the mirrors leading to the dorms to see what they've got and use it as inspiration, but then this greasy-ass bitch sadly spotted you and literally hounded you to go in.

You would've socked him in the face for a second time but it turns out that he's a pretty important figure in this school.

You don't really wanna get in trouble for doing that.

(You may be able to do it to Crowley but you don't know if this attempted-bangle-thief has influential parents or something.. Crowley meanwhile, acts pretty parent-less for you.)

You are keeping an eye on him though.

If he tries any bullshit then he's getting his ass kicked.

Social hierarchy be damned.

You didn't rein in 10 demons, 3 angels, The greatest sorcerer in all of humanity and The literal fuckin grim reaper, (who're all constantly dragging you onto bullshit as either an accomplice or the baby-sitter) just for some dude in an Emo-friendly-cut-my-life-into-pieces college to best you.

• • • •

Jade did a double-take.

"..."

He blinked.

Azul is sending him SOS signals by blinking morse code at him.

Jade rubbed his eyes for a few seconds.

"..."

Nope, still the same.

Azul: *Blinking for help intensifies*

...Pft–

He bit his lip to stop his laughter from escaping.

Who would've thought that he'll see a day where his precious housewarden is having his face passive-aggresively squished and kneaded by a new student? And also, probably getting himself threatened based on the eerie smile on the students' face.

Azul should be grateful that floyd isn't here, lest he'll have two people on his hands that are more than happy to squish him around. He should be grateful there isn't anyone else around, really.. Lest the reputation he took so long to build crumbles.

Oh he can just imagine it at the top of his head.. The poor octo-mer will probably combust from embarrassment and maybe even go find himself an octo-pot that he can shimmy himself into.. oh how he misses those days...

(Elae: I'm just imagining baby Azul shimmying into a lil pot.. Ugh, so adorable I'm getting cute aggression.)

He does eventually step in to stop the student from treating Azul's face like a squishy piece of dough He took a couple of pictures ofc. he ain't an amateur, but not before almost getting his own face fall victim to the new students' hands.

• • • •

"You try this shit again and see what happens." You smiled at him as you squished his face.

He's still holding onto your wrists but he seems to have given up from escaping your passive-aggresive face massage. Instead, he seems to have settled in blinking so fast he can almost fly with his eyelashes.

This bitch really had the audacity to try and get you to sell your jewelry to him in exchange for a room in his frankly unimpressive dorm. (You have more than a dozen rich and powerful simps. A dorm in a college ain't gonna be enough to impress you anymore.)

"— I know that you must not have any money to pay but maybe we can compromise, it's gonna be hard for you and your friend (Yuu) to keep staying in the infirmary after all.."

"We can manage—"

"And my benevolence will not allow me to let some poor unfortunate souls be without accommodations... So what if, for a week of stay each, you give me your jewelry in retur—"

You got so pissed at the audacity that you almost strangled him but changed your tactic into a hateful squeezing the last second. (You can't be reported for physically violent behavior rn.)

He speaks as if the entirety of this college and its dorms can actually be worth even a single piece of the ring in your left hand.

But seriously? 15,000 madols (that's the price Azul told you) for one night of stay?? If you're gonna be paying that much money for a single room, then that room better solve all your problems, fulfill your greatest ambitions and then suck your imaginary dick afterwards.

Your annoyed musings were cut off when a hand tries to remove your grip from Azul's face.

You absent-mindedly reach your other hand, trying to deliver another kneading to a new victim.

• • • • •

Azul covers his face with his hand, embarrassed of how the situation played out.

It doesn't help that Floyd is cackling like a deranged maniac at him right now.

Thank goodness they're in his office.

"Can you stOp?!"

Poor bbg was so embarrassed his voice cracked :<

Hmph.

Jokes on you, even if he got embarrassed today he still got closer to your jewelry.

And now, he can 100% confirm that those ornaments aren't just for decorations.

The strong magic from your rings that were pressed against his face confirmed it.

Those things are definitely custom-made magical artifacts of the highest caliber.

Now.. How to get them...

• • • • •

You stopped walking, feeling someone's gaze on you.

Looking around discreetly, you didn't see anyone but you can still feel the eyes on your form.

Yeah no.

You continue on, ignoring the feeling of being watched, but not going to dark places or spots where you'll be all alone.

Time to check in on Yuu and their unwilling gang of window cleaners.

See if they're done already.

The sun is starting to go down, after all.

• • • • •

Mc... We're going to come find you.

Don't worry..

Please stay safe..

Please don't forget that we love you more than anything else in existence..

0u® |!gHt įN tH€ d@RkN€§$

← Pr. 5 | Chapter List | Pr. 7 →

EDIT: WTF WHY DID THIS CHAPTER GET POSTED?! I SAVED IT IN THE GODDAMN DRAFTS THIS AIN'T SUPPOSED TO BE DONE YET WHAT THE HELL?!

Oh welp, ain't nothing I can do about it now..

Thanks for reading this far, readers☺️

Reblog or I'll bite ya ankles😈

@f0uerleafedcl0ver

@leviathans-tail-scales

@a-traveling-void-human

@xingyunny

@caprinaesprout (should I put you in the permanent tag list for this series?)

Tagging isn't working for some reason so I can't tag some of y'all. The usernames I tagged just fuckin disappearing.

Tumblr is messing with me rn.

You wanna throw hands, Tumblr??

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ladykailitha · 3 months

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Batshit Soulmates Part 2

Yay! More soulmates!!!

