#i can draw because i injured my wrist and thumb :)))))

[hg-aneh]

I feel so sorry for the people looking at the gomens tag and seeing my repost spam jsnfksd

It'll be over someday, I swear 😔

Here's a little guy for your bothers though

#I'm just trying to catch up ppl here with the things ive been doing #not like anyone cares but yknow #im still sorry though KSNGKDG #aneh wont shut up #fun fact this thing killed my hand #i can draw because i injured my wrist and thumb :))))) #THANKS AZIRAPHAL-

[anime-fan-05]

Can I ask you for a mini first kiss scenario with Naruto, Sasuke, Sai, Shikamaru, Gaara, Kakashi, Obito and Itachi? You can also divide it into several parts if that is more convenient for you.

Thank you very much!

Naruto ~First kiss 1st part~

Manga/anime: Naruto

Warnings: spoilers of all the manga/anime

(Y/N): your name

I divided the scenario into two parts: 2nd part is here.

I discovered my boyfriend Naruto's weakness: tickle. Every time I touched him, he started laughing so hard.

Because of this, I started giving him tickling attacks every time he came home.

That's why I'm lying on the ground now, while he's on top of me tickling me.

"Ahahah ahahah! Naruto, stop! Please!" It's killing me!

"No! So you learn to do this to me every day, -ttebayo!" He really wants to make me pay.

After ten minutes of torture, he finally stops, so I have time to realize our position: I'm lying on the carpet in our house while he straddles me, holding my wrists with one hand and tickling me with the other. I blush immediately.

Naruto also seems to have noticed our position, but he doesn't move away as I thought, instead he brings his face closer to mine.

"N-Naruto? What are you doing?" Now our faces are just a few centimeters apart.

"I love you, -ttebayo."

Then he leans in and briefly captures my lips with his in a soft, tender kiss.

Where is he? Sasuke should have already returned home from one of his journeys! I'm so worried! What if something happened to him? It's also raining today, what do I do if he gets injured? I don't know any medical jutsu, how will I heal him?

Now I'm outside, looking out on the porch, nervously waiting for my boyfriend to arrive, but as the hours pass, I feel more and more tired and then, without even realizing it, I end up falling asleep on the porch of the house.

Huh? Am I in my bed? What am I doing here? Hadn't I fallen asleep on the porch? Is Sasuke back? Did he bring me here?

"You finally woke up." Sasuke!

Without even thinking about it, I run to hug him and tears come out of my eyes without me even understanding why.

"Sasuke, you're back! Why were you gone so long? Do you know how much you made me worry?!" In response, he lowers his head and presses his forehead against mine and he runs his thumb gently over my cheek.

"Sorry for being gone so long and for making you worry. However, being away from you made me realize one thing: I love you more than words can express."

After confessing, he places his lips on mine in a very sweet kiss.

Sai and I are drawing in the park. In reality, he is drawing, while I am looking at him, instead of painting.

"Are you ok, artwork? You're staring at me."

"A-artwork?"

"You are extremely beautiful, like and artwork. Can't I call you that?" How can he give such nice compliments so easily?

"Anyway, I finished my drawing. Do you want to see it?" I nod.

He hands me his paper and I begin to admire it. It's really beautiful: his drawing represents me and him, holding hands and walking through the streets of Konoha. The most beautiful part is Sai's smile: it's such a pure and sincere smile. I wish he always smiled like that.

"Your smile is beautiful, Sai: it's so pure and sincere."

"I'd like to smile like that. The only time I did this was while I was with Naruto." An idea comes to me.

"Sai, I'll make you smile." He frowns in confusion.

"How?"

"Trust me, Sai, and close your eyes."

"I trust you." he says, closing his eyes. My heart leaps at this confession.

So, I move closer to him and one of my hands cups his cheek. He flinches slightly at my touch, but immediately relaxes and his eyes remain closed.

"What are you doing?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"Kiss you." I say just as softly, leaning forward to finally press my lips against his.

BONUS:

In the end, he smiled sincerely and asked me to do it again.

I'm in front of Nara's house. I came to try to talk to Shikamaru, my boyfriend. I'm very worried because, since Asuma died, he still hasn't left the house and has always refused to see anyone, including me.

After saying hello to Yoshino, I go to his room. Shika is lying on his bed.

"Shika?" I try to catch his attention.

"What do you want?" His voice is so cold it almost gives me shivers.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay. I'm your girlfriend, I care about you."

"Leave me alone, (Y/N)."

"No. I'll stay until I make sure you're okay. Shika, I feel so bad seeing you like this."

"GO AWAY, (Y/N)!" He screams, suddenly getting up from the bed.

Without giving him time to respond, I throw myself into a hug, tears streaming down my cheeks. This gesture shocks and agitates him, in fact he remains immobile, even if I hold him tight.

"Shika, cry, please: you need to vent. And even if you cry, I will always be there to dry your tears; even if you cry, I will never let you go." And with that, he breaks down and he holds me and cries.

He cries and screams for hours on my shoulder. After he stops crying, he breaks away from my embrace.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you, (Y/N). And sorry for before."

"Apology accepted, but you'll have to make it up to me."

"All that you want."

An idea comes to mind: "Kiss me."

His eyes widen slightly and a light blush spreads across his cheeks, but he still comes closer, bends over slightly and cups my cheeks in his hands.

Before I can say a word, he presses his lips against mine.

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

#naruto #naruto x reader #naruto uzumaki #naruto uzumaki x reader #sasuke uchiha #sasuke uchiha x reader #sai #sai x reader #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x reader #naruto scenarios #naruto x reader fluff

[tooxmanyxships]

[  VISITING  HOURS  ]:     upon waking in a hospital bed, one of the muses turns their head, and finds the other sleeping in an uncomfortable chair by their bedside. w dando!!!

Okay, all I could think about was Daniel waking up after his hand surgery and finding Lando sitting next to his bed 🥺🥺🥺 Sooooo.... That's what we're rolling with.

Daniel had woken up once already after the surgery, in the recovery room.

They told him that everything went fine and for him to just rest as they took him back up to his room.

By the time they wheeled him into the room, Daniel was already back asleep. They'd given him something for the pain, which had knocked him out once again.

A few hours went by until he woke up again, blinking against the light that filtered in through the window.

He was barely awake and groaned softly as he tried to stretch his muscles and tried to get acquainted with his surroundings.

White room, white sheets,... White everything. Or almost everything at least.

He was at the hospital. Hand operation.

Right.

It's while he's getting used to his setting, and the quietness, that he notices it..... Another person breathing beside him.

He turns his head and a very peculiar sight is in front of him.

It's Lando, curled up on the biggest chair in the room, pushed closer to the bed probably, sleeping peacefully.

Peaceful.... But it must be incredibly uncomfortable too.

Daniel just stares at him for a minute or two, it's all he can do to be honest, then clears his throat.

"Lando?" he says softly, then a bit louder when he gets no reaction. "Lando. Wake up."

Daniel is surprised by the sudden jerk of Lando's body, making him almost fall out of the chair, as he shoots awake.

He hadn't said his name that loud, had he?

Lando is still barely awake as he looks around shiftily, taking in his surroundings, his eyes finally setting on Daniel in the hospital bed.

"Oh! You're awake!"

Lando's tentative smile makes Daniel's heart melt a little.

"Yes. So are you." He grins as he sees Lando take off his cap to scratch in his hair, head ducked down. He knows he's blushing. "What are you doing here, Lando?"

There it is.

The nervous shuffling and fidgeting. The obvious trying to avoid eye contact maneuver.

Daniel raises his eyebrow. Waits until Lando finally looks at him.

"Can't I just visit one of my best friends?"

And Daniel's second eyebrow rises up. That's not the right answer and they both know it.

"I doubt that chair is comfortable enough to fall asleep in, even for you, if it's just for a short visit."

Lando's head drops again, staring at his fiddling hands in his lap.

Daniel waits patiently.

"I just--- I didn't want you to wake up alone."

Daniel's silent, one of the rare moments that he is, and Lando wants to hide. Wants to run away.

He can hear Daniel open up the drawer of the bedside table, rumble through it, then close it again.

He finally looks up when Daniel clears his throat again because he's curious.

There's a marker being held out to him and he looks up at Daniel's face in confusion.

"Are you gonna sign my cast or what?"

A grin spreads across Lando's face as he takes the marker and eagerly starts drawing on the cast on Daniel's hand, the tip of his tongue slightly poking out of his lips in concentration.

Daniel's watching him with a soft smile on his face.

When the younger man is done and drops the marker on the bed, Daniel grabs his wrist with his uninjured hand.

Lando looks up at him with wide eyes.

Daniel runs his thumb over the inside of his wrist.

"I'm okay, Lando."

And Lando breaks. Dropping his head on Daniel's shoulder as he moves to sit onto the edge of the bed.

Daniel runs his good hand over the other's back while the young Brit sighs and cradles Daniel's injured hand between his own.

"I just don't know what I would do without you."

Daniel smiles and rests his head against the top of Lando's, which is still resting on his shoulder.

"Well, you won't have to find out just yet."

#dando #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo x lando norris

[zoroara]

Drawing too much bel has made me notice something was up with his hands. See while you may occasionally see it in other characters it's not as common with other characters(I went and checked to make sure, not the whole manga of course but you know) Bel's hands are hyperflexible, most prominently in his thumbs that essentially are drawn looking similar to hitchhicker's thumb. Whether on accident or not it's a lot more common with him. The reason I noticed this, is because I myself have this. Meaning I can actually show you some pictures to compare here since unfortunately most shown images of it when you search it up are at their most pushed state so it looks extremely odd. (not that it doesn't look like i broke my thumb in some so be warned on the below, this is just how it naturally bends)

Rest fold here, though it should be noted bel's thumb points a little more down.(for the sake of both of us, ignore the mess on my desk.)

What it should look like when holding things. ignore that i pushed my wrist at a weird angle I'll explain that additional note later.

forgot to bend the other two fingers but you can see my upper two fingers also naturally bend backwards some[like if i hold them flat they can actually go about 45 degrees backwards without pushing. if i push them with my other hand they can go a whole 90] (Yes I have a shark collection. There is more than pictured.)

just some general closed hand here.

Now there's two I didn't get pictures of but know I could. One is this

and that's because i don't want to show my face, but you can definitely see the bend once you know what to look for.

The other is this:

hard to see, but the thumb is at the bottom, as you'll notice there's almost a perfect circle to the arm which doesn't normally happen.

Also some panels seem like he's purposely trying to hide this, like when he raises his hands to show he's not going to attack in varia arc his hand looks like it's pressed together, I copied it to the best of my ability while struggling to take a picture

even like this his thumb still comes out a bit as you can see.

I don't actually see many characters portrayed with this, but what I find really interesting is that while yes, there's people with this without them, it is tied to a few disorders. The most common of these 4, which I have is Hyper mobility syndrome. it means your joints for, whatever reason(there's a few potential underlying causes) are hypermobile to extreme flexibility(though your body to counteract this can end up making your joints and muscles extremely stiff.)

which uh, based on how bel in general fucking moves, yeah he sure god damn is huh.

While hypermobility like this can lead to chronic pain(I am unlucky enough to experience this with no exact fix) potential clumsiness(Not something I experience I'm actually the least likely to stumble and fall out of everyone) and common sprains and breaks(I only broke my ankle 1 time in my whole life and never had a sprain). As you can see not all symptoms are shared.

But also, a majority of these issues can be softened quite a bit through physical therapy(didn't work for me in particular but my body just wouldn't build more muscle). As the muscle built will actually reinforce the extremely flexible joints so that they don't injure themselves as much. Given Bel probably doesn't have much of a choice but to have a training routine in the varia he likely experiences very minimal problems due to actually having the muscle and physical activity that helps.

It should be noted it often causes fatigue, and outside of physical therapy there are some things you can do. You know, orthopedics, good-ish posture(it's honestly super hard because your body wants to actively fight this to find what's comfortable), don't go extreme ranges of motion(Bel is pretty good at this except when he goes into his blood driven mode where he doesn't have self preservation but like. I fuck up all the time when i want to go do something quick and he sure does too outside of this) and so on. What drives me most insane that while I was doing this. What I found out, was standing like this:

where your knees are slightly bent forward is actually a potential recommendation to combat the fact your legs kinda are fucky. and then i went and did this and it helped some. Also while re-looking at panels Bel also has the clear stance that when he stands straight his legs go back some, which is also part of hyper mobility. there's a notable angle.

and generally his legs bend in ways that no normal person would be able to manage even when he's not being chaos

like the calf there on his right is much closer to a straight line down that it should be.

anyway, while all of this could be accidental, I just thought it'd be interesting to share. Plus you get a bit more information about this stuff regardless! (It may even end up being useful to you because some people don't actually know much about it and assume this stuff is normal if they have it. <- also me)

#khr #khr analysis #khr headcanons #belphegor #a little bit of medical trivia

[nervouscupcakeinspace]

BTS FIC RECS (PART 2)

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope

Don't Get Charmed by shikiso

When an injured omega is found on their territory, Jungkook's instincts scream danger. He is the pack's omega, they don't need another one. Jungkook is doing a good enough job by himself, protecting the den and soothing the tension off everybody's shoulders.

Why is the pack so adamant on keeping that useless omega in ?

They have Jungkook, they don't need Hoseok.

Why can't they even see his little game ? Hoseok definitely knows how to play the scared and helpless omega. But, if he manages to trick everybody, he can't trick Jungkook. He is immune to his sweet scent and sweeter eyes.

He won't fall into his trap.

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

Omega Drip by sugamongoose

Park Jimin is the kind of alpha who makes you coffee and asks about your day before reducing his partner to a crying, writhing mess on his organic cotton sheets. He doesn't even seem to care one bit that Jungkook is a broken omega who doesn't get wet when he's supposed to.

“Are you busy right now, alpha?” Jungkook asks, holding his breath in anticipation. He can already visualise getting on his knees for the smaller man, can imagine those soft-looking hands petting his hair in approval when he shows just how good his mouth is.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM

Every Kind of Way by Oh_Hey_Tae

And then he realizes, quite belatedly, that he’s not supposed to be shaking the hand of the barista. Because that’s weird. And uncalled for. And really, really weird.

So Jungkook draws back his arm, grips the straps of his backpack, and promptly flees the building without a word spoken. Which is fine. Sometimes you have to get out of awkward social situations and blacklist particular cafés and adjust your route to school to avoid said café and the barista with the heart shaped face and his sweet pea scented hands. It happens.

“Jungkook-ah, meet Kim Namjoon.”

And sometimes during your bi-weekly dinner one of your good friends introduces you to said barista with the terribly soft hands who also happens to be getting his masters in social work to help underprivileged youth in inner city neighborhoods. Which is fine. This is fine. Jungkook is doing just fine.

 (Or: Jungkook adores everything about Namjoon except that the man can't catch a clue.)

Here Is What I Know by Oh_Hey_Tae

There are flowers growing on Namjoon’s arm. They aren’t real flowers, of course. That would be absurd. Impossible. Ridiculous. But Namjoon spends most of his lecture on Kant watching the garden of ink bloom on his skin, beginning at his pinkie and spreading across his wrist, trickling down to his elbow, curling up and around his bicep and out of sight under the sleeve of his shirt. Irises and peonies and roses and sunflowers. The girl who’s sitting beside him is staring, and when caught, gives Namjoon a bright-eyed grin before glancing back to the board. Namjoon spots a faded smiley face inked into the skin of her thumb, what looks to be a grocery list scrawled over the back of her hand. Notes or reminders from her soulmate maybe. Soulmates. Huh. It looks like Namjoon has one of those now.

try to resist, i still want it all by exarite

At first, Namjoon doesn’t think much of him.

He looks familiar, but he’s too far away for Namjoon to really see or scent out his dynamic. He’s cute, but Namjoon's not new to cute boys either. He's far too used to handsome, and pretty, and everything in between in the industry.

But then he stands up. Namjoon's eyes catch on the swell of his belly, and every nerve in his body lights up, his mind going blank, and—

Oh, he breathes. He's pregnant.

::

Namjoon fucks a pregnant Jungkook.

just let me adore you by elle_O_moonchild *

Rockstar omega Jungkook has never let an alpha tie him down. He was independent, and happy, and had no need for a domineering knothead to mess up his career and lifestyle.

But powerful and wealthy alpha Namjoon only wants to spoil the pretty omega rotten.

or

A smitten alpha Namjoon gets a weary omega Jungkook to go on a date with him and shows him just how good they can be together…

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Seokjin | Jin

more and more and more by moonsuns

"If you haven’t had sex by the time you’re twenty, then I’ll have sex with you. That way you’ll have a guaranteed end date for your virginity.”

“Do you promise, hyung?”

"I promise."

The problem was, Seokjin never expected to be called on it.

you shouldn't give it to me (good like that) by jamaisvore

opposites in the eyes of the media, but a perfect match in each other's arms.

or: supermodel!jk x rockstar!jin

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM

Pull Me Under by Oh_Hey_Tae

It’s been two weeks. Hoseok has managed to survive two weeks of Kim Namjoon’s progressively darkening thighs and his cheek craters and his swooshy hair and that stupid laugh he does that makes him sound like a bleating sheep.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Stares. Slowly draws his gaze back to Hoseok. “Are we discussing the same man who tried to brush his teeth with sunscreen yesterday?”

“Ew, he did that?”

“Your voice says that’s disgusting but your face says you’re enamored.”

Hoseok presses his palms against his eyes until he sees colored spots. “Make it stop, hyung.”

  (Or: Hoseok works at a summer resort and Namjoon is the newest lifeguard. Chaos ensues.)

fall underneath by crycoby

“Is this secretly about your huge crush on Namjoon?” Jimin asks, his fingers digging into the back of Hoseok’s neck in a way that is frankly criminal. “You know that if you like him, you’re going to have to be more direct. He doesn’t like to assume things about people and… He overthinks a lot,” he finally settles on diplomatically.

Hoseok groans, half because of the pressure and half because the idea of talking about this, about any of this, about any of the gnarled mess that is the clutch of Hoseok’s emotions in the knot of his chest, gives him hives.

//

hoseok could talk about his big messy feelings about namjoon, or he could talk around them instead and just hope for the best. yeah. that sounds good.

Methods of Mutual Stress Relief by Only_A_Fangirl

Hoseok cringes, “How weird would it be if I actually asked to jerk off in here with you?”

“Very,” Namjoon answers instantly.

Hoseok nods, “You can choose the porn.”

Namjoon blinks, “Are you for real?”

lyre lyre lyre by oliviacirce

Namjoo regrets every life choice that has led her here, to the hard wooden floor of this dance studio, where she's lying on her back like a beached whale.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Taehyung | V

the long and winding road by moonsuns

Hoseok is (basically) forced to go on vacation and leave his stressful idol life behind, at least for a little while. He wasn't expecting to find Taehyung, that's for sure. (He's glad he did, though.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin

Procurement by FlyYouFools1 (WIP) *

Seokjin and Namjoon have waited decades for a little of their own. Taehyung just wants to pay for his little brother's education.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Taehyung | V

Dandelion Love (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Taehyung is twenty-one when the word on his wrist turns ashen. The kind of love that soulmates share is forever out of reach.

(But enter one Kim Namjoon, who doesn't think the same.)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

Bleeding Love by beebalm

Yoongi was already dressed and halfway to the door, nothing but a dry chuckle and a See you around when Namjoon asked for his number.

OR

It's not that Namjoon is hurt Yoongi only ever wanted him for a one night stand. And he doesn't have a crush. He just wishes they didn't have to keep seeing each other all the time.

Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin

but i want it anyway by ameliabedelias *

Park Jimin’s roommate goes to study abroad for a semester. Kim Namjoon takes over the lease.

only lingering around you by moonsuns 

“I don't. I mean...this is going to sound awkward, but I’m...not really looking for a relationship right now.”

Namjoon considers, for a moment, elaborating and telling Jimin about everything with Hoseok, but there wouldn't be any point in that. And also, Namjoon is pretty sure that Jimin doesn't care about any of that anyway.

And he's right. At this, Jimin outright laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh, but Namjoon is pierced by the sound anyway. “Who said anything about a relationship, or even feelings? It’s just sex.”

Or, Namjoon and Jimin are friends with benefits.

Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga

운명 (Fate) (part of the (Not) Destined series) by almostsophie1

Yoongi is part of that three percent population left without a soulmate word. It doesn't matter if he falls in love, because love isn't meant for people like him.

(Then he meets Seokjin.)

candy on my lips (part of the just desserts series) by moonbabie

Anonymous advice columnist and baby bi Kim Sujin meets queer club president Min Yoonji, and does the following: writes some cheesy advice columns, cuts her hair, and figures out her shit. (aka a queer romcom meets emotional constipation, self-discovery, and clueless wlw)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin

pull me closer in the backseat of your rover by moonsuns

Jimin had just wanted to get off. He didn't think he'd end up with a boyfriend at the end of it all.

Or, another friends with benefits AU.

Nip & Bloom by sugamongoose (WIP) *

The year is 2021, and yet traditional and oppressive views of alpha/omega relations run rampant in the Korean society. Unmated Park Jimin is placed in a government programme which pairs delinquent omegas with support mates to make them more comfortable in their submission. Jimin’s alpha for six months turns out to be Min Yoongi, a tiny music producer who wears fuzzy sweaters, and who won’t stop talking about his kitten Holly.

“You look like an omega,” Jimin blurts out. The strange alpha flashes him a smile that reveals the pink of his gums. “Is that something you prefer? I saw your file, and it said you identify as queer.” “Oh, you looked at my file just to see if I like to fuck other omegas? Knot swelling yet?”

POLY RELATIONSHIPS

OT7 - Relationship

indiscentsible by cloudyworld *

Jungkook had been a little disappointed when, after all the build-up and speculation, he'd presented as a beta. Betas are great! They play an important role in society: level-headed, big-picture thinkers, the solid foundation that holds everyone together. But that pull of instinct that comes with being an alpha or omega, the feeling of belonging... He was crushed at the thought he might never get to have that.

In a pack with three alphas and three omegas already, presenting beta was a gift; Jungkook learns to see that too.

Precious Mettle by glitterandgilt (WIP) *

Jin loved his nest. He'd built it very carefully from the ground up. Spent centuries on selecting the individuals he wanted to spend the rest of his immortal life with. He was proud of his nest and protected it with a possessive love that rivaled a dragon's guard on their trove.

Jin didn't get the chance to go through that evaluation process with his newest treasure. But he would never let it go.

Or

When Jin's blood is stolen and used to sire a new fledgling, Jin has two choices: to ignore the strands of magic binding him to his new childe, or to lay claim to another jewel for his collection. He chooses the latter and drags his entire nest into a situation none of them were anticipating.

Kim's Seven by Gobi17 (WIP) *

Jungkook, 17 year old YouTuber, is in awe of the 6 hot boys who have adopted him online.

Bangtan are a dangerous group of vigilantes who seize the opportunity to kidnap the stepson of their latest target.

Found Kin by Adaptive_Artist (WIP)

Jungkook is starving. Food doesn't make anything better, and his teeth ache like someone is hammering on them. He thought he was cursed. Turns out he's a hatchling kin, and is now the precious baby of the renowned Kim nest. He's also growing little fangs.

Huh.

love bites (series) by feraljk (WIP) 

Summary from the first fic:

newly-turned vampire jungkook still has a lot to learn, but his hyungs are there to help him. taehyung enlists yoongi and jin to teach the fledgling how to teethe and helps him discover how much of a bonding activity teething can be.

or: trans koo and tae teeth on their hyungs and also come

Isn't it lovely? (all alone) by hopefully2020

At age eighteen, all citizens are given a concentration that will determine their fields of study. A small empty square on their wrist will gain a color corresponding to their skill set. Everyone’s fear is that their square color is black, meaning they are destined for a life of crime. When Jungkook turns eighteen, he waits anxiously for his square to gain color, only to be presented with a blank square. He is shunned by his family, having to struggle through high school while trying to figure out what to do for the rest of his life. Jungkook's life gets flipped upside down on the day of his twenty-first birthday when the store he works at is robbed with Jungkook at the cash register. Fearing for his life he believes he is going to die, only to be saved by a figure in black with a mask covering his face. To make things even worse, Jungkook suddenly becomes the target of one of the largest drug syndicates, solely because of his new connection to his savior and five other men who turn out to be the biggest crime lords in Seoul. What happens then, you ask? Well, then the blank world Jungkook always saw starts to drip with black, just a little bit.

blueberry peaches (a serendipitous summer) by elle_O_moonchild (WIP)

Jungkook spends a life changing summer working at a beachside car wash and meets 6 new lovers who change his heart and life forever.

Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM 

Falling For an Alien From Amalthea 5 by Pyotr_Keats78 (WIP)

Jungkook has been in and out of the hospital for years with various medical problems. Eventually, his heart becomes so weak that no human medicine can save him. Believing he will die never having come out as trans to anyone, he gives up. That is until his brother Jimin tells him, “You have two choices, Jungah: you can stay here in this hospital and get high every day until your heart fails you, or you can go to Amalthea, grow a parasite, and live.”

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin

Mentoring on Marsa by FlyYouFools1

Jungkook comes to the planet Marsa after being promised a full scholarship to Marsa National University. When the scholarship falls through, his academic advisor gives him the number for a mentoring service for newly stranded omegas on Marsa. With rent due, no way home, and no success in finding a job, Jungkook calls the number. The organization sends him Min Yoongi, a fellow omega who's been living on Marsa for 8 years. Yoongi teaches him how to survive. Jungkook's first attempt at survival is alpha couple Jimin and Taehyung.

Features: Yoongi doing his best to teach Jungkook how to manage handsy alphas, handsy alphas (like all of them are touchy) taking liberties with omega protagonists, and my best attempt at writing problematic but entertaining sex. A lot of fluff too, actually. The alphas are fluffy as hell with the omegas, and pamper them a lot, even though their actual behavior is wrong.

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga

November (series) by cuttothequickk 

Summary from the first fic: 

Sometimes, Jeongguk gets so lonely he doesn't even feel alone anymore. He's practicing, and he's very good at it. Loneliness. Being alone. It's blustery cold, and the leaves are falling from the branches of trembling trees, and Jeongguk is alone in a big city, shivering without a jacket, trying desperately to keep himself warm.

There is no one, and then there is someone. Two someones. The lovely winter boys from Daegu, Taehyung and Yoongi, opposites and equals, so loving and in love.

It would be ridiculous, really, if Jeongguk didn't fall for them, too.

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga

how, or when, or from where by moonsuns

“Stop calling it my quest,” Namjoon whines, and Hoseok laughs.

“You’re the one that said it first.”

“I was drunk.”

“Well, the bad thing about going out with people, is that you can’t take back the stupid shit you said when you were drunk. Especially when they’re way less drunk than you.”

Or, after Namjoon almost dies, he decides to go on a quest to live his best life, and takes Yoongi and Hoseok along for the ride.

(* Personal favorites)

MASTERPOST FIC RECS PART 1

#bts fic rec #my fic recs #mine #koobi #jikook #namkook #jinkook #namseok #vhope #namjin #taejoon #namgi #minimoni #yoonjin #yoonmin #ot7 #bts poly #bts

[shorkbrian]

THIS ISNT A REQUEST its just me. LOOSING my mind over the Levi Ackerman stuff you write. like?????Levi injuring/hurting his s/o to make sure they dont go anywhere is so fbsjsja and accurate. I can physically SEE the way his hands would move to their knee and theyd be nervous but not sure just yet. Then he'd mention the expidition next week and just like that they'd know excatly what hes about to do.

Commander Erwin knowing but not doing anything about it because hell if humanities strongest solidier is gonna do that shit hes not gonna stop it. They're just gonna have to shh and be quiet. agsshsjsna I love that youd exposed me to this lmao

kashfaskak big Brian time omg

(What To Expect - no NSFW, bone breaking)

You’d get called to his office, hands sweaty and maybe shaking a bit as you open the door.

Levi’s standing at the window, looking out as he thought about who-knows-what, but he turns when you enter, indicating for you to sit.

He starts talking to you, menial conversation that is flavorless and dry, not filled with his common veiled threats or dark confessions of all the things he wants to subject you to.

Levi steps around behind you, hands falling heavy on your shoulders, and you both pretend not to see the violent flinch that the movement draws from you. Levi knows you’re afraid of him, but that works in his favor. 

You aren’t sure what he wants from you yet, maybe a blowjob? But he’s still talking, small hands beginning to knead at the muscles of your shoulders, finding the knots, the sore muscles and digging into them painfully. 

Long moments pass of Levi’s low voice filling your ear, his fingers pushing down hard into your muscles, making you wince and struggle to not move away from his touch.

But it hurts.

When he finally lets up on the painful massage you breathe a sigh of relief. The relief is short lived as he moves to your side, trailing his fingers down your arm to your hand, tracing over the tendons there with a foreboding sense of finality.

“Levi sir?” You question as he falls silent, the man intently studying your hand. He rubs his thumb over the callouses lining your fingers, the callouses that all cadets gain from operating the omni-directional mobility gear. Levi himself has similar callouses, although his are deeper and far rougher, his experience and expertise evident in the scars and weathered skin on his hands.

He lifts one of your hands as he studies it, bringing it closer to his face. You let him, just as you always do. Levi is not to be disobeyed. Maybe he’s in the mood for a hand job today?

“The upcoming expedition is going to be.... difficult.”