In this Eddie has nothing but time to think while Steve tries to outrun his problems and runs into new ones.

In Medias Res| Prologue|Pt 1|

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Eddie waited until he heard the sound the maroon BMW fade into the distance before he broke down and sobbed. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that his sheep were involved with whatever the hell happened to Chrissy or the fact that Vecna was real. He couldn’t have imagined finding your soulmate in a worse way then an actual fucking battefield.

Was Eddie surprised his soulmate was a boy? No. He had figured out pretty quick that it was all boys for him. Felt a little bad for Steve through, must have come as shock. Because let’s be fair, Eddie was pretty shocked, too. Of all the dudes in all the world, the universe picked the most diametrically opposed human on the fucking planet.

He didn’t hate Steve or anything. Steve tended to leave the Hellfire Club and its members alone and would stop Tommy and his ilk from harassing them, too. Which made more sense once Eddie had met Dustin, Mike, and Lucas. Those three never shut up about him really. To Dustin he was the old brother he always wanted. To Lucas he was a mentor. To Mike? Hilariously, when Mike was around Dustin and Lucas, he would roll his eyes and sigh dramatically whenever Steve was brought up.

When they weren’t around? Mike talked about the dude in hushed, reverent tones. Mike had an even bigger case of hero worship then the other two put together. But he was also a bitchy teen, so he hid it better then the others.

Eddie had scoffed at their depictions the first time he heard them, but the more they repeated it, the less it began to sound like they were telling tall tales, and more like they actually had a huge amount of respect for Steve. Which really didn’t gel well with the Munson Doctrine.

Jock=bad, rich=bad, popular with girls=bad, added all up together and you get a douche of the highest order. But even though Eddie had threatened to cut his throat Steve had still wanted to help him. Eddie wasn’t sure if their places were reversed that he wouldn’t have thrown Steve off and told him where to stick it. Soulmate or not.

But Steve had stayed. Either the man was a sap or maybe Dustin and them were right about him.

Eddie sighed. Well, he supposed only time would tell which one it was. As much as his inner cynic was screaming that Steve would give up. That he would learn that loving him was too hard and walk away. Leave Eddie to deal with murder charges and monsters. Another part of him was telling him that Steve wouldn’t do that. That Steve never back down from a fight no matter how much a losing battle it was. That loving Eddie was easier than fighting bullies and apparently monsters.

He knew realistically that Steve was a better soulmate then a lot of people got, but seriously whatever immortal asshole up there making the decisions had to have a sick sense of humor. The only things the two of them had in common was their height and their eye color and even that was slightly off. Oh all right, maybe their love three little freshmen dorks.

Protectors. Steve and him were both protectors. They had that too. Eddie could see it his eyes that he was more worried about Eddie would do the rest of them if Eddie actually went through with it. Not that he was going to. He had been trying to. He wanted to so bad. Steve stood in the place of all those people that had hurt Eddie his whole life. His dad. Bullies. Teachers.

Eddie was given an chance to become who they all thought he was. A murderer. He couldn’t tell if it was the look in Steve’s eyes that stayed his hand, or the burning on his arm, or if he just wasn’t built to kill. That he was more like his gentle Uncle Wayne then the violent Al Munson. Maybe it was combination of all three.

The sad (?) thing was, that Eddie could see himself next to Steve’s side. In fact it was too damn easy to imagine. He could feel the rightness of it, even if every other part of him scream at the injustice of it. The King and the Freak. But maybe that wasn’t what the universe saw. Maybe it saw two lonely boys that fit better than it looked on the surface.

After all, wasn’t that what Eddie himself had been preaching for years. That too many people only saw what they wanted to see and not dare to get to know people before making a judgment.

He preferred the easy charm of captain Steve Harrington over the hard nosed oneupmanship of Billy Hargrove and fierce competitiveness of Jason Carver any day. It was only after Steve’s fall from grace that he had even began targeting the basketball team in the first place. Both Billy and Jason would get mad and try and start something with Eddie.

Steve though? Steve would smirk and turn away. Like Eddie was funny and not a freak. And maybe Eddie targeted Steve just to see him smile and smirk. But the only people who knew that was him and Wayne. And he intended to keep it that way.

In fact, Eddie thought straightening up, the more he thought about how Steve actually acted in school the more he realized that Steve was actually a pretty chill dude.

Oh.

Maybe he needed to have a heart to heart with the universe about the Munson doctrine. Because if that was wrong, what else had Eddie gotten wrong?

His stomach growled. He bit his lip nervously and looked up at the house. He wasn’t sure if he could risk going up to the house again, not at night anyway. He was going to have to wait until tomorrow to see if he could at least make something to eat.

Maybe he should have asked them to bring something to do while he hid out. He was starting to get bored out his mind.

There was nothing for it, all Eddie could do right now is sleep and hope his soulmate was the natural caretaker all his sheep said he was.

He carefully rearranged the tarp so that it would be easy to pull back over him once he was in the boat and stepped gingerly into it. He got settled and pulled the tarp back over himself, letting the lapping water against the boat lull him to sleep.

Steve would like to say that the nap did him good and that he felt refreshed and ready to take on...what did Dustin and Eddie call him? Vickie? No, that was Robin’s crush. Vacuum? He snorted. Definitely not that. Evil wizard dude. He would like to say he felt refreshed to tackle the wizard dude, but the food he ate made him queasy and it made for a fitful sleep.

He opened his wallet and looked to see how much cash he had on hand. It should be enough to get Eddie some food and drink. Eddie had been fairing well enough, but he could use something a bit more substantial. He took out five bucks for gas and shoved it in his top drawer.

Steve looked at the time and groaned. It was too late to go to sleep, but too early to be awake. He shouldn’t have tried napping that late in the evening but this whole thing with the Upside Down being back, no Hopper, no El and even if they did have her, no powers. They had to rely on him. Well, Nancy mostly.

He would gladly relinquish control over to her, if he was being honest.

Steve pulled up his sleeve and rubbed the soulmark thoughtfully. It still glowed a dark sickening red, almost blood like it’s shade. It seemed to thrum beneath his skin like a melody he couldn’t quite make out. It comforted him. He just hoped it comforted Eddie, too.

He looked out at the dark sky that was hours away from dawn. He got changed into a pair of shirts and a swim team t-shirt. It was going to cold out there, but it wouldn’t matter for long. He changed his socks and pulled on a pair of running shoes.

He grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him. He stretched out on his front lawn in the putrid light of the street lamp. Once he was satisfied that he was warmed up enough not to pull a muscle, he started down the road. At first it was gentle lop, not quite a jog, but soon he was running as hard as he could toward the horizon, chasing a dream that he knew he would never be able to keep.

Steve ran until his lungs burned, his muscles ached, and his cheeks were flushed and sweaty from the exertion. He looked up to find that he had somehow ran all the way to the trail park. It had long since been cleared of police and looked more worn and depressing in their wake. Maybe it was the tragedy that clung to every rock of gravel, every concrete walkway, every panel and tin roof.

“Hey, loser,” Max said from her front step. “Can’t sleep either?”

Steve turned and panted, his hands on his knees as he fought for breath. “Yeah, yeah. What’s got you up before the asscrack of dawn? My excuse is that I’m a barely reformed jock.”

Max opened her mouth to answer but closed it again. She just shook her head. Steve turned to look at the roped off trailer that had been Eddie’s home, before he trotted over to her.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he asked in hushed tone.

Max nodded. She looked down at her worn out shoes, scuffing the side of her right one on the gravel in front of her. “I hate that you and me only found our soulmates because the Upside Down happened.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “I didn’t even think it would be a boy. Never even crossed my mind. Maybe if it had, I would have realized sooner that it was Eddie.”

The silence stretched on between them as around them the sky began to lighten and the trailer park came to life.

She picked at her nails. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Lucas?” Steve asked, twisting his neck to try and get a better look at her.

She nodded again, refusing to look him in the eye. “I think bad things just happen around me. Maybe I’m cursed.”

Steve snorted. “This town is cursed. But it’s not good what happened to Chrissy. You know who would be able to figure this all out?”

“Nancy?” Max asked.

Steve ruffled her hair. “Right in one. But first I have a soulmate that needs food and I’ll be damned if I let him starve while on the lam for something he didn’t do.”

Max pushed at him. “Don’t say shit like ‘on the lam’, what are you fifty?”

Steve just shook his head. He got to his feet. “I’m going to go home and shower. Then I’ll pick up yesterday’s rogue gallery and we’ll go shopping. I’ve got enough to cover at least a couple of days worth of food for the guy.”

She nodded. “I am sorry, Steve, that he got dragged into this mess, but isn’t it better that he knows? Because then you don’t have to lie to him?”

He sighed. “Is better that he knows? Sure. But it’s not good.”

Max scoffed. “Nothing in this town ever is.”

Ain’t that the truth, Steve thought bitterly. He just waved his hand at her and started back down the road, back to Loch Nora.

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @oxidantdreamboat @mogami13 @samsoble @xandriumbat @ellietheasexylibrarian

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #soulmate au

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snackugaki · 1 year

Photo

.... i have been so normal about wanting to draw tactical!Venus and tactical!Jennika.

hey. HEY. y’all need to go check out @donathan ‘s artwork, and if you are the proper age, go throw some money into their patreon for some... some real, real good art. 👀👀👀 ...but do not if you are a minor, that shit ain’t for you.

some IDW TMNT comic spoilers... and.... I guess... Next Mutation ssspoilers? I know some of you kids haven’t turtled up and watched my beloved childhood iteration yet.

alright, so, y’know, completely normal expenditure of my energy and skillset, amirite? big big thanks to @/donathan for allowing me to play around in their AU’s aesthetic because I have severe, terminal VenusAndJennikaDeserveEverythingoccocal SoIWillManifestItMyselfitis.

and tbh, all y’all’s fics have been, mwah, chef’s kiss. but SOME of you put LORE. delicious, tasty, appetite-inducing lore.

and i am nothing but the littlest hoebag for lore.

okay so, quick rundown for those who both A) are immune to spoilers B) also do not know Venus or Jennika’s origins-- bulletpoint time~!

So Venus de Milo, the “girl turtle”, the “fifth turtle” (not counting April’s extremely brief stint as a white-bandana’d turtle in the Archie comics run) was introduced in 1997′s Ninja Turtles: The Next Mutation

An episode of “The Toys That Made Us” touched upon Venus’ creation so idk it’ll cover what I won’t deign to acknowledge.

her backtory is interesting (just her show was a trashfire /affectionate)

Master Splinter’s frolicking around in the dreamscape where all the cool enlightened old people hang out away from teenagers, right?

but oh no! dragon lord, a bad dude with a widow’s peak to rival Vegeta Dragonball’s widow’s peak; is there too! stomping around, ruining shit!