Your blood runs ice cold, filling your body with frost and snow. You feel like you can’t move. This can't be going anywhere good.

“I’m expecting there to be heavy losses.” The man continues, moving your fingers, bending them. “It’s a shitty fool’s errand, trying to drive back the titans that far from the wall.”

You want to snatch your hand away, but his grip is becoming increasingly tighter, one of his hands circling around your wrist to hold you fast. There’s an inkling in the back of your brain that whatever is going to happen will hurt. Levi’s going to hurt you.

“I’m ready to serve the regiment in whatever way necessary Sir.” You whisper, watching Levi play with your hand as if it were a toy that he didn’t understand.

The man nodded his head slowly, before his eyes flicked to yours. “That’s what makes you such a fine cadet. The best, actually. Always willing to do whatever your leaders command...”

What was he getting at?

“Sir? Is something wrong?” The silence is stifling, you have to ask. Maybe he just wanted to talk, maybe he just wanted to caution you about getting rest or tell you to train more. Maybe he’d act like a normal captain, and treat you like a normal cadet.

Levi sighed heavily, before the hand caressing your own stilled. “If I ordered you to stay behind, I know you’d feel guilty. Your comrades would wonder why you’re getting special treatment, the other officers would bitch and moan like whiny little piss babies about how I’m showing weakness. There’s no way for me to ensure your safety.”

The words he spoke were true.

“It’s alright Sir, I can take care of myself. I don’t need protection.”

Your hand was crushed in a painfully tight grip, Levi leaning over your chair. 

“You’re so naive. You’d get killed before you could step outside the wall.” He spoke quietly, grey eyes boring into your own, insistent.

He was scaring you.

Not knowing how to respond, you stayed silent, trying to shrink back in your chair, away from the heavy presence of your captain. The man clicked his tongue, before straightening again.

His eyes moved from your face to your hand, where he paused, before taking a closer look.

“Ah, but my finest cadet can’t go over the wall with such an injury. Stupid brat, should’ve gone to the med unit.”

What was he talking about? What injury?

You voiced your confused thoughts, and Levi grimaced, lips drawn in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Your fucking hand, it’s broken. You broke it trying to get in some extra training with your ODM gear, didn’t you?”

“Sir, I don’t understa-”

Blinding pain lanced up your arm, and you doubled over in your chair, trying to pull your crushed hand out of Levi’s grip as you cried out.

The man kept a straight face, although a part of him felt sorrow for your pain. But it was necessary.

Another deft move with his fingers, and one of your fingers snapped like a twig, the sharp crack resounding in the room above your pained whimpers.

“Sir!?!” You cried, Levi finally allowing you to wrench your hand out of his grip, clutch the mangled extremity to your chest.

He’d broken your hand.

Levi had shattered the fine bones across the back in a terrifying display of strength, before cleanly breaking on of your fingers.

“A pity, I could’ve used you on the expedition. Too bad your shitty hand is broken.” His voice was flat as he stepped away from you, rounding his desk to sit in his chair with finality. “You should get it looked at, otherwise it’ll heal weird and you’ll be an ugly cripple.” 

You felt like screaming, anger welling up inside.

A knock on the door startled you, Levi uttering a soft “come in” before you could say or do anything.

Commander Erwin stepped inside, blue eyes flitting between you, Captain Levi, and your broken hand. There was a moment of stillness in the room.

You couldn’t let Captain Levi get away with such flagrant abuse.

“Commander Erwin! Captain Levi broke my hand.” You explained, rising to your feet.

Bushy blonde eyebrows raised slightly, but Erwin didn’t seem surprised. No, he seemed... disappointed?

“It appears so. Go get it set and bandaged Cadet, you’re relieved of duty at this time.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

Commander Erwin believed you, he just didn’t care.

It seem that Captain Levi was allowed free reign

#levi #Captain Levi #yandere levi #Levi Heichou #levi aot #levi ackerman #aot smut #yandere aot #dark aot #yandere attack on titan #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Rewards of Getting Shot | Bucky Barnes

Hey lovelies back at it with the Dinner at DIzzy's content. I would call it a drabble but I would be lying lmao. It is, however, the first smut of the event and that feels special lol. I'm a tad iffy about this one-- usually the smut I write breaches 8k words and I am so not used to condensing it so it's an experience for us all lol. Please do enjoy loves!

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Smut (a lil' angst at beginning but soft!angst)

Entres (Pairing): Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 23: “I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you.”

Notes: Takes place after Bucky gets injured protecting reader, requested by @hellotvshowtrash (god I hope you like this because the sheer amount of times I giggled like a little girl while writing this needs to be worth something)

THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!!

Word Count: 3k (what is actually wrong with you Dizzy these are supposed to be drabbles)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“Buck—” She whimpers, her fingers brushing around the angry red gash on his chest, hand shaking. “What were you thinking?”

Bucky’s skin is hot to the touch, more furnace than man, chest slightly damp from the serum working his body in overdrive. A few tears slip down her cheeks, cold in comparison to the man below her. It’s her fault that he’s injured. He jumped in front of a bullet for her. If she had just been paying attention then it would have never happened. Of course she hadn’t been paying attention. She had heard a scream and turned away for one second— just one— and the next thing she knew there was a bang and—

“I had to do it, doll.” His voice is tired, his blue eyes a little duller than normal, but beyond that there are no noticeable differences— he still stares up at her with that half grin, half worried pout that he always does.

His hands flex on her hips, pulling her body further up his own until her thighs are pushing around his hips, knees sinking further into the mattress. She plants her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin, afraid that if she lets go then he might disappear. Who’s to say this isn’t all a dream— that he isn’t still laying on the street with a bullet lodged in his chest?

She shakes her head, dropping her eyes back to the healing wound. “You’re hurt— because of me.”

His fingers tense. She can feel his jaw slouching, leaning down and scratching her cheek with his stubble, no doubt trying to find her eyes again. Any other day she would give in, wanting to stare into his eyes just as much as he does. But today isn’t any other day. Today is today and she can’t look at him— not without feeling the guilt crash over her. When did she become so irresponsible?

“I’m fine, doll.” His lips press against her temple and she flinches like she was the one hit with the bullet and not him.

She swallows thickly, curling her hands into balls but leaving them on his shoulders. He smells like the hospital still— like alcohol swabs and the burnt metal tinge that seems to always accompany sterile buildings— and she can barely find the lingering traces of his pine tree musk. Her chest jolts, the sob getting caught in her throat, more tears racing down her face. They don’t phase her at this point— she’s more water than woman right now. The flame and the sea— right now she feels too destructive. Like he’s going to flicker out and that it’ll really be all her fault.

Her throat is raw when she finally answers him, her voice too dense. “You could have been killed.”

His hand— his flesh one— leaves her hip, curling gently around her chin. He doesn’t push her face up yet— he’s still giving her the option to look at him on her own— but she knows it won’t last long. Soon he’ll break and she’ll be forced to meet his stare. She’s never dreaded looking at Bucky so much.

“But you would have been. You hear me? You would have died. The chances—”

“Bucky—” she tries to protest but his hand only tightens.

“The chances—” he continues anyway, not giving her room to talk over him— her time’s running out— “were more in my favor than yours. That’s all there is to it, doll.”

She can feel the final barriers of his patience waning, his grip starting to push on her jaw as his voice takes on a grittier tone. It’s not anger. She’s heard him angry and this is nothing close. This is desperate. This is worse. She can feel him breaking and she can’t take it— can’t take the feeling of him tugging her even closer.

She can’t take it so she breaks first.

“I was careless and you got hurt. That’s all there is to it.” She mutters, her gaze snapping to meet the hard crystal eyes of the man she loves.

Bucky shakes his head, his brown hair falling slightly in front of his concerned eyes. She doesn’t move to fix it like she normally would. Something about touching his face right now feels wrong— feels blasphemous. She’s not allowed to touch him; she hurt him. Her eyebrows crease, lips pressing together. Just looking at him hurts. Probably nowhere near as bad as his skin feels as it fuses back together.

His other hand moves from her hip, the now warmed up metal curling behind her ear. She watches as he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing jaggedly. His stomach is pressed against hers now, his heat burning holes through her thin t-shirt. She can feel every inhale he takes— she can feel how his breaths become closer together.

“No baby—” he pulls her face closer to his and it is only then— when her shoulders bump into his— that she realizes she’s sobbing— “no you were looking out for your teammates. You always look out for us. For me. It was a split second decision and I would do it again.”

Now that the dam has broken she can’t stop the flood, ripping her hands from his shoulders and squeezing her palms against her eyes. Her hands don’t stop the tears— that was never her intention. It’s more so she won’t have to look at his eyes as they begin to glass over. Bucky doesn’t cry often but when he does it always hits her square in the chest. Kind of like how the bullet—

“Why? Why did you do it?” She chokes out as his hands slip around her wrists, thumbs rubbing over her pulse points, drawing her hands away so gently that another round of sobs threatens to unleash.

He’s always so damn gentle with her.

“Baby come here.” The soldier murmurs, voice hoarse, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “Please. C’mere, doll. It’s okay— It’s all okay.”

He guides her hands to his face until her palms rub over his stubble, locking his fingers with hers and squeezing. His lips find her cheek, skimming over the salty tracks left from her tears, finding her ear and pressing a kiss to her temple. She breathes in and, through the alcohol, can finally make out the notes of earthy musk. It makes her shudder and he presses his lips against her harder.

“I did it because I had to.” He whispers against her skin, words hot and slow. “The other option was watching my girl get shot—” she flinches again and he kneads her hands— “I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you.”

It shouldn’t hurt to hear that. It shouldn’t hurt to hear that he loves her more than anything else— especially because she feels the same way. It shouldn’t but it does. It rips through her ears, slicing down her throat, stabbing at her gut, before finally settling between her thighs— this stinging, aching emptiness. She sniffles, finally curling her fingers around his jaw without his help, scratching through the hair on his jaw. It zaps electricity through her fingers— air into her lungs.

“Buck—” she can’t finish her thought— both because it was never really there to begin with and because his lips crash onto hers, swallowing her words faster than they can come.

He kisses her hard— hungrily— his hands reclaiming their place on her hips as his tongue pushes against the seam of her lips. He still tastes like himself— like plum cobbler and diet coke— and she opens her mouth to him instantly, desperate for more. The first brush of his tongue against hers sends a wave of shocks rushing down her spine, pooling in her core. She doesn’t realize how exposed she is until his hips are pushing up, nothing but his sweatpants and her boy-shorts separating them.

He squeezes, thumbs brushing under her shirt and rubbing hard circles against her hip bones. The contrast— flesh versus metal— is enough to have her head falling back, thighs caging him tighter between her. It takes no time for his mouth to fall to her throat, sucking her skin into his mouth and biting down. It stings in a new way— the bruise like payback. Sweet, sweet payback. The first moan slips past her lips and he groans against her skin in return.

Bucky grinds up against her, using his hands to keep her hips smothered against his, rocking ever so slightly to brush his hardness against her. His movements are jagged, no doubt skewed from his injury, but nonetheless they send little bolts of pleasure zapping down her legs. When he does it again— this time a little harder— she arches her stomach against his, toes curling around thin air the same way her core clenches around the emptiness. Her fingers fly to his hair, threading through the damp strands and tugging a little harder than she intends to.

When he hisses some of her common sense comes back to her— not enough to get her to stop rocking against him— to stop chasing those tiny sparks of everything— but enough to make her ease up a touch.

“Bucky you’re—” he pushes her against his length with more force and she loses herself to the moan that tears through her lungs, the friction like magic— “Buck you’re hurt we can’t.”

“I don’t care, doll.” He mumbles, trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck, yanking the collar of her shirt to the side to latch his lips onto her throat. “Need you now— right now.”

She wants to argue further— he’s already hurt, whether or not because of her, and she doesn’t want to make it worse. They’re on the tip of her tongue; all the words she should say. You need rest. The doctor said to take it easy. Bullet wounds and sex usually don’t go together. She goes to open her mouth— to at least try— but when her lips part all that comes out is a string of nothingness, a metal digit sliding her panties to the side and plunging inside her before she can even try. When she peeks down at him, pulling her neck from its position on her shoulder, she meets his glinting blue eyes. The cheeky bastard.

She clenches around him right away, the slight thrum of the current in his fingers enough to have her moaning his name. It’s all the encouragement he needs to add another. She’s sure that if he were to keep his fingers there long enough the vibrations would be enough to have her climaxing around them. Of course that’s not his style— not right now at least. She can feel the tension in his movements as he twists the digits inside her, curling them as his thumb presses against her clit. He rubs it in a steady— if not semi-sloppy circle. She doesn’t care— the pressure and vibrations in combination with the rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of her has her seeing stars.

He leans down, nose brushing along her cheek, voice soft and needy. “C’mon baby, I can feel you already— I know you wanna’ let go. Are you gonna’ let go for me?”

His voice is too soft— still much too slow— and it makes her feel like she’s floating, the pressure in the pit of her stomach. That might just be his fingers though, now kneading that spot inside her that has her pulling on his hair again, this time to keep her from falling off his lap as she bucks her hips against his fingers. She’s so close she can taste it— the metal inside her now sharp against her tongue. It’s intoxicating— it’s harsh— and it hits her like a truck how badly she doesn’t want to come around anything but his cock.

“More, Bucky— I want more. Now. Please, baby, now.” She whines, desperate to hang on despite the sweet torture she’s facing at the literal hands of the man she loves.

That’s all it takes for him to hook his arm around her hips, pulling his fingers from her core and holding her above him as he frees his length with his other hand. She drops her hands to his shoulders, the pressure of her pending orgasm beginning to wane until his skin— bare and hot and hard— brushes against hers and she’s gasping for air— for more. She can hear him chuckle through his own, needy huffs, repeating the motion against her throbbing clit. She can taste the metal again— that’s how addicted she is to this man. All it takes is a few measly touches and she’s putty in his hands. So much so that she almost reaches between them and lines him up for them.

“Bucky please— please, please, please— I need you. I need—”

It happens so quickly— her eyelids flashing with white, tongue flooding with the taste of plum cobbler, diet coke, and her body spasming with the orgasm that is no longer just waning as he enters her with one acute thrust of his hips. He doesn’t give her a moment to adjust— she doesn't need one, core clenching around him as he pulls out of her and repeats the jarring motion— and it’s all she can do to dig her fingers into his skin and cling to him for dear life.

“Fuck baby—” he purrs, chest rumbling against hers as he uses his arm to continue rolling her hips through the unrelenting pleasure crashing over her— “you’re perfect— so damn perfect.” His head falls on her shoulder, lips brushing over her bruised skin feverishly. “Think you can do that again for me?”