Splinter’s dreamscape buddy Chung I warns Splinter to stay out of the dreamscape ‘cuz Dragon Lord’s around

And like in true old people fashion, just ignores his friend’s admonition and tries to investigate himself

bad choice, womp womp

Splinter gets trussed up and rendered “stuck” in the dreamscape

cue the catalyst for Venus to make the 10+ flight from China to the U.S

don’t worry about what the boys were doing, just literal surfing in sewer grey water, breaking their little turtle skulls on cinderblocks, and picking fights in warehouses with Foot clan goons

tl;dr Venus still has Sixth Ranger mode on, so naturally she whoops all of their asses in the dark, ties them up (like how some of y’all enjoy writing Leo does huhu nudgenudge winkwink)

venusistheoriginalshibarienthusiastandteadrinkerfightme

and then, y’know, it’s still the 90s and children’s television so blah blah the usual “oH My gOd a GiRL tURTle???/?? AWoooOOogaaa ga ga ga”

it’s.... I mean, i’m 38 so it no longer strikes me as bad as just really fucking embarrassing... for them. to be written saying. fuck, at least they didn’t make her bandana color pink.

so fast forward to Venus teaching them to dreamwalk so they can go rescue Splinter from Dragon Lord’s clutches in the dreamscape.

unfortunately, Dragon Lord offscreen murders Chung I so Venus is narratively anchorless post-rescue, so she’s invited to stay with them. thus ensues wacky hijinks with their new pal, Venus Boom Boom de Milo.

I glossed over the urge to write a cumulative review of Next Mutation. Just, take my word as the target demographic of the show during the last gasps of 90s Turtlemania that TNM was a trashfire overall but... y’know... if you ever needed a palette cleanser after some grimdark or angsty TMNT content, give TNM a whirl. The slapstick was intentional and The Point in the show. Venus’ circumstances for coming was as serious as it would get.

... Also, yes, they made them not related in TNM, preteen snackugaki didn’t clock why because I watched a lot of wuxia as a kid so brotherhood is a term beyond blood ties to me (and if I’m being honest, martial brotherhood is fkkn metal) and later I heard tell that it was to lure more girls into the franchise with both a girl turtle and romance options. which idk whatevs man.

I also have to clear that, actually no, Donatello and Venus did not fight EVERY episode. Donatello, despite sprinkling a little too much barely disguised snobbery, did defer to Venus’ expertise in “the supernatural” when the situation called for it, and Venus would commend Donnie on his scientific ingenuity. They even teamed up skillsets to create surveillance drones! She essentially casted Calm Emotions on him while he tried to hack the controls of the Astro Megaship back for the In Space Rangers. They breached the divide between STEM and Humanities! They only had one “real fight" near the end of the season-- because Donnie was playing his containment breach elevator mid trash copyright strike immune proto-EDM too loud while she was trying to meditate. and that’s just being bad roommates tbh.

...christ I know it’s gonna come up too, but also NO, there was not constant advances made toward Venus during the show. At most was Mikey pulling his ol’ “I work out every day~!” schtick for like 2 episodes of the 5 spent to introduce Venus. And then after? A shipper’s desert, you’d have to dig and peer behind like 8 curtains for any viable fodder.

...OKAY NOW FOR JENNIKA’S ORIGINS: Jennika is an IDW character specifically so, naturally why she isn’t in (or would’ve been, AHEM) a lot of iterations yet (or at all, COUGH) (but to continue in honesty there’s a lot of legal tape to cut through since Jennika is IDW’s while TMNT overall is Nick’s) Introduced as a Foot Assassin, her place in the Foot Clan shifts when Splinter takes over from Shredder (Saki), eventually she forms actual bonds with both the turtles and Splinter to where it’s implied she also saw him as an important figure to her if not an outright surrogate father figure. And because TMNT is mess and drama the other 50% of the time, Karai takes over the Foot from Splinter and shenanigans compounded by Karai’s then-current machinations for the Foot-- results in Jennika getting shanked in the stomach by Karai during a clandestine meeting to resolve clan rivalry. She’s losing blood fast, Donnie works to save her and it’s Leo who volunteers for blood transfusion to keep her stable mid-transit.

SURPRISE!

Leo’s blood mutates Jennika into a mutant turtle. And then Casey ghosts/dumps her. My poor daughter. She has a real rough time of it before fully integrating with the boys. Raph falls in with Old Hob, gets hoodwinked, and now they live in Mutant Town. Jennika slowly finds herself again, as a mutant turtle, a Splinter clan ninja, a girlfriend, a guitarist in a band she started, a sister in a found family, and a constable to a very little town.

okay! we’re all marginally informed about my two wonderfull daughters, Venus and Jennika~!

so if I can indulge further, I’m going to use my cognizance and make it everyone’s problem because I have beem quietly foaming with ideas for bg lore for tactical!J&V, more bullet points!

ok so, donathan mentioned a bit about their tac! Leo and Donnie being the snipers, Mikey and Raph spotting for them while also being demolitions and heavy ordinance specialists respectively

I would think, then for Vee and Jen, they’d be classified as close quarters combat specialists, complicated extraction? compromised area? call them to clean up and clear out~

give or take “magic” being a thing used in donathan’s AU, or anyone’s AU of this AU, Vee would probably be a close combat specialist along with Jen.