His words spur something in her— a new, hotter fire than the one circulating through her veins. A need. Despite the way her thighs feel like literal jelly, just barely holding her on top of him she’s suddenly determined to give him whatever he asks. Before she can process her own actions she’s pressing on his chest, carefully avoiding the now almost healed wound, until his back is flat against the pillows, his eyes more black than blue and wider than she’s ever seen them.

“Doll—” She rolls her hips, hissing at the feeling of her still sensitive clit pressing into the hard plains of his abdomen, and his words die into a throaty moan that she swears she can feel in her own chest.

“Let me do it.” Her voice is breathy, the air in her lungs almost entirely gone, but the sight of the man— her man— under her makes her wonder if she ever needed air to begin with.

Surely he’s more than enough for her.

She does it again, rising off of him slightly before sinking back around him, gaze glued to his half-lidded eyes. His mouth is open but no real words come out only curses that, upon leaving his lips, turn into something so much more sinfully incoherent. They’re gasoline to the fire— fuel to the bucking of her hips. When her clit brushes him again it feels less like a shock to her system and more like everything she’s ever wanted coming to fruition.

That familiar pressure begins building again— faster and much too quickly for the slow pace she had been trying to set— and she can feel him start to buck up against her. His impatience is like a drug, one that warps her already hazy mind and urges her to roll her hips quicker, grinding down on him harder. His arm is still hooked around her back, something she only remembers when he tightens, holding her against his chest as he drives up into her, cock brushing the same spot his fingers had.

“Bucky—” she sighs, starting to fumble, losing herself in the weightless feeling creeping over her limbs— “I need— need— fuck!”

She can’t put it into words— she can’t think of a way to tell him that she feels like she’s going to float away— but he understands anyway. He always understands her. In a split second her back is being pushed into the soft mattress, her head pressed into the pillow that is now soaked in his earthy musk. He does it so fluidly that he never disconnects from her, his drilling pace never slowing. His arm lands next to her head and she wraps her hand around his bicep, nails digging into his skin and drawing one more of those gasoline-meet-fire moans.

“C’mon doll—” Bucky’s hand slips between their tangled bodies, vibranium tracing down her stomach before sliding over her aching sex, pressing down harshly. “Gonna’ gimme’ one more, yeah? Gonna’ cum for me again?”

She can’t speak at all this time, only loosely nod and gasp as the pleasure rakes across her limbs. Her eyes flutter shut, unable to do anything more than squeeze her thighs around him, mouth open and mewling as his strokes get slopier, bringing him closer to his own edge right alongside her. The circling of his finger— the thrumming of the metal coming alive— and the messy jutting of his hips is enough to have her falling in seconds, bones nothing but water, limp and liquid as she folds under him. Her second orgasm, unlike her first, is cool. She doesn’t taste metal, she tastes earth and pine trees and life.

Her eyelids feel heavy— deliciously so— but still she peels them open against her orgasm to watch Bucky’s last jagged thrusts and the way he stills, hands and stomach and face clenching as he finds his own release inside her. For a moment he hovers over her, lost in what she can only assume is the same, cloudlike feeling that’s clinging to her, before collapsing on top of her, head pressing into her sweaty chest. His hands find their way under her body, palms slipping up her spine until his fingers curl around her shoulder blades, hugging her to him as his lips press against her skin. She giggles— higher than ever on dopamine and him— fingers brushing through his hair, pulling the damp strands from his forehead like she had wanted to before.

He was right— all is okay.

That’s how they stay for a while, wrapped in each other and easing off the post climax rush until Bucky’s low words breach the silent, foggy bubble.

“Maybe—” he pants, finger skimming the column of her neck— “maybe I should get shot more often. You know, if that’s the— the reward.”

“Don’t you dare.”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #Dinner at Dizzy's

[mydramaspace]

Part 1:“Do I need a reason to like him?” In which you’re in love with your best friend and someone asks you why you like him.

Part 1. Posted on 5 May 2021. 

The question makes you stumble and drop your yogurt to the ground, whiteness splattering everywhere. You’re mumbling incoherent nonsensical words of apology when a hand swoops in to pull you up from the ground. “Are you okay?”

Your heart jumps to your throat, and breathing becomes a chore. Chocolate brown tired eyes behind a pair of black glasses scan your face worriedly. The touch on your wrist begins to burn, a pleasant heat stemming from where his fingers touch your wrist. You’re sure your ears are as red as tomatoes. Anybody else, and they would’ve understood. They would’ve known. It would be impossible not to. But not him. Not your dense best friend. You mumble something and it must satisfy him because he lets go of your hand, shaking his head. “When will you start paying attention to your surroundings?” A beat. Then, “Who is this?” 

It is then you remember your other friend standing next to you. “Oh this is Min Hyuk. Min Hyuk, this is Nam Joo Hyuk, my best friend.” Min Hyuk grins widely, the naughty spark in his eyes sends worry flowing through you. He wouldn’t spill the beans would he? You really should be more careful of how you behave around Joo Hyuk, you need to stop being so obvious. The two shake hands and you shake your head, attempt to chase away the buzzing that is filling it up- as it always does whenever Joo Hyuk is near you these days. 

“Where are you guys headed?” 

“Oh we’re heading to the learning center. We wanted to study for the French final together.” A beat. “Can I join you?”

You blink at your best friend. He looks back at you, eyebrows raised. “But, Joo Hyuk, you’re in English. Why do you want to study French?” You say, and he shrugs. Min Hyuk begins to laugh and you turn to him, beginning to feel slightly annoyed. “What’s so funny?” 

He smiles in that secretive way of his that makes you want to smack him, walking forward, and Joo Hyuk matches his pace. You hurry after both of them.

----------------------------------------------------------

“Come on, tell me!” 

You look up from your laptop for the hundredth time to glare at Min Hyuk. “Non.” you say sternly, “Study your French.” Min Hyuk only sniggers in reply. You roll your eyes and look at the alphabets on screen again, mouthing the words. Involuntarily, your eyes slide upwards and forward, to where Joo Hyuk is sitting with his laptop, fingers tapping away at the keyboard. A sigh escapes your mouth. It would be so easy to just go there and wrap your arms around him like you used to. Except, no, it would not. You didn’t have a crush on him then. Now you do. 

Min Hyuk taps the desk in front of you loudly, making Joo Hyuk glance up sharply, looking annoyed. You look away, embarrassed at being caught, and smack Min Hyuk’s hand away. “We’re going to fail our final at this rate.” You hiss, and he laughs. “Tell me why you like him and I promise I’ll shut up.” You glance at Joo Hyuk warily, and he looks away from you, eyes going back to his laptop. “Promise you’ll shut up?” 

“Oui, mademoiselle.” 

You sigh loudly, making Joo Hyuk glance at you in concern. You feel your ears go red, and smile at him before looking away. You can almost swear he grinned back. 

“Fine, what do you want to know.” 

“Since when have you liked him?”

Forever maybe? Ever since you saw him carry an injured chipmunk to the infirmary with such tenderness it surprised you even though you knew he was the gentle sort of guy? Or when he cut up your steak for you when you fractured your thumb when you both were 10 and fed you your dinner? Or when you were 16 and he rushed to your house in the middle of the night when your favorite character in the book you were reading died and hugged you till the tears stopped? “A month.” 

“What do you even like about him?” 

How warm his hugs are. How his eyes crinkle when he smiles. How his lips tilt a bit more to the left than the right. How he holds the frame of the car door every time you get into any car and tells you to mind your head. The way his t-shirt rides up every time he stretches his arms after four hours of intense gaming. The way he goes silent every time he looks at the stars, like he has just noticed how beautiful they are. The way he is unashamed to say he likes the same music as you do, and that he likes romance fiction. The way he seems to always be there for you whenever you need him. The way his eyes shine in the sunlight and his lips look so totally kissabl-

“He’s nice.” 

“He’s nice?” Min Hyuk guffaws loudly, drawing attention from everyone in the center, including Joo Hyuk who crumples his nose as he looks at his laptop. You place your hand against Min Hyuk’s mouth, shutting him up. “Byu bwike bim baush beesh biche?” his words come out muffled and you pull your hand back, wiping it against your jeans, disgusted with your friend. “You like him only because he’s nice?” Min Hyuk’s tone is incredulous and you glare at him. “You said you’d study French if I told you. Study.”

“Ya! You promised me to tell me why you like-” You stomp on Min Hyuk’s foot, breaking off his loud question, and Joo Hyuk looks absolutely disgusted. You look at him, smiling uneasily. “Sorry!” You mouth at him. You don’t blame him really, if it were you, you would be annoyed too by some loud jerk who wouldn’t let you finish your work in peace. Joo Hyuk just ignores your smile and looks away, jaw clenched, and your stomach twists. You hate fighting with him. You rarely do, but when it happens, it’s the worst. 

“That is it. I’m heading back to my dorm. I’ll get to study there at least.” You pack up your things and storm out, Min Hyuk following you, calling out apologies. As you walk out, you notice Joo Hyuk continue to ignore you, even when you wave at him, and your stomach twists again. Why does it feel like the beginning of an end?  

As Min Hyuk catches up to you and apologizes over and over again, you don’t see Joo Hyuk’s eyes trailing after you all the way till you’re out of his line of vision. Nor do you see the fingers he has clamped around his pen tightly. 

xxxxxx

A/n: Hahah this was an effort, and will probably continue into a series sometime soon! Thanks for reading! <3  

(EDIT: You can read Part 2 here! and part 3 here!)

#reader x nam joo hyuk #nam joo hyuk #fanfiction #start up #do san #romance #fluff #pining #best friends to lovers #minor jealousy #boys over flowers #nam joo hyuk x reader

[write-ur-wrongs]

Thank you @itsjammin for the request! I didn’t fully proof-read this one so please forgive any grammatical errors!! I hope you like it !!

Geralt x reader where she’s having a really bad panic attack and Geralt’s not sure how he can help and he just holds her and helps her through it cradling her in his arms and just gently rocking her. After she’s calmed down, he just kisses her forehead and traces patterns on her back and just lots of fluff please!

Trigger warning: Anxiety / panic attack. 

_________________________________________________

You were fine. You’re breathing and you weren’t bleeding and you’re fine. You closed your hands into tight fists in an attempt to ground yourself, digging your nails into your palms as you breathed out slowly through your nose. You felt the weight of your legs on the fallen tree beneath you, pushed your toes into the tip of your shoes and felt the pressure you created. Slowly, you relaxed your fists and rested your open hands on your thighs, feeling the blood rush back into palms. The tiny crescent moon indents in your palm stung dully.

You weren’t injured. You weren’t in danger of being injured. You were fine.

Geralt was watching you wearily from across the crackling fire, his steaming mug of broth hovering inches from his face. You had been balling your hands into fists, knuckles white, and relaxing them slowly on repeat for too long now. He looked over at Jaskier quizzically, a brow raised, but the bard merely mirrored his confusion, returning the look with wide eyes and an animated shrug.

You were normally a steady presence in the group, matching Geralt in energy level and Jaskier in wit. They’d known you for over a year now and had only ever seen you in that light; steady with a silver tongue. Tonight, however, was a completely different story. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened today; you had travelled a peaceful route and stopped in a nice clearing. No one had crossed you and Geralt sensed no threat in the surrounding area. And yet, there you sat, breathing slowly but with great effort, empty eyes looking out at nothing while your forehead was creased with worry.

Geralt wanted to know what was up, but he was no wordsmith. Huffing slightly, he looked at the bard pointedly and jerked his head in your direction, silently begging Jaskier to ask you what was wrong.

Jaskier might be good with words, but never when the situation truly called for it. He could banter with the best of them and diffuse tension with ease, but you were giving off such a distressing energy, he didn’t dare say anything unsure of what you’d do once the tension in you boiled over.

As such, he shook his head wildly and pointed at Geralt while mouthing, “You ask her!”

The two men mimed wildly to one another, both desperate to have the other take charge, oblivious to the fact that you had transitioned from the desperate-to-keep-a-steady-breath phase and into the weight-on-my-chest-is-suffocating-me phase of your episode.  

Jaskier won out though, when he threw a torn piece of bread a the Witcher’s head. With a low grunt, Geralt gingerly placed his mug down and clasped his hands together and leaned over, bracing himself.

He cleared his throat a couple times before hesitantly muttering his question. Unfortunately, his noble attempt fell on death ears.

All you could hear was a dull ringing coupled with the amplified sounds of your body; every breath was deafening, your heartbeat was so loud you felt it in your ears, and you swore you could hear your bones creaking in their joints.

You hated this; all of it. You hated that you couldn’t identify the cause of your panic. That rationally, you knew nothing was wrong, but that wasn’t enough to keep you from spiraling as you were. Normally you could feel these episodes coming and stop them before the settled in full. Your mother had taught you countless coping methods and the healers you met along your travels helped you immensely; especially as new triggers made themselves known to you.

Yet nothing had happened, really. Geralt was a little colder than usual, and he did snap at you quite harshly but that wasn’t new. It was an occupational hazard. Jaskier had been moodier as of late, probably because Geralt snapped at him too, but they’re always squabbling and reconciling. It was their way.

You didn’t see this one coming. At the first sign of trouble, you grounded yourself and counted your breaths. When that didn’t work, you counted things around you; five conifers, three boulders, fifteen pinecones on the floor, and so on. But it didn’t work. You had even pulled out your vial of herbs – all to no avail.

Nothing was helping and everything was too loud. You were in pain but nothing actually hurt. The weight of your body against your bones was crushing but you felt like a ghost.

Oblivious to your internal struggle and unimpressed with the Witcher’s feeble attempt, Jaskier rolled his eyes at Geralt and whipped another piece of bread at him. Frustrated and frazzled, Geralt threw the bread back to the bard with force, shot him a death glare, and wiped his sweaty palms on the top of his legs before trying again.

“Y/N... hm… how –”

“I’m fine!” you barked, although your voice wavered in a way that clearly indicated you were far from fine.

Geralt looked to Jaskier in desperation, not wanting to have to try again, but Jaskier was already up and walking backwards towards Roach, mouthing ‘sorry’ and ‘good luck’ as he washed his hands of the whole affair.

Geralt rolled his eyes and muttered a quiet, ‘fuck’, before getting up to cross the fire and settle beside you uncomfortably.

The moment you realized Geralt had come to your side, your chin wobbled and you felt tears prickle at your eyes. You brought your hands up to your face and swiped at your tears quickly, doing your best to regain control.

Seeing you up close – how your jaw never relaxed, how you couldn’t sit still, the way you dragged the nail of your index finger down the side of your thumbs, seemingly unaware of the angry red lines you left behind – his heart broke.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, pulling you towards him.

Feeling his strong arms wrap themselves around you brought your tears to the surface in an instant. Before either of you could process what was happening, you were sobbing freely into his broad chest, hands grabbing at him desperately for comfort.