Vee, I feel, would, barring a ...”tactical fan”, (even though in TNM it was just her fists and her little wizard components but her toy came with a fan so.) probably use batons, Jen in lieu of her tekagi-shuko would... most likely use tactical karambit. not that large of a leap really.

for my personal lulz, Vee and Jen are... accurate, height-wise. Raph gets to be the biggest brother since alligator snapping turtles are, in fact, the largest motherfucking freshwater turtles on the north american continent. no getting around it.

my Vee in all Rise AUs is a softshell since the messy hanzi used to write her first given name, Mei Pieh Chi (美鱉气) has the hanzi that’s most commonly translated as softshell turtle (鱉). eh ‘di wow talaga

snacku what do you mean ‘accurate’???? tl;dr female turtles are usually the larger ones in most species.

and listen, I love and I mean LOVE, how some of y’all have written the tac!boys, mwah; but god I’m a professional turtle bully. I need to see them get dunked on. for nutritional value. and if it comes to it, I will provide that food for myself. brb laughing at eventually drawing Venus just offhandedly tossing Donnie into the air to skeet shoot his ass for fun brings me the greatest joy.

they absolutely dote on Mikey, as is the natural order of things.

and even tho I stated TNM Donnie and Venus got along in the show, and depending on the existence of magic in this AU; I just really love dichotomous rivalries (in as much “science” and “magic” exist as a dichotomy, much less as “diametrically oppose” fields-- just, opposites man. i’m a simple girl with simple trope needs)

Vee’s arms (and legs) are absolutely covered in burns, scars, and missing flesh divots, just as close to swiss cheese limbs as you can be

Jen and Donnie debate tracks that go into their joint “On Our Way To Commit Murder” playlist

if Vee’s tactical look seem very familiar, and you’re wondering if-- yes, you’re correct. and you can “call her ms. de milo if ya nasty”

Vee was actually pretty calm and rational in TNM... but for this AU, she can be a little unhinged, as a well-deserved treat. (and ‘cuz that specific anime unhinged facial expression is fun as fuck to draw, which is my treat)

#giving me cognizance was a mistake #letting me learn to draw was another #I love Venus and Jennika #a HEALTHY amount I'd say #totally healthy & normal #:)#fuckin' turtles man #3 months into this new year #and it's turtles all the way back #this is why I trained for visdev #just chewing on things absently #and wondering how things would work In This World #figuring out how to fit something into an environment #a context #a situation #is my enrichment activity #not unlike #giving tigers huge slabs of meat in 3 feet of ice on a hot day #just sitting there gnawing away #until I get to the meat of it #both literally and figuratively #it's like a puzzle #that you can design the pieces themselves #but have I updated my visdev portfolio?#HAHAHA NO #TOO BUSY DRAWING FKKN TURTLES MAN #h elp #i listened to so many baddie playlists drawing this #i needa start a fight #get this extra energy out of my system

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gatorbites-imagines · 21 days

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i was wandering if you can write bane x reader [ i'd ascent to god if its trans/ftm reader, it's ok if you can't or dont want to write it :) ] with a big size difference that's all! have a good day/night and take care of yourself <3

Bane x FTM reader

Headcanons

Still have no internet in my apartment, but luckily my sister is letting me visit her place to do assignments, so I can upload stuff from there.

This is based off of comic Bane more than anything, but i cant really find any gifs of that guy, so comic panel it is.

All in all, I don’t think it matters much to Bane that you are trans. It isn’t something he would see as a dealbreaker, or even care too much about. As long as you guys get along and both have feelings for one another.

Bane is extremely smart too, so if you can’t legally find ways to get treatment, then he would probably know at least 10 different ways to get the result you need.

If you want to build muscle, then Bane is also your guy. He knows as much as one can about the process of working the body and getting the result you want, so he would be able to help you get the look you want, even if you aren’t on any testosterone or hormone blockers.

If you want to work out then Bane could also help you out if you aren’t one for top surgery, as you can get a similar look through the right diet and workout routine. But if you want top surgery, you bet he’s taking care of you afterwards, since he would know a thing or two about medical procedures.

Bane being who he is probably also knows different ways to get you to the hormone level you want, but he would most likely avoid doing anything as drastic as his own mix up with chemicals and the likes, unless that’s what you are trying to go for as well. Would make sure you knew all the dangers first though, just in case.

If you want neither and don’t care much for hormone treatment, surgeries or even presenting masc, then it doesn’t pose any issues either, since Bane wouldn’t really care. Hes one of those “wear whatever you want, I can fight” kinda boyfriends. As long as you are happy and comfortable, then he is comfortable and happy.

He seems like a big scary dude, but Bane would be very respectful of you and how you present yourself. Gives very much “big scary dog privilege” when you guys go out, and you do go out sometimes, as I could imagine some of the bats would let you two go on dates, as long as Bane isn’t causing any trouble. You’ll have to live with being shadowed the entire time though.

The huge size difference also strengthens the whole scary shadow thing, so even if people wanna be transphobic too you, they sure as hell don’t dare to do so, since Bane is towering over literally everyone there with muscles that could kill.

Sharing clothes with Bane would also be entertaining, since hes so much bigger than you. Even just his tank tops would hang off you and slide right off you. You would have to tie it with something or tuck it into your pants with a belt, and even then, it would still look super baggy.

You don’t get the chance to borrow his mask, since he needs it himself. But I could see him finding it kinda sweet if you worked the pattern or colors into your own style. It also helps to tell anybody who wants to hurt you that you hand in hand with Bane. So, crossing you is crossing Bane, even when he’s locked away in Arkham.

The extreme size difference also means you can climb him like a tree, like hanging onto his back like a backpack, or hanging around his neck with your arms without your feet being able to touch the ground if he stands up straight.

You being Banes lover also probably becomes some of the “in the know” knowledge around Gotham. The bigger fish know not to mess with you since Bane would be breathing down their necks if they as much as thought about it.

But being Bane’s partner also means you’d know how to protect yourself and even kill if need be. Being much smaller than him and also being trans puts you at risk, so your lover would want you to know how to take care of anybody that tries to harm you when he’s not around. So, you end up knowing how to use a lot of different weapons and fighting styles one way or another.

But in the end, Bane is a respectful guy whose too damn smart to let you being trans get in the way of a relationship. Your big size difference is also cute in his eyes, since he can easily pick you up or just wrap you in his arms. It’s pretty damn great.

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heart4reigns · 11 months

Note

Is there anyway I could request an imagine for either Rhea Ripley or Roman Reigns? Where the Reader is a new star getting a really big push because they feel they have huge potential, and she’s a literal ray of sunshine. She’s always smiling and happy and colorful, and it shocks others that they are together. Then she ends up joining their faction, but the crowd just can’t hate her and even the announcers can’t hate her. <3 :) :)

PUSH AND PULL, roman reigns.

warnings: curse words

tags: tension between roman and rhea, you realize that i love making up stage names so... more stage names!

summary: it’s all sunshine and rainbows with you

"THE sunshine, (y/n), how are you feeling tonight?" you were backstage, doing a quick interview. "hello, hello! we're feeling great tonight, how are you?" you returned the question. "feeling good as well. so, how are you adapting to your new environment?" she asked, referring to your transfer from nxt to smackdown. "it's going well, i can't help but to thank all the people that support me! although i kinda miss the dark lighting, it's too bright here." you cracked a joke.

"right, any invitations to any factions?" she continued the interview. "no, but i'm open to any invitations. i'd love to work with anyone." she couldn't help but to smile at your reaction. "this has been (y/n), sunshine! it was so great talking to you." you nodded and gave her a hug as the camera stopped rolling. "thank you, you did a great job!" "you too, (y/n). it was so nice talking to you!"

the walk back to the locker room was filled with people greeting you left and right. you were well-known for your kindness. people grew comfortable with your presence. "yooo!" you saw one of your new locker room best friends, jimmy. "what's good, man?" you hugged him. "watched your promo earlier, you killed it!" your ears perked up in excitement. "really? god, i'm embarrassed!" you were blushing. "nah girl, you're killing the game. now let's go eat before we go back to the hotel." he gave you a huge grin.

"hope you don't mind but i asked roman to join us, not solo though. dude's been mia since this morning." you nodded at jey's sentence. you always loved meeting new people. this was also the first time you were going to meet roman. "i've always wanted to meet roman! this is gonna be fun." you grinned. "damn girl, are you always this positive? people are intimidated by him, yet you're excited?" jimmy parked the car. "nah man, i am only scared of paul. i swear that guy knows everything." the three of you laughed.

to say the least, people who met you thought that this positivity image was only for the cameras. but they were wrong, you weren't going to lose anything by being nice. denny's seemed like a good idea at 3 am in the morning. "yo man!" as the three of you entered the diner, roman was already sitting there–playing with his phone.

"hi! i'm (y/n)!" you sat in front of him, offering him a huge smile. he looked up from his phone, returning your expression. "hello." just a simple 'hello' made your heart flutter a bit. "i'm roman, finally glad to meet you. i heard so much about you from the twins." "they can't stop shit-talking me!" you frowned, lightly smacking their heads.

you always looked up to him. as the two of you came from the same background, a long reigning wrestling families. you were the only daughter of your family, so you had to continue the family business. "so wait, sorry. lost track of time, you just got drafted from nxt?" roman furrowed his brows. "yeah! i'm very very new." you chewed on your pancakes. "how come everyone has these locker room stories about you?"

"that's because she's different man." jimmy slung his arm over your shoulder. "no, no. those locker room stories are just exaggerations!" you shook your head in defense. "nah, she's too humble! she bought donuts the other week you were off. god, i swear, you're a blessing (y/n)." roman couldn't help but to smile at your little arguments with his cousins.

the 'locker room talk' was just a compilation of people admiring you for your kindness. "shit dude, gotta bounce." jey looked at his phone. "and where are you going?" you asked him. "bro and i haven't packed, y'all packed yet?" jimmy stood up from his seat, leaving only you and roman sitting down. "oh, yeah. packed earlier." "me too!"

"then, we'll leave you two. i trust her in your hands, bro." jey gave roman a fake warning, acting all 'big bro' moment. "she can beat your ass if she wants to!" jimmy continued. "okay shoo now! i'm trying to make friends!" they left and you continued your conversation with roman. "tell me more about yourself, (y/n)." his eyes sparked an interest in you. "really? you want to hear about my boring life?" you tilted your head in confusion. "there's no way your life is boring, you're a (l/n)."

and so the conversation went on and on. the two of you decided to leave denny's and drive around town together. it was never quiet. the entire ride was filled with laughter and jokes. "i actually look forward to my future. i'm excited for what life has planned for me." you parked in a random parking lot, still enjoying your talk with him. "and i'm excited for you as well, you're a good person, (y/n)." roman said, facing you. "i guess it's in my nature to treat people with kindness, i mean... it doesn't hurt anyone."

when the two of you went back to the hotel, you saw familiar faces going downstairs for breakfast. "and where have you been pretty girl?" you saw a certain black-haired girl greeting you with a sly smirk. "been around town with roman!" you hugged her, feeling her height towering you. "oh you're taking my girl now, reigns?" rhea raised a brow at him. "you're dating her?" roman was hella confused.