You cried for what felt like forever, raw and ragged sobs shaking you to your core. But no matter how deeply you surrendered into your panic, Geralt never wavered. He rocked you slowly, stroking your back softly. Every now and then he’d murmur words of encouragement into your hair and, despite all odds, you found that the low rumble of his voice comforted you greatly.

After some time, your sobs turned into whimpers, and your whimpers into choppy breaths. All the while, Geralt never released his hold on you. Only when he felt your heartrate return to normal did he lessen his grip and pull back to look down at you, smoothing back your hair.

“What –”

“I’m –”

You both laughed awkwardly into the sudden silence and waited for the other to go on. After a beat, Geralt tried again.

“Please –”

“Geralt –” you interrupted once more, shaking your head at the cyclical turn your conversation had taken.

“Y/N, you go.” He said softly, still drawing loopy shapes onto your back with his fingers.

“Oh Gods,” you breathed shakily, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“No, no,” he shushed, placing gentle kisses along your temple, “Y/N you have no reason to be apologizing.”

“Geralt, look at me!? I’m a mess,” you blurt, “and I’ve scared Jaskier.”

“Jaskier,” he replied with a small smile, “is a fool. He’ll be fine.”

“That might be worse! He’ll never let me live this down.” You say, your head in your hands. Geralt laughed softly at this, and gave your back a few comforting pats before holding you tightly and pulling you closer to him.

“If he dares,” he murmured in mock seriousness, his smile giving him away, “then I will kill him.”

“Geralt! Then who would write all those songs about you?” you said, turning back and smacking him playfully on his chest.

“Preferably no one,” he answered, face soft with laughter while his eyes remained trained on you, watching closely to ensure you were doing okay.

“Oh, you’d miss it, you big vanity.” You laughed, swiping at the last of the tears on your face and moving to stand up.

“Y/N… wait,” he said, reaching for your wrist and gently pulling you back down. “Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, settling back down at his side, “Truly, I’m fine.”

Geralt let out a low, ‘hm’, in response, and looked at you dubiously, still acutely aware of your heightened heartrate.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, accepting that you couldn’t lie to him about this, “but I will be.” When he didn’t look convinced, you placed your hands on his arms and gave him what you hoped was a convincing look. “I promise, Geralt. I’m okay.”

He clenched his jaw tightly and breathe a sigh through his nose before speaking again.

“You didn’t just scare Jaskier tonight,” he said, slowly and with care, “you scared me too.”

You quickly cast your eyes downward, feeling shame prickle harshly at your chest. Geralt saw you bring the nails of your index finger to your thumb, ready to start your rhythmic stabbing once more, and hastily brought your shaky hands into his.

“Don’t punish yourself like this,” he whispered, rubbing his rough thumb over the tops of your fingers, “just talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say, honestly,” you said, refusing to bring your eyes up to his. “I can normally manage by myself, I don’t,” you stopped to take a steadying breath, and Geralt responded in kind by holding your hands a little tighter, “I don’t know what was different this time. I’m… I’m -”

“Only human?”

“Gross,” you said, pulling one of your hands free so you could wipe your face, “and unfair.”

“Maybe so, but Y/N, I’m serious,” he said, putting his hands gently under your chin to bring your eyes up to his, “if you ever feel like you’re losing control again, you can come to me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your voice small.

“Always.” He said, pulling your face towards him so he could lay another gentle kiss onto your forehead. “No matter what.”

At this, you allowed yourself to melt into his arms once more, letting his slow, steady, heartbeats soothe you as he continued to draw shapes on your back. 

#geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt fanfic #geralt x you #tw #trigger warning #anxiety attack #panic attack #the witcher netflix #the witcher #jaskier

[kuroos-moon]

xx. “Brazil”

[Drifting Apart]

Smau Masterlist

A/n: ik this update took a while but for those of you who didnt know my left wrist was injured (bc im clumsy and lack basic coordination 😌) but anyway, glad to have healed 🥰 well partially at least but i wanted to update💫💫

Short Written Part

“Y/n what’s wrong?” Hinata asks in concern when you abruptly stand up from the couch and walk away, your back to them.

“Y/n,” Kageyama calls, standing up from the floor to follow you. “No, it’s fine I’ll go,” he tells Hinata before he finally reaches the closed bathroom door you walked in.

He sighs when he hears you try to muffle your sobs, and despite Hinata bouncing on his feet because he was so eager to see if you were okay, Tobio knew you from all these years, you hated it when people saw you cry— except him, he was an exception; your most trusted friend.

“Y/n can I come in?” He softly asks, a hand hesitantly grazing the doorknob. When you don’t answer, he opend the door and frowned at the sight of you crouching down on the floor, face burried in your hands.

“Y/n,” he mutters under his breath, slowly making his way to you before he crouches down to your level in front of you. “I’m okay,” you say though the crack in your voice didn’t help.

“Sure you are,” he sighs, placing a hand on the top of your head, softly stroking your hair. “Did you have a fight with him?”

“It’s my fault, but he’s pretty stupid too,” you finally look up at him, your bottom lip quivering ever so slightly, but Tobio would never miss a detail about you no matter how subtle.

“Baka, do you think you’re still as pretty when you cry?” He lightly scolds, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Your eyes momentarily widen when he draws a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping a stray tear away.

“What made you cry so much?” He asks you in a sad voice, the gentle touch of his hand never leaving the side of your face. After having told him everything, all the while staring into his eyes, you now find a silent Kageyama in front of you.

“Tobio?” Without saying anything still, he grabs hold of both your shoulders and stands you up with him.

“He loves you but he’s stupid alright,” he sighs, momentarily looking sideways before looking back at you after a while with a serious look on his face, “but he selfishly thinks he’s not hurting you, or if he knows, then he doesn’t care,” he frowns as his brows form a crease.

“Don’t say that, of course he cares. Toru’s just a little—

You find yourself caught in your own words when he leans down, face dangerously close to yours as he places both his hands on the sink on either side of you, trapping you between his arms.

You don’t know what to say, nor how to react, all you know is that his breath hits directly against your face, one wrong move and you might just do what’s forbidden.

“You deserve so much better, why can’t you see that? Baka,” he whispers, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second as neither of you move away.

“Tobio,” you squeak out in panic when he inches closer. “Relax,” he sighs, pushing himself off you. “I’ll only kiss you when you want me to,” he says, his back to you as he leaves.

“I’m sorry for a while ago,” he mumbles, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck as he looks down. “It’s fine, forget about it,” you sigh, and to his surprise, you wrap your arms around him.

“Thanks for always being there for me Tobio,” you mutter, oblivious that his heart was beating wildly against his chest when you felt so right to hold in his arms, he will never get used to it.

“Oh and I have that favorite milk of yours in the fridge, wanna come in?” You grin as you pull away. He only nods before following you inside your house.

“Just like old times huh,” he chuckles as he looks at you who’s sitting down on the edge of the table while he on the other hand, leant his back on the counter facing you.

“Yup,” you give him a toothy smile. “Hanging out at mine after hanging out at yours all day,” you laugh.

“Just like when we were kids,” you hold out your milk carton.

“Just like when we were kids,” he nods, clinking his own milk carton against yours.

< Prev || Next >

❣️send an ask if u wanna be part of the taglist

❣️went soft for kags on this one btw

Taglist [Open]: @thosenerdy3amthings @chaelysian @heartlesssshanaa @i-am-lokii-of-asgard @pharvhs @cuddlesslut @babyunickorn @amaxsuki @akakuzumo @applepienation @onlyshinji @luvelyxp @oikawatooruisking @jinhitwhore @sweethyunjin17 @centinoahs @hrvydlg @greenleaf-fantasy @bratsukibakugo @ghostly-toastie @paripedia @afuckingunicornn @volleybloop @belli-jelly @fuckoffyoutoad @tendouthighs @iixyia @shikiry @strawberriimilkshake @drabblily @prince-zukohere @semiathleticnerdykid @maii-flowers @sunnyshoyou @thirstformonsters @oikawasphlatass @icy-hot @kageyamauwu1 @miyaosamoo @90s-belladonna @enter-the-dragonface @miilkyysuds @mingtopiaa @shoutsukii @lollyzen @luvssuna @nekoma-hoe @xxkeislittledovexx @mrs-kuroojinguji @trash-no-jutsu

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu x reader #oikawa toru #haikyuu smau #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you #oikawa smau #hq #hq smau #hq headcanons #haikyuu!! oikawa #hq social media au #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu!! social media au

[angry-geese]

(Platonic) Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Warnings: None! sfw. mentions of violence and injury. Gn!Reader

Notes: Giorno gets injured during a job, reader patches him up.

I have a few other posts with basically the same prompt as this which you can read here: Bruno's, Risotto's, Mista's

Giorno was someone you still had your reservations about.

To you, Passione was doomed to be the way it was. And you were fine with that. Is it a horrible organization- yes. Does it ruin lives- also yes. But it works. Structure is something you need, and under the gangs you have purpose. Passione gave you a life- a family- you never would have had without it. Maybe it's some sort of Stockholm syndrome grasp it has on you, but you aren't eager to see it under new management. Don't fix something that isn't broken.

So when some newbie showed up on your doorstep with plans to reform the gangs, you weren't very impressed.

Giorno was either the luckiest or the dumbest man you've ever met. Maybe both. Putting it lightly, he was reckless. The kid had some sort of angel sitting on his shoulder because he could walk off a building and still land on his feet. He's had enough near-death experiences to last him a lifetime. It was almost respectable. Almost.

It was rare you were ever paired up with him. Or anyone for that matter. Your stand meant you could work solo. Often times you preferred it that way. As much as you cared about the others, they were more like annoying little brothers to you than proper coworkers.

The job was simple, and not particularly time consuming. Get to a drop off point, find a dead drop, get back to the hideout in one piece. Giorno was sent along as backup- and partially because his very presence had pissed off Abbacchio earlier in the day. Having not spent much time around him, you were surprised to find that he wasn't as intolerable as you expected. Not that you'd give him the satisfaction of knowing that. You didn't want to inflate the newbie's ego too much. He seemed rather apathetic about things, up until his "I, Giorno Giovanna, have a dream" speeches.

It was a freak accident, really. The kid wasn't after the dead drop, he only wanted to mug you. As far as you could tell, he had no gang affiliation. Children and firearms don't mix- he accidentally pulls the trigger aiming right for you.

And Giorno made the mistake of jumping in front of you.

If you had been hit, you'd probably have been fine. You could have gotten Gold Experience to heal you.

The bullet struck the outer part of his thigh, missing anything vital, but he struggles to walk. Out of pity, you half drag/half carry him back to the car. The wound doesn't look too deep, but it should be checked out. Figuring he could take care of it, you toss him into the back seat, heading around towards the front.

It's when you get in that you realize he's not doing anything.

"Why can't you heal yourself?" You ask.

"My stand doesn't work on me."

"That's unfortunate," you climb into the back seat, "you're not going to like what happens next."

You motion for him to put his leg in your lap. He grimaces at the movement, but complies. His pale skin only adds to the strange, ethereal look he has. Hopefully Bucciarati won't mind all the blood in his car. You get Giorno to hold a spare t-shirt against the wound while you search around for a first-aid kit. There's no bullet to pull out. It looks like it barely grazed him, though he's bleeding a lot. Maybe it hit a vein- you're no doctor, you really can't say. Going to the hospital would draw too much attention- and he needs help now. People are going to ask questions if you just walk in with a bullet wound.

From the first-aid kit you produce a needle and thread, and something to sterilize the wound. Your stitching needs some work, but it'll do. You're a bit rusty. It's been a while since you've had to do this to anyone. Which is probably the last thing he wants to hear.

"This is going to hurt. A lot." You warn.

He nods. To your surprise, he remains stone-faced as you pull through the first stitch. By the third, his breathing is shaky, and his face is nearly white, though he doesn't say anything. He grips onto your wrist hard. He needs a break.

"That was reckless." You say, sitting back on your heels. You'll just give him a moment to breathe.

"You would have done it for me."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Probably not. But he doesn't need to know that.

His grip on your hand tightens. You run your thumb over his knuckles. Comforting people isn't exactly your strong suit, but he's still just some kid thrown into Passione. He closes his eyes, leaning up against you. Maybe it's the blood loss. He sits still long enough for you to finish the last few stitches.

"I don't think you're inherently bad, Y/N." He says. "You let that boy run. Anyone else would have killed him."

You decide not to tell him that you probably would have, had he not gotten shot. Better to let him believe it.

"There is literally nothing more stupid than going after the boss." You say.

"I see." Strangely enough, he doesn't seem disappointed.

"I'm in," you say, "but if I get killed, I'm haunting your ass."

#jjba #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #giorno giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #jojo part 5

[by-nina]

You’ll Be in My Heart

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2021 | Day 3 – Valediction Rating: T (family issues, politics) Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 3,105

“Isabelle, darling,” Riza begins with a great effort to keep her voice even. “You know what Mama and Papa do for work, don’t you?” A pause. “Mama and Papa are working for the country. Many things have happened… that have hurt many people. We want to make things right for them and protect them, even if it’s hard.”

Isabelle looks up and turns to Riza. “Then—then you and Papa aren’t bad people?”

———

Isabelle Mustang is ten years old when Riza Hawkeye, now the First Lady of Amestris, receives an unexpected call in her office. It comes as Riza has just finished facilitating a seminar on the Amestris educational system, when she has a five-minute reprieve before a planning meeting for the country’s Foundation Day. She picks up the phone on the third ring, composed and professional as always:

“Colonel Hawkeye’s office.”

“Your Excellency,” a kind voice says from the other end. “This is Mrs. Phillips. I teach history at Central Primary School.”

“Yes, good afternoon, Mrs. Phillips. What can I do for you?”

There is a pause before the next, carefully spoken words. “I’m calling about your daughter, Your Excellency. I apologize that this is so sudden—you must be terribly busy—but I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

Riza’s breath catches in her throat. There can only be unfortunate news following such a divulgence, but one possibility in particular surfaces far more easily than the others, as if it has just been waiting to do so from the back of her mind. She settles onto an upholstered armchair before swallowing and saying, “No, please. Go on.”

Riza waits.

“Isabelle is quite distressed.” Mrs. Phillips’ voice drops to a near whisper. “We’ve just started our lessons on Ishval.”

Riza’s heart sinks.

Mrs. Phillips speaks with an even, respectful tone that suggests hesitation, a kind of concern that usually comes with reports about a child getting injured or displaying disturbing behavior. There is sympathy and understanding as well—sentiments which Riza has always expected to be directed at her, but which she does not believe she deserves. She would have preferred to be judged more candidly, more harshly for the choices that have created this predicament in the first place.

But as equal parts hardened soldier and devoted mother, Riza suppresses every disparaging thought that might have otherwise frozen her in place. She calmly thanks Mrs. Phillips, assures her that she will be arriving at the school promptly, and ends the call. Walks into her meeting and declares to the officers present that they will be meeting tomorrow instead. Makes a call to the Xingese Embassy and requests that the Führer be allowed to leave this evening's state dinner early so he could attend to urgent matters.