"oh no, it's a joke! i always call her my work wife!" you giggled, clearly not seeing that she was interested in you. "see you on the bus, wifey!" you waved at her, entering the elevator. "better watch it, bro." rhea whispered as roman followed you. he made a mental note that everyone was protective over you. being the new girl, your family thought that you'd be intimidated by the older talents–but in reality, everyone loved you.

it was clear that several talents took an interest in you, but being the friendly person you were, you saw everyone in a platonic way. "can i perhaps," he paused for a second. "get your number? you're a very fun person to talk to." you grinned and exchanged numbers. "if you need anyone to talk to, don't hesitate to call or text me!" you parted ways.

and on that day, the roman reigns too, took an interest in you. "fuck." he whispered, realizing that he was soon going to develop an actual liking to you.

you were sharing the ride with several stars in the second bus. road trips were always exciting, whether it's cody singing on the back of the bus, or seth trying to do a backflip while becky stops him–not wanting him to throw up, it was always a magical moment seeing your fellow wrestlers without their strong tv persona. "hey." rhea greeted you, sitting on an empty seat next to you. "this empty?" she asked. "indi is gonna be pissed to know that her seat is taken. but, it's empty." you replied.

"where did you go yesterday?" rhea couldn't help but to terrorize you with questions. "with roman? we drove around town, shared stories. we ate with the twins earlier, but they left because they haven't packed." you recalled the moment. "i see." she shortly replied. "there was a picture of you two circling around twitter, you looked very close." rhea pulled out her phone, showing you a picture of you laughing with roman. "aw, i look so happy!" she couldn't help but to smile at your cluelessness. before she could say anything, seth pointed at you. "BACKFLIP CHALLENGE?" "IT'S ON!"

you heard from the fans that the second bus was the party bus. everyone was always on their highest spirits. the seat next to you was empty, as rhea was dragged to the back by dominik. that left you space for you to stretch your legs. you were about to watch a movie until you saw a notification popped up.

unknown number: how's your bus?

(y/n): sorry, who is this :)?

unknown number: oh it's roman

(y/n): HIIIII :)

roman: and why are you up? everyone's knocked out here

(y/n): sorry to say but the second bus is the party bus! we're still going :)

roman: damn that sounds fun, the only entertainment we have here is jey freestyling

(y/n): that's sounds amazing!

(y/n): gotta bounce, rhea wants to watch a movie with me n dominik :)!!

roman: okay, see you at the arena

(y/n): :)

the arena was swarmed with fans. some of them were holding signs and pictures of you. one of them said '(Y/N) JOIN THE BLOODLINE!' and some said 'JUDGEMENT DAY IS WAITING FOR YOU, SUNSHINE!'. you took some pictures of the sign and posted them on your twitter. you talked to several fans, trying your best to greet everyone.

"you're quite popular." a familiar voice startled you. "roman!" "hi." everyone was looking at the two of you. "how was your trip?" you asked, still signing some pictures. "knocked out cold, can't stand solo's snores though." you chuckled. "mine was filled of seth jumping from seats to seats." he was obviously not surprised by one of his friend's antics. "you should ride with me, we can judge jey's freestyle together." you nodded in agreement. "that sounds fun!"

you walked away with roman, still chatting up. little did you know, people were still looking at the two of you. "they look cute together." one of your fans said. "nah man, she's with rhea." "nah, that's a long-running joke. (y/n) is obviously single." and they were right. you were single and maybe, ready to mingle.

you were hanging out in your hotel room with your manager, ethan. ethan went over your schedule. "you got quite the boost here, (y/n)." he muttered, still looking at his phone. "hmmm?" you tilted your head. "you and roman now?" he asked. "why does everyone keep on asking me that? we're friends!" you chuckled. "because everyone is apparently 'shipping' you guys now." "oh please, they ship me with everyone i interact with! remember when they 'shipped' me with balor? because we went to the gym together?"

tonight, you were fighting against dakota kai. you always looked forward to dance in the ring with her. of course, the company was going to make you win this fight. "good luck, sunshine." she hugged you as the training ended. "see you tonight, love!" you hugged her back.

the locker room was hyping you up. "LET'S GO, (Y/N)! LET'S GO, (Y/N)!" you were stretching your body, matching the energy of the locker room. your true hypemen were there; the twins. "go kill it, (y/n)!" jey said, patting your back. "thanks, i will do my best!" as the crew called your name, you went outside the locker room.

everyone was busy doing their job. you passed several crew, waving at them. you saw a similar face and immediately ran to him. "roman!" your high-pitched voice caught his attention. "(y/n)! you're up in 5." a crew said. "i'll be there!" you replied. "good luck." came out of his mouth. "i'm rooting for you." he joked, knowing well that he already saw the script. "thanks big boy." you jokingly punched his chest. "cheer for me!"