Riza is out of the building in just fifteen minutes. What follows next, however, feels like being suspended in a dream with no real grasp of time. The drive to Central Primary School is excruciatingly slow—whether she ought to blame the car, the roads, or her rusty reflexes from not having taken the wheel since becoming First Lady, she isn’t quite sure. The walk through the school’s hallways is even worse. She struggles to ignore about a hundred pairs of eyes following her to the principal’s office, both surprised and concerned.

Isabelle looks much like her father, with her dark head of hair and almond-shaped eyes that always look curious and focused. But her hair is short, styled exactly like Riza’s at the same age, and her eyes are brown instead of her father’s dark gray. It could have broken Riza to see her like this, withdrawn into her small frame and her face red from fighting back tears, but she doesn’t falter.

“Isabelle,” Riza says gently, crouching before her. She brushes Isabelle’s fringe away from her face, where her hand rests to rub her daughter’s cheek with her thumb. “Isabelle, darling, I’m here.”

Only when Isabelle leans forward from her seat does Riza take her into her arms. She realizes that her heart is racing as harshly as Isabelle is trembling, and she tightens the embrace. She can’t even imagine letting go.

Riza speaks briefly to Mrs. Phillips and the principal. Mrs. Phillips explains in hushed tones how the lesson on Ishval began, how Isabelle absorbed and participated in the lesson, and what her classmates said. The questions and whispers about the Hero of Ishval and the Hawk’s Eye were not quite accusations, but the children—no doubt having heard stories from their parents, especially those who had served in the military at one point—pressed on and on with their typical bluntness and intense curiosity. That was enough, Mrs. Phillips says, to reduce Isabelle to tears by the end of the lesson.

Isabelle hardly speaks for the rest of the afternoon, answering Riza’s careful questions only with single words or a nod or shake of the head. When they arrive at the presidential mansion, Isabelle immediately retreats to her room. Riza escorts her to the door, then thinks it best to let her have time to herself. She returns in the evening to call Isabelle to dinner, only to find that Isabelle hasn’t even touched the pie and juice that were sent to her in the afternoon.

Riza sits quietly by Isabelle’s bed, holding her sleeping daughter’s hand. They stir when the door opens and Roy enters, still dressed in his suit from the state dinner with the Xingese Embassy. He appears composed, all of him but his troubled eyes.

“Papa,” Isabelle says, her voice breaking.

Roy strides over to the bed, where Isabelle flings her arms around him when he has barely sat on the edge. She shakes and cries and Roy holds her closely as he whispers into her hair, “It’s all right now, my sunshine. You’ll be all right.”

Riza joins him on the side where he sits. One hand on Isabelle’s back, another on Roy’s arm, she looks at him quietly, and he knows exactly what she means the moment their eyes meet. His expression tenses.

They allow Isabelle to continue crying until her sobs subside from exhaustion. Roy lifts her from where she sits, and she adjusts accordingly as he sets her on his lap, between himself and Riza. He pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, then dabs at her tears carefully as he coaxes her, “Will you tell Papa what happened?”

Isabelle sniffles. “We… we learned about Ishval in class today. Just like y-you and Mama always talked about.”

“I see. What did you learn about Ishval?”

“Well… they said the Ishvalans h-had their own culture, and they prayed to th-their own god. And soldiers—soldiers killed many Ishvalans because they wanted to—to take the Ishvalans’ land a-and culture away.” Her voice grows thick as she continues, “And the other—the other children s-said—the other children said—that—”

“Mm-hmm?”

“They said—th-that you and Mama—you killed many people—”

Isabelle’s words are lost to her renewed sobs. She bawls, burying her face in Roy’s shirt as Riza leans against her back with a comforting squeeze of her arm, and Roy pulls mother and daughter together into a tight embrace. It takes a few moments for Riza to notice that Roy’s hand is cold as it digs into her shoulder, and it takes her everything she has to fight back tears of her own. I’m here, she desperately thinks as she reaches for his wrist and squeezes it. You and I are here together.

“Isabelle, darling,” Riza begins with a great effort to keep her voice even. “You know what Mama and Papa do for work, don’t you?” A pause. “Mama and Papa are working for the country. Many things have happened… that have hurt many people. We want to make things right for them and protect them, even if it’s hard.”

Isabelle looks up and turns to Riza. “Then—then you and Papa aren’t bad people?”

Riza’s breath seems to catch in her chest. Roy takes a deep breath as he strokes Isabelle’s hair. “Mama and Papa… have done things that we regret. We never wanted to do them, but back then we had no choice. It’s… complicated, but it doesn’t excuse any of those things that we did.” He draws another deep, shaky breath. “All that we can do is to work with our people to make sure that those who have been hurt—like the Ishvalans—that they can heal. And we want to make sure that those bad things will never happen again.” He cradles Isabelle’s cheek in one hand. “Do you trust us to do that?”

Their daughter doesn’t say another word. She weeps into his shoulder once again, falling asleep after what seems like a half hour that is silent except for her sniffles and hiccups. Roy and Riza gently tuck Isabelle under the covers, each leaving a kiss on her forehead, but neither can find the strength to leave right after that.

Riza sits at the edge of the bed and stares for a long time at Isabelle’s face. She appears so peaceful in sleep, even with the traces of tears that have been left behind.

“We did everything we could.”

Roy settles just behind her. He reaches around Riza to take and kiss her hand; his warmth is a comfort as he leans towards her. “I know. We always knew this day would come. We’ve been preparing her for this for a long time, but there’s nothing we can do about what other people will say about us.”

“And even if it’s not how we would have wanted to tell her everything, it’s still the truth.”

Riza’s heart seems to burn with dread. An old, familiar feeling that has stayed with her since the day Isabelle was born, even though in her heart of hearts she still hoped that the singular, unprecedented course of her life might run against her expectations. But what else could the impassioned risks that she and Roy took have led to? What other consequence is there for trusting each other so wholly that they have given away too much—all of themselves in doing so?

What else could happen now but the worst possible thing?

“Oh, Roy.” Riza’s voice shakes as tears escape her for the first time today—the first in a long time. “I can’t bear to lose her."

———

Isabelle Mustang is eighteen years old when she arrives at the Resembool campus of the University of Amestris, not in the least bit anxious about living away from home for the first time in her life. She sits at the back of an official state car between her mother and father. Not much has been said throughout the trip, other than how pleasant it is to live in the East and that it’s an ideal place for a well-rounded, immersive education. To Isabelle’s left, Riza has her hand locked in a tight grasp; to her right, Roy sits perfectly still.

Riza has never felt a greater divide between herself and her daughter before today. No one can say that she and Roy never tried to relieve their daughter’s anxieties about their time in Ishval. They have spent the better part of the past eight years speaking more openly about the realities of war, as well as the worldly conditions that surround it. They’ve allowed her a glimpse into the Ishval Restoration Program, provided her with learning materials and taken her along on a number of trips to Ishval and surrounding communities to gain better appreciation of Ishval’s past and the government’s future plans for it. They have kept no secret of every sacrifice they’ve made for more than half of their lives in order to atone for their sins in Ishval.

If it all had worked, Isabelle would not have grown distant from them as she grew older and formed more opinions about the world, especially on its injustices. She would not have kept bearing the wounds caused by the knowledge of what her parents have done and of the permanence of a thousand lives lost against her own rather privileged upbringing. Isabelle has learned all that she could about both sides of this great tragedy; Riza and Roy understand where her heart lies.

Riza squeezes Isabelle’s hand as they approach the university’s dormitory, as though hoping that it might freeze time in the present. She lets go only when the car pulls up by the entrance, then alights first to make way for Isabelle. It’s one of those moments when Riza is reminded of just how much her daughter has grown; she is nearly as tall as Riza now, her features sharper and even closer to Roy’s. Her hair, now shoulder-length, has lightened into a shade of brown that matches her eyes. And Riza finds it difficult to ignore how growing up with a great emotional burden has given Isabelle a hardened look—one that Riza knows all too well from her own difficult youth.

She brushes Isabelle’s hair out of her face with both hands, then rests them on her daughter’s shoulders. “Home isn’t going to be the same without you, my love.”

Isabelle purses her lips and briefly casts her eyes downwards before responding. “You and Papa will be all right.”

Riza draws a breath far too sharp.

“You know that you can always transfer to the campus in Central next year. Or next semester.” It’s a futile wish, and Riza knows it. “Well, write and call home, won’t you?”

Before Isabelle has a chance to respond, another car door opens. Roy exits, quickly striding around the car from his side to join mother and daughter at the steps leading up to the dormitory. The cap that he wears with his uniform is drawn low over his forehead, almost concealing his eyes.

He grasps Isabelle by the arms, sparing a long moment to take in the sight of her from head to toe, before enveloping her in an embrace. “Take care of yourself,” he whispers. His voice is low, so controlled that it comes out strangled. “I love you.”

The moment ends quickly, far too quickly. Isabelle bows her head respectfully as she backs away, then turns and enters the dormitory without saying another word. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t look over her shoulder, doesn’t turn back to give a belated response to any of her parents’ well-wishes. Riza feels her chest sting with every step Isabelle takes, wondering for the hundredth time how this farewell could have turned out differently.

Beside Riza, Roy’s fingers find and intertwine with hers. Even after many years, they are not any less surreptitious about their displays of affection.

His voice breaks as he says, “She won’t even look at me.”

Riza holds on to him—to what little is still keeping her heart together.

———

Today, Isabelle Mustang is twenty-eight years old.

In the hot Ishvalan sun, it’s evident just how much she has grown from a troubled young girl into her own woman. There is a deep flush on her face from the desert heat, a firmness in the way she walks that comes from having done diligent field work and immersion among common folk. She has somewhat grown out of the physical features she inherited from her parents, but she has never looked more like them than she does today. Her focused eyes are her father’s; the compassion behind them, her mother’s.

It has been six years since Isabelle moved out of the presidential mansion and last spoke to either Riza or Roy. Today is the first time that they are wholly seeing her as the person she has been molded into by her experiences. Each step in her life has brought her heart closer to Ishval and the dream of seeing it restored to its former glory—from her degree in psychological anthropology to her activism in an organization that has been campaigning for the peaceful secession of Ishval from Amestris.

Today, she is far more than either of them have ever hoped to be.

Isabelle takes her place on the stage of the Kanda Amphitheater in the region’s capital. Before an enthusiastic crowd, she is introduced as one of a small number of Amestrians who will be serving as peace ambassadors for Ishval, as ordained by the Ishvalans themselves in preparation for their transition into an independent state over the next few years. An Ishvalan leader prays over the ceremony, giving praise for this historical moment that has at last truly begun the process of healing among his people. A new beginning that comes after decades of unfruitful compromises and reforms.

It’s a significant crossroads in the complicated history of Ishval, just as much as it is a turning point in the path that Riza and Roy have taken for most of their lives. The years had proven to them how difficult it truly was to forge a future that would best serve the interests of all their people, but perhaps more importantly, it has exposed the harsh reality that even though they share their dreams with other people, this did not guarantee that any of their plans would be perfect, or that everyone would follow the same path of peace that she and Roy had determined. Isabelle is perhaps the best example of this—Isabelle, who never found a place in governance the way they did, whose place has always been firmly with and among the Ishvalans moving towards a more progressive future than the Amestris government could have ever given them.

But these differences hardly matter in the present amid this celebration of a new dawn for Amestris and Ishval. Riza joins Roy in completing one of their remaining functions as the last appointed Führer and First Lady of Amestris. They meet and congratulate each member of the Ishvalan interim government and their peace ambassadors, and they come face to face with their daughter for the first time in a long time.

There are no embraces between them now, no loving caresses, no words exchanged even in greeting. It’s enough for Riza and Roy to shake Isabelle’s hand in turn, to share only the quickest of glances with her, because she must know by their eyes how proud they are of her. She must know how grateful they are that she has dreamed more selflessly than they ever have, and how despite all the years that she has been separated from them, their love for her has never wavered.

Still, Riza and Roy watch Isabelle leave after the ceremony the same way she did when she first entered university all those years ago: back turned, eyes set resolutely on the path before her. It may run in a different direction from theirs after today, perhaps for a long time—however long it would take them all to truly heal from their estrangement—but it is a path that they trust because Isabelle has chosen it for herself.

Wherever it may end, however long it may take, surely this path will someday lead her home.

#Royai Week #Royai Week 2021 #RoyaiWeek21 #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Royai #Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood #FMA #FMAB #Day 3 - Valediction #fanfiction #fanfic #one-shot #angst #hurt #comfort #parental Royai #Ishval Civil War #family issues #CW: family issues #writing #written by nina

[theweasleysredhair]

Falling For You [J.P.]

Character: James Potter

Word Count: 1572

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: soulmate au: feeling each others’ pain

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: not much happens in this really, I just had a storyline idea I couldn’t shake (we all know I’m a sucker for soulmate aus) and this is what happened - enjoy!

+ + + + +

You knew from a young age that your soulmate was prone to injury. Scratched knees, a broken arm (multiple times!), a dislocated shoulder, shattered ribs (that hurt) - you’d had it all and more before the age of 10.

Your mother always said your soulmate must either be an athlete, extremely clumsy or always fighting. You hoped for either of the formers, however with your luck, you were expecting the latter.

It was worrying sometimes, as there was no way to reach out to make sure your soulmate was okay, however you knew that as long as the pains kept coming through, he was alive. Sometimes he’d go long periods of time without hurting himself and you’d forget how clumsy he was, until you’d suddenly get winded or suffer stabbing pains, making you curse him under your breath.

As soon as you found out who he was, he’d be getting an earful from you about the pain he’d put you through. Especially considering the worst you’d done to him was a sprained wrist or twisted ankle now and again.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There was the time Snape “accidentally” dropped some of his potion on you, leaving your skin burning and peeling. You hadn’t done anything to warrant the action, you just happened to catch him on a bad day - something about him falling out with a friend and being hung upside down outside.

It was now your final year in Hogwarts and the Quidditch season was just beginning. Whilst you didn’t play, you did enjoy watching the games with your friends, especially when it was the final game of the season, which it was - and thus meaning the winner of the Quidditch Cup would be revealed today, based on the scores.

Gryffindor vs Slytherin, always a nasty game, lots of house rivalry and players that would do anything to get the opposing teams’ players away from the snitch.

“Who do you think is going to win?” Y/f/n asked excitedly, grabbing ahold of your arm as you followed the masses of students heading toward the Quidditch pitch, all waving their banners and yelling in support of their chosen team. “(Y/fave/team), obviously! That is, if they all play fairly... which we can’t exactly count on,” you said as you pulled your scarf around your neck - the sun may be shining but it would be windy and cold stood outside in the stands.

“That’s true... last time Gryffindor and Slytherin played, Malfoy hexed Gryffindor’s brooms. Busy day for Madam Pomfrey...” Y/f/n trailed off in thought.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad this time,” you said as you took your place in your house stand, “I mean, McGonagall checked the brooms thrice over and Dumbledore is supposed to be keeping an eye out for any cheating off either side.”

You were silenced by a loud cheering rippling through the stands as the players took their place in the middle of the pitch. You faintly heard Madam Hooch’s voice announce the beginning of the match as the brooms raised into the air and the three kinds of balls were released.

The first half of the match was pretty uneventful - a couple of goals per team, nothing extraordinary. It was only when the teams flew higher - where it was harder to spectate - that the crowds began to whisper amongst themselves. The match was clearly getting more aggressive, with bludgers being hit towards chasers on both sides at an alarming rate. At one point, the Gryffindor seeker must’ve caught sight of the snitch as there was a sudden movement on his part, before he was hit out of the way by the Slytherin seeker, who mustn’t have been able to see the snitch himself and resorted to distraction instead.

Then suddenly there was the sound of two players crashing into one another, a plethora of gasps and a few screams, as a body started to descend from the air, followed quickly by an empty broom.

You saw Dumbledore quickly stand up from his place and hear him yell out a spell to limit the momentum of the fall, however the dark haired boy still hit the floor with force.

Then you heard more screaming, louder than before and you wondered where it was coming from until you realised it was coming from you, as you collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. “Y/n! Y/n are you okay? What just happened??” Y/f/n called out, the last thing you heard before blacking out.

***

The room was silent when you finally opened your eyes and the only light was from the end window, the others having curtains pulled across. The last thing you remembered was a Quidditch player falling off their broom and considering the pain you felt, you could only draw the conclusion that he was your soulmate - the one who had been causing you pain your entire life. It made more sense - you figured it wasn’t the first time he’d fallen during training or games, but you knew that it was never this bad.

You could still feel faint aching around your body, giving you confidence that your soulmate had in fact survived. As you swung your legs out of the bed, Madam Pomfrey bustled through, “You’re awake dear! Nice to see you’re okay. I assume you must be feeling a bit run down, so take this potion, quickly now, and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”

You gratefully took the glass and sipped it, your face contorting at the taste.

“Madam Pomfrey? Could I ask... who was it that fell from the broom?”

She gave you a knowing smile, “Ah yes, you’d be referring to Mr Potter, dear. Nasty fall, dreadful it was. It was lucky Professor Dumbledore slowed the fall - wouldn’t want to imagine the damage if not. If you want to see him dear, he’s two beds over.” Madam Pomfrey took the empty potion glass you had drank and quickly made her way back down the Hospital Wing, as you stood up and slowly moved towards the bed she had referred to.

Mr Potter.

James Potter.

James fucking Potter was your soulmate.

You pulled the curtain back that was separating him from the rest of the room and couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips as you took in the sight of him. There was a nasty cut on his forehead, a trail of bruises down his jawline and towards his chest, one arms was in a sling, the other bruised and battered, and his legs were reclined upwards - you assumed he’d been given multiple potions at some point, judging by the empty glasses and syringes next to his bed.

You took the seat beside his bed and gingerly took one of his hands in yours, your fingers slowing running over the cuts on his knuckles.

“James Potter, once you survive this, I’m going to kill you,” you whispered as you gazed at his face, his soft eyelashes fanning down onto his cheeks.

‘Why was it fair that boys got naturally nice eyelashes?,’ you wondered, frowning, side tracked by that thought just as a raspy voice spoke out, “L/n?”

“James!” You locked eyes with him and he looked confused, his gaze floating down to where your hands were joined.

“Oh! Oh um... you’re probably wondering what happened and why I’m here instead of your friends and why I’m holding your hand and oh Merlin, I’m holding your hand? And well... you fell off your broom and hit the floor with quite the momentum and I can only imagine how much it hurt - well actually, that’s not strictly true, seeing as I also felt it - very much in fact as I’ve been here in the hospital wing as well overnight - and-“

“Y/n?” James whispered, effectively cutting off your rambling. “Yes?” You winced looking down. “Are you my soulmate?” He asked softly, running his thumb across the back of your hand.

“Well... yes. Yes, I do believe I am. And if I’m correct then I have a bone to pick with you because you’ve caused me a right amount of pain over the years... but I’ll wait until you’re better to get mad about that,” you told him with a nod (and a blush at the feel of him squeezing your hand tighter).

James chuckled, pulling his hand from yours momentarily as he reached up with his bruised arm to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, before returning his hand to you, “Can’t wait for that love, I promise I’ll get better as quick as I can. For now though... what’s an injured guy gotta do to get a kiss from his soulmate?”

You returned his grin as you leant down carefully to press your lips against his soft ones. He kissed back immediately as his hand held the back of your head, pulling you towards him to close any kind of gaps and deepen the kiss as he ran his tongue across your bottom lip, nibbling gently and eliciting a gasp from you, making him grin and attempt to pull you on top of him.

It was the perfect first kiss that would be followed by many many more...

and if Madam Pomfrey found you both snogging in his hospital bed a little while later... well, it definitely wouldn’t be for the last time, that’s for sure.

#james #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter imagines #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #marauders

[hope-to-hell]

It’s not what I anticipated doing today, but it’s what wanted to come out. Experiment One: Fist. August Walker. Exhibitionism, smut, restraints, gags, fisting, medical kink, implied video recording. August puts on his best Science Voice to deliver an important lesson. The Reader, of course, is his subject.

It’s like this: an exam table in the middle of a vast hall, the gallery deep in shadow. Maybe it’s empty, maybe it’s full of bright minds and clipboards and Christ, it shouldn’t make you wet but there’s that twinge through your cunt, that burning shame and the terrible eroticism of being seen. And

(Pet. You’re alright. You’re doing well) Now. Let us begin.

August takes his gloved hand and runs it up your thigh; it’s warm and dry and impersonal and as you can see, the subject is already exhibiting marked arousal. Liquid need glistens on the nitrile as he rubs finger and thumb together and we will begin this series of lectures with manual stimulation.

(Pay no attention to the cameras, pet. Pretend it’s just you and me here)

He checks the cuffs: your hands at your sides, your feet in the stirrups, laid open for him. He runs a finger under one wrist cuff and presses a bell into your hand (you know what to do) and as you can see, the subject has been properly restrained. Now, this exercise can make the subject quite...vocal, to the point of making conversation difficult. Therefore, in the interest of science, it is advisable to apply a gag in addition to restraints. And there it is, leather cool and smooth, buckled around your face and there’s the briefest flash of teeth and a furrowed brow before he turns away again.

Observe the subject’s response to stimuli. Now, you’ll notice that this particular subject is already exhibiting a marked state of arousal. This is due to the public nature of this lecture; unfortunately, this skews our data somewhat, but it can’t be helped.

(Pet, can you feel their eyes on you? How they’re looking straight into your wet and throbbing core? Next time, pet, shall we try some of your toys, or should I get my cock out and fuck you myself? Hm. Think about it, if you have the ability to think still)

Now, the human body is capable of accommodating all manner of manipulations. Today we will demonstrate our subject’s ability to— stretch— to accept my whole fist. It is important not to fall into the trap of thinking that just because the subject is aroused that you can get away with relying solely on natural lubrication. The goal is to overwhelm, not to injure. Adding manufactured lubricant, as well as going slowly and observing the subject’s reactions with care, will ensure an optimal outcome.

(Easy. Easy. You know how to do this. Let your body remember me)

And it’s one, two, three fingers in you and the whole time August is talking but his words are so very far away. He draws your mind away with the careful press and stroke of his fingers, slick with lube and your own need; the bell is clenched in your fist with the terrible effort not to drop it. You can feel it approaching: that inevitable moment when you must come for him, because there is simply no way not to. And that’s— fuck, that’s you clenching around his fingers, the golden cord of orgasm tearing free of your spine to pulse through your cunt; the metaphor is strained and awkward but it’s all you can think in the moment. And he does not stop.

As I’ve mentioned, the subject is predisposed to a state of arousal due to the situation, making orgasm easier to achieve than usual. Notice the peaked nipples and expanded pupils; the top of the examination table is wet and slick. It is important that you do not lose sight of your end goal. The subject is perfectly capable of receiving additional stimulus (aren’t you, pet. You can do it. Just a little more). As before, remember to take your time.

(Can you come on my fist, pet? We’re so close to getting all of it inside you. Look at how beautifully you take me.)

There’s a terrible moment when you’re sure it isn’t going to work, that he will be caught at the knuckles and you’ll have failed but (breathe) he is patient and his hand is slowed almost to stillness (remember how to do this, pet. Inhale. Exhale. Let me in) and his palm slips through; he is in you to the wrist. He is in you and his hand curls into a fist and

Now, as you can see, the final moment can be a challenge of the mind as well as the body. But the subject is fully capable of surmounting this challenge. If you observe carefully, you can see the subject stretched taut around my wrist. Regrettably, we lack an internal camera, but I have formed my hand into a fist. The subject is fully aware of this, and is in fact exhibiting continued signs of arousal. At this point, with particular care, you should be able to command an additional orgasm from the subject, provided you have been sufficiently thorough in your preparations. Remember, the subject should be experiencing a sense of overwhelming fullness rather than pain. There is of course a range of allowable sensation; careful observation of your subject will allow you to determine the range that is relevant to your situation.

(Pet, are you ready? I’m going to move now)

And August is moving glacially slow; his hand shifts by fractions of fractions of an inch inside you. It cements and re-cements the knowledge of what, exactly, is happening; every tiny movement lights up your nerves and there, as you can see, the subject has reached climax for a second time. Bear in mind that it is not always possible for the subject to achieve orgasm more than once, or even at all, particularly in the first few rounds of this experiment. Regardless, it is critical that you provide positive feedback to your subject, to prevent the formation of negative emotions associated with experimentation. As a scientist it is your duty to perform your work ethically.

(And as for you, pet, I am so very proud of you. I’ll take my hand out now)

Now, it is critical that you take proper care of your subject following any experiment. Provide warm blankets and food as needed. Offer water and companionship; care for your subject and they will provide vast troves of data through experimentation. It is your duty to preserve the good health and general well-being of your subject.

This concludes our first lecture.

#henry cavill #august walker #my fic #mission impossible #mission: impossible fallout fic #mission: impossible smut #mission impossible: fallout #august walker fic #august walker smut #august walker x reader #august walker x you

[ladyinbooks]

So on ao3 juiceboxoverlord mentioned ‘ And the way Hess is so enamoured with Dan's emotions and ideology like I bet that if they had never met Hess would still fall in love with Dan on the battlefield probably.’

We all know I have an absolute, terrible weakness for this kind of thing, so I really, really couldn’t resist.

So have a mini AU.

Title: Such Violent Delights Pairing: Hess/Daniel Summary: The Antichrist and the Righteous Man meet on a battlefield. Warning: Some minor descriptions of violence/death; dub-con kissing (I mean, it’s Hess...); Hess POV

These violent delights have violent ends.

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder.

Which, as they kiss, consume.

- 'Romeo and Juliet', William Shakespeare

Hess should have seen the ambush coming.

They have been doing so well recently, in their push against Heaven. More territory has fallen to them, more people persuaded by their promises, their ideas.

He should have known it would be too good to last.

The sharp crack as he twists his hand and snaps three necks, reminds him of nothing so much as the splintering of wet wood. Around him the sounds of the dead and the dying are a cacophony, topped by Abaddon's voice bellowing orders.

The bone-white of her hair is visible at the edge of his eyeline. In her suit she is still immaculate, barking at Raum and Asmodeus as she directs his troops like the General she is.

It makes him smile – makes him bare his teeth at the next angel that tries to rush him, as he extends a hand.

That terrible, tearing sensation down his arm; a light so bright that even he almost shields his eyes. He gets a hand on the angel's wrist and pulls.

There is the searing crackle of holy flesh; the unholy sound of an angelic voice raised in a scream. The noise is enough to make the humans around him flinch back, pressing hands to their ears, in a desperate attempt to block out the death of a small piece of the fabric of the universe.

Hess ignores the shriek, and the white hot pain cracking through his finger bones. He smiles, bloodied teeth and wicked intent, and drops the carcass to the floor.

He’s distracted, unfocused, and so it is instinct that saves him, nothing more.

The sharp prickle of intent at the nape of his neck, and he sidesteps just in time to avoid a blade to the back.

He pivots; lashes out and catches the next down-swing with a scrap of shadow.

For a moment, all he can focus on is the sharp steel of the blade centimetres from his throat. The line of it is bright, burning; the runes inscribed on it are holy enough they almost make his eyes water.

A blessed blade.

He only knows one person who would carry such a thing.

He sidesteps again in time to avoid the second blade aiming to bury itself in his gut. One, two, three heartbeats, and he draws in a deep breath.

Enough, he thinks, and the word is broadcast out.

Everything shudders to a halt.

Painfully, grinding and unnatural, the world stills around him.

He doesn't often do this – doesn't often have the inclination or the energy – but sometimes there is a need for it. An itch, just to walk in a frozen reality where there are no demands on him. No threats.

“Let me go,” someone says, harsh, and Hess smiles.

He knows who the Righteous Man is, of course. He's seen Daniel Waters in reports and later – when Heaven sank their perfect claws into him – on screen and in newspapers. Images of him plastered everywhere: saviour, hero, madman.

“A little lost lamb,” he says, and hears the sharp intake of breath.

When he turns to look, Daniel Waters is still too. He's not frozen though – not like every other wretched creature in this blood-soaked field. He's bound, arms strung out by Hess's power.

And in spite of that, he's still fighting.

Tall, strong; a sharp jawline and an undeniable presence. Eyes filled with the burning silver fire of heaven, smoking with purity and determination as he wades against Hess's darkness. A battered leather jacket and scuffed up jeans. Mankind's saviour.

Daniel manages a step, then another, muscles straining as he claws his way forward. His teeth are bared as he snarls, and for one moment Hess honestly wonders if he's about to break free.

“Let me go,” he repeats, and his voice is firm and clear.

It makes Hess want to ruin him.

Blood-soaked and perfect, this creature – this man – is the image of bitter triumph; a holy sacrament, born to suffer at the hands of those who would use him. Made to fight anyway, because he's good. Because he cares.

“Why should I?” he asks, and watches the way Daniel doesn't falter.

“So I can kill you.”

And it's –

Delightful. Wonderful. It makes Hess's heartbeat skip in a way it hasn't for a long, long time.

“Well aren't you a sweet thing,” he says, just to watch the way those eyes flare brighter.

It makes him smile; makes him lick the blood from his teeth as he thinks of war and ruination, and all he could wreak on this perfect, violent creature.

Another painful step, the footfall as heavy as the centre of the earth. Daniel is closer now, arms still bound, but near enough that Hess can see the scattered imperfections of him.