"and her contender for tonight, the rising superstar–sunshine!"

roman was looking at the monitor from his locker room, which was practically empty. "should watch her match tonight man, it's gonna be crazy." jey passed him a bottle of water. "watch this." jimmy pointed at the screen. the crowd went wild when they saw you do your signature move. with your colorful gear, you were definitely the centre of everyone's attention.

he saw immense talent coming straight from you. "this is wild as hell." roman commented. "you sure she's new here?" he asked. "i think creatives landed a goldmine when they decided they were going to push her." paul commented. seeing you do a super kick clicked something inside of him. "i want her in."

you were exhausted as you lifted your fist up in the air. you helped dakota from her position and took her hand. "you did amazing!" you mouthed. "you did great, girl!" she replied. you won but it was all because of the help of your opponent. the walk backstage was kind of painful as you were limping from your injuries. the smile on your face was still there, you didn't want to show people that your leg was hurting.

"you okay there, (y/n)?" as you took off your hand-wrap, the voice from earlier greeted you again. "you again?" you teased him. roman was also sweating from his appearance. "can't help but to see you limping." roman chuckled, sitting on the bench next to you. "i'm good, kinda botched the last move, but i lifted my leg so dakota won't land on her neck!" you explained. "you did that to save her?" "hey, i'll take a bullet for anyone!"

the next following days were filled with more road trips and endless training time. "(y/n)!" you were in the gym, staring the red punching bag. "hey, ethan! what's up?" you asked him, cracking your knuckles. "you have time?" "just say whatever you want, i can multitask!" you started your work out. "so, you're gonna want to hear this." punch. "yeah, what's that?" punch.

"you're going to be in the bloodline." another punch. "i am going to be in the what?" the punching bag fell on the floor. "I AM TURNING HEEL?" you grinned with excitement. sometimes people around you wonder about what goes on in your head–like your stage name, you were always the sunshine of the room.

"you heard the news?" roman and you were eating lunch together. it became a routine for the two of you. everyone couldn't help but to notice the two of you becoming closer than before. you shared the same brand, but you were never one to eat lunch with the tribal chief. "yeah! god, it's so thrilling... me? finally joining a faction? couldn't ask for more!" you took a sip of your water. "a bit too cynical for you?" you shook your head. "i can fit right in!" you pulled off a fake smug face. "okay, you don't fit this evil-like image."

as it became a routine, you took a liking to the champion. he was nice, returning the energy that you had for everyone. he also took you to several 'lunch dates' that ended on the two of you gaining more feelings for each other. there was definitely something going on between you. "are we going to the dog park this weekend?" you asked him. "whatever you want to do, princess." he smiled. "i'll bring my dog! god, a dog park date, that sounds fun!" your cheeks flared up as you mentioned that it was going to be a date.

"is it a date?" he teased you. "shut up, i didn't mean it like that!" you blushed. "damn, i'm disappointed." he 'cried'. "or do you want it as a date date?" you teased back. "i don't mind, princess." roman replied. the constant flirtings, the never-ending dates, or phone calls when the two of you weren't together, it was obvious that romance sparked in between. tension was there. he slung his arm around your shoulder, your bodies colliding with each other, it was already a muscle memory for the two of you.

even the staffs noticed that the kindness you gave roman was different. "but i don't mind if you consider it as a date, i'd love that." you confessed. "i'm gonna take you on as many dates as we can, baby." he smiled. "sorry for bothering you, but your gear is done." you looked up and saw the costume staff approaching you. they altered your gear to fit the bloodline's aesthetic. "oh really? thanks!" you replied.

"you wanna see it?" you asked roman. receiving a nod from the tribal chief. "let's go!" you took his hand and went to one of the locker rooms. "dude, this is amazing!" black and red–the bloodline colors. "wait, go out! i'm gonna change." roman quickly went out the locker room. "are you done?" "YES! GOD, THIS IS SO COOL!" roman went inside the room and saw you with the bloodline gear. you looked amazing, he thought. "y- you look good." he stuttered. "AND I FEEL GOOD!" he was really thankful that the two of you were going to work together.

there you were, in the backstage, with the bloodline. "how you feeling tonight?" solo asked you. you were jumping up and down with adrenaline in your veins. "SO EXCITED!" you spoke louder, due to the loud music. none of your fans knew that you were turning heel, it was the company's secret. the crowd was kind of worried because they didn't hear from you for days. it was going to be a huge surprise.

"the bloodline!" you huffed out the air, waiting for the grand entrance. as you walked out, carrying one of roman's title, you could hear gasps coming from the crowd. "is that- is that sunshine with the bloodline? why is she with them?" you expected everyone to boo at you, but they did the opposite. the crowd popped.

as soon as you got inside the ring, roman started speaking to the mic. "i know y'all are wondering about why sunshine is here." he spoke. "and you guessed it right, our newest member of the bloodline, my personal pick, sunshine." roman winked at you, only to receive a huge smile that didn't match the persona of the bloodline members.

maybe, just maybe, turning heel and being in the same ring as your crush was going to be a fun rollercoaster ride.

a/n: hi!! thank you for the request, sorry if it’s a bit underwhelming, but i hope you enjoyed it!! i decided this request would fit roman as i already have a similar draft for this… so yeah :) i have 2 more requests coming up, but requests are still open!!

#roman reigns #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns x reader #the usos #wwe #wwe imagines #paul heyman #cody rhodes #rhea ripley #jimmy uso #jey uso #solo sikoa #wrestling #wwe x reader #seth rollins #becky lynch #dominik mysterio #bloodline #bloodline imagines

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