A small nick at the corner of his jaw, long since scarred. The tendons of his neck as he strains, desperate, against the ropes Hess has bound him with. Blond hair, so dark it's almost brown, cropped short enough that Hess probably couldn't get a good grip of it. A perfect, snarling mouth, and a dusting of days-old stubble.

For a moment Hess wonders what colour his eyes were, before he became this pawn. This holy weapon. Were they brown, or green, or blue? Would they look at him in the same way?

Movement, and Daniel's foot lashes out. The heel of it manages to catch Hess's shin. It hits hard enough to hurt, and for a moment he falters.

Nothing has come close enough to injure him since the Before, and his concentration shatters.

The roar Daniel lets loose is triumphant as he breaks free. He lunges forward, slamming into Hess. His swords clatter to the grass, but his momentum doesn't stop.

They fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, calloused fingers wrapping hard around Hess's throat, squeezing.

The weight of him is perfect; the heat and strength of his body a paradise Hess hasn't felt in a long, long time.

It makes him laugh, breathless, and for a moment the grip of those hands on his neck fails.

He moves - fast and terrible enough that Daniel's lip is splitting under his knuckles before he can recover from the shock. The force of it snaps Daniel's head back, and the impact shudders up Hess's arm.

He twists and they roll, scrabbling against one another until Daniel is flat on his back, Hess gripping his wrists, pressing them above his head into the mud. His fingernails are digging in, and he watches the way something flares and dies in Daniel's eyes; in the way he tries to bring a leg up, to fight against the weight of Hess across his thighs.

“Stay still, sweet thing,” Hess says, and can't help the way he leans down, leans closer. “You don't want to make me angry.”

Daniel growls beneath him, dangerous and not at all subdued. “I don't give a fuck about making you angry.”

“You should.”

The softness of Daniel's lips is a shock; the sharp inhalation of his breath a symphony. The warmth of his mouth is a victory. The taste of his blood lingers on the back of Hess's tongue, as he smiles against the Righteous Man's mouth.

He wants this, and he wants this, and he wants this.

The perfect way to get back at Heaven. To tear them down, one sanctimonious, inane figurehead at a time.

Except –

Except –

A pulse, against the pad of his thumb, thundering in time with his own heartbeat. The sharp, vicious sensation of teeth sinking into his lower lip, and Hess sighs at the feel of it.

Daniel is solid heat beneath him, tangible and human. The way he moves, the strength of him – pressed but not contained – makes an ugliness stir in Hess's chest. The first, icy crack of something threatening to splinter wide.

When he pulls back, Daniel is watching him.

“What –” he begins, and his voice is breathless. “What was –”

And this is what Hess wants. This. Those hazel eyes wide – not silver, not silver, not silver – and Heaven's champion strung out beneath him.

It's not a victory, he realises. Not even close. It's a weakness. A terrible, vicious longing to carve his way deep into this man's chest; to work out all the ways he could be a sinner. To pull him down, because he can. Because he wants to.

Because he can't think of anything else.

Daniel is tense beneath him, watching, waiting. For a moment his gaze slides sideways, snagging on something in the grass less than a foot away, and Hess smiles because he knows exactly what's going on in that angry, clever mind.

“You won't reach them,” he says, low and sweet. “By the time you tried to pick up the first blade, I'd have you weighted down in so many chains that the earth would swallow you whole.”

Daniel sets his jaw. “And if it took me a lifetime to claw my way back up and kill you, I would.”

He means it utterly, and the sincerity of him is thrilling.

This is the only person who can come close to understanding what it is like to stand with a hand on both sides of the scale and weigh destiny. The only one who understands the need for sacrifice; to acknowledge that the old world needs tearing down for a new one to rise.

Blood-soaked and dangerous, and the moment Hess lets him go, he's going to try and tear them both apart.

“Daniel,” he says. Then, “Sweet thing. Angelic fury. Heaven's weapon. Duty and righteousness and honour.”

“Shut up.” The flex of Daniel's fingers, the push back against Hess's grip, and it's nearly enough to unseat him. “Don't you dare –”

He's a killer through and through. Hess can see it, writ deep in the core of his soul. He kills because he has to; because it's right. He protects, and saves, and bleeds for a million souls that will never thank him for it.

And he's perfect.

“I could do so much with you,” Hess says, wondering. “The things we could accomplish.” It's a dream, sweet and tempting. He looks down, sees the slide to silver and smiles.

“But I won't,” he adds. “Because that would ruin you.”

“When I get up,” Daniel says slowly, “I'm going to slit your throat.”

“You're going to try,” Hess says, and hears the terrible adoration in his own voice; the soft fondness he shouldn't have. “But at the moment you're at my mercy.”

He tilts down again; watches the way Daniel tips up a little, without even realising. Sees the way those lips part on a slow, measured inhalation and the dark cut of Daniel's lashes, as for a moment he lets himself be moulded to Hess's will.

What he could do. What he wants to do to this man. It would take decades. Millennia.

“Beg,” he says against the soft, vulnerable skin of Daniel's temple.

Teeth at his ear, and he can feel the slow, careful snarl of those lips. The barely contained rage and want beating through sanctified veins. It makes him shiver.

“Go on,” he adds quietly; a savage demand.

A sharp twist, and he lets one of Daniel's wrists go; feels fingers sink into his hair and pull, twining them closer. The pain of it is a thing of beauty, and he smiles at the way he is going to be pulled apart, one atom at a time, for want of this man.

And Daniel draws back; turns his head a little until they are increments from a kiss, breathing the same air.

“You first,” he says.

#Path to Paradise #Hespherus Jones #Daniel Waters #Ficlet Fridays

[korpuskat]

Start Game [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader] - Part 2

[Ao3 Mirror]

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,781 Summary: A week after your last outing, you finally meet up with Tomura again. He’s injured and won’t say why- but hey, at least he’s down to game again. Contains: dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink ===== [Part 1] [You Are Here] [Part 3] =====

“You’ll like Cloud Seven. Each of the characters has a unique Quirk, makes for more varied gameplay.” He says, dragging you by your arm- his left hand wrapped around your bicep. “There’s even one that doesn’t use his quirk at all.” Your head is still spinning, kind of nauseous from your unconventional mode of travel. A portal- someone’s quirk- that’s all he’d tell you. A friend’s. But to be honest, you’d kind of figured he was his only friend. Though... who else had he been hanging out with for the last week if not friends? You knew enough that he wasn't close with his family (one too many unanswered questions left you drawing your own conclusions).

You didn’t even really get to look around where you’d ended up, staggering as your mind fuzzed as though sea sick. It’s all you could do to cling to Tomura’s slender arm as he guided you into a dark hallway, then into a room-

You raise your free arm to shield your eyes. In the pitch black, the bright blue light from a computer screen burns at your retinas. Tomura guides you in, shuts the door behind him, and flips a switch. In one corner of the room a floor lamp lights up, a soft yellow barely overtaking the monitor’s light. It’s a mess- trash and dirty laundry cover nearly every visible inch of flooring, routes between the door, bed, and the desk are carved out and well worn.

Tomura passes by you, grabs two controllers from in front of his television and touches a button on the console. It beeps as he crosses the room again, sitting on the edge of his bed- unmade, the sheets rumpled from last night- and scoots back across the narrow mattress so he can lean back against the wall. Right in the middle. You fidget awkwardly for a moment, but the colors in the room swirl as the console’s menu appears- and Tomura sets the other controller to the side.

It’s not like you haven’t been closer.

Swallowing your fears- because if there was one emotion Tomura could bring out in you, it was that giddy, untouchable fearlessness- you mimic his motions, settling onto the bed with the wall at your back, legs stretched out in front of you.

Like this, his thigh presses against yours. Warm, but firmer than you imagined. He doesn’t seem to mind, hardly even pays attention as he navigates over to the game, and the loading theme begins. Then- shifts. He hums, sits up, and sets his controller on your lap.

“What’s…?” You start, but blink and watch as he pulls at his gloves. He works the fabric over his wrist up in careful movements, never entirely grabbing it. Black cloth slides over his thumb, only then does he pull it from the fingertips. You blink, look at his uncovered hands.

White bandages extend out from under his sleeves, wrapped tight around his wrists. You gasp, cover your mouth with your palm. “What happened?” On his right hand they extend up over his palm, curling around the bases of his fingers to keep them in place. They look dirty, frayed at the edges from how long it’s been since he changed them. But his fingers look-

You swallow and look away.

It’d been a week ago. This was the first time you’d seen him since then, the first time your mind has buzzed in confusion and wonder and all your thoughts are narrowing down into will he do that again? It was intoxicating being around him before, your mysterious gamer friend- you’d thought about him like that more than a few times, but you’d always thought he wasn’t interested. Not until--

He drops the gloves onto a nightstand, covering up a digital clock. You glance at them and then up to-

Another wave of heat passes over your face and you want to sink into the bed, into Tomura’s bed- and he’s looking at you. A crimson iris perched in the corner of his eye, looking straight at you and your crisis- and, oh he’s reaching for you, that same hand you’d been thinking about passing over your lap- your heart is slamming in your chest, pulse quick and weak and you think you may just pass out-

And Tomura picks up the controller with three fingers. His eye slides back to the screen, the main menu finally loaded. All you can hear is your own breathing, the blood pumping in your ears. He cringes, shifts the controller in his right hand, adjusting to keep his index finger outstretched. Your hands tremble as you take your own controller, the screen splitting into the co-op mode.

.

.

.

The bright light of the television burns into your eyes- half blinks white two, three times in simulated muzzle flashes before the fake radio buzzes. ”Targets eliminated. Got ‘em.” Red text, bright and bold appears on screen, Mission Accomplished.

You let loose a little relieved laugh- not that you had much to worry about with Tomura as your partner. “Nice shot at the end.”

“Easy.” Tomura says flatly, unimpressed. “We haven’t done anything since then.”

And it’s only then you realize he’s not looking at the victory screen, the chart displaying the laughable difference in your stats. In the low, flashing light you’re back in the arcade. Turned entirely to face you, his eyes opened wide in the darkness, soaking in all the light to see you- his awkward hold on his controller persisting as he begins to shift.

Your hands tremble, but all you can do is squeeze the plastic tighter in your hands. “What do you mean…?” Your voice comes out breathy, weaker than you imagined. "You said you were busy last week. I- I wasn't avoiding you, if that's what you're worried about. I..." Your cheeks burn, "I like spending time with you."

The controller bounces on the mattress as he drops it. “Is that why you agreed to come here?” His tone changes, drops into that same restrained giddiness that had you spreading your legs for him before. It still works; an electric shiver shoots down your spine, nestles itself between your legs. Your mouth opens but no words form- and Tomura inches closer. “Coming over to a stranger’s house… That could be dangerous.”

Fear makes you shiver, but it is not fear that fans the flames just under your skin. “We’re not strangers,” You protest. It’s flimsy at best, a weak technicality. You don’t even know his last name, don’t even know where you are. That’s not what matters, you tell yourself. It takes everything in you to stop your lip from wobbling under his piercing gaze. “I… I trust you.”

A beat passes, a pause just long enough to make you wonder if that’s the wrong thing to say. Then his dry, damaged brow drifts up- and that electric gleam is back into his eyes, making his pupils expand out until there’s not a speck of red left. The trembling returns- and Tomura lays one hand just above your knee- index and pinky fingers lifted away from you.

You jolt, the thick muscle of your thigh tensing hard beneath his palm- his touch wavers before he’s murmuring half to himself, “Careful, careful…” His other hand lands on the controller, taking it from you with three fingers. “We don’t want any accidents, do we?” Your head is cotton-stuffed, his words do little more than making your brow pinch.

Without the controller to occupy your trembling hands, you splay them over his sheets, fingers spreading wide and pressing into the mattress. That’s fine by him- no resistance as he slides ever closer, until he’s nearly pressed up against you- but not quite. He hovers, touching nothing except where his hands still sit oddly, never quite fully laying his fingers on you. This close you watch as he breathes, his dry lips parted, tongue peeking out to try to wet them.

A hand touches your face, you know it’s his right with the rough bandages pressed to your cheek. “It’s okay.” He says, though you don’t know who it’s meant for. “It’s okay… let me just…” The pale skin of his throat bobs as he swallows and- he leans in.

He barely brushes your lips, the rough edges of his mouth catch on your own- and he takes the tiny gasp of shock as permission to do it again. This time, he’s bolder, his confidence growing exponentially- fully pressing scarred lips to you, moving in sloppy, unpracticed motions. Finally, your hands become your own again- one curling into his shirt, keeping him close, the other landing at his hip, your fingertips ducking under where the fabric has lifted, finding his skin cool beneath his clothes.

The contact makes your skin buzz- you’ve never touched him, not really. You’ve- you’ve never kissed him- but he struggles to breathe in and his chest expands against your palms, his tongue finds its way behind your teeth and all you can do is hold onto him. It’s already too much, his presence, his attention overwhelming you in the dark of his room.

“Come here,” He tugs at your pants with his left hand. “Lay down.”

Perhaps you should be ashamed how readily you’re moving your shaking body, but his voice has you feeling weightless. He shifts his long limbs as you lower yourself down to his sheets, your head nearly hanging off the foot of his bed. He looms over you, mouth open in a pant, practically drooling as he stares down with lust-glazed eyes. He could ask anything of you, anything-

“I hurt my hand.” Tomura swallows loudly- and your universe narrows down to his fingertips ghosting along the edge of your shirt.

“That’s…” The words fade on your tongue. “That’s okay.” You stroke your thumb against his side- feel the muscles of his abdomen constrict, watch how his brow lifts at your touch. Your face burns, embarrassment makes you turn your gaze away. “We don’t have to… do anything.”

Tomura whines. Whatever space was between you is gone all at once- his elbows collapsing onto the bed. “I want to,” His nose prods at your chest, soft hair falling across your face. His next inhale shudders, “I want you.” Heat rushes in your veins, gathers between your legs- and Tomura shifts again, works his way up your body until his mouth sits next to your ear and your head fills with his low, rasping breathing.

Until his hips move. Through so many layers of clothes, he’s hard and pressed right up against you, slotted between your legs. “Can you feel it?” Right against your ear. Low and rumbling- it’s not a question. He already knows, knows by the way your fingers violently twist into his shirt, your nails sink into the skin over his ribs. Knows by the way your hips lift on their own, a tiny, desperate movement that comes without your permission.

“I want to touch you…” His breath shudders. It starts off with stuttering, stiff movements- as though he’s trying to stop himself from rolling his hips down against you over and over. Like the first was for show, just to make you squirm beneath him and now- now he can’t stop. The motions smooth out as he goes. No longer jerking and forceful, like he’s trying to fuck you through your clothes, but firm and continuous. You can’t complain; your pussy sings with every drag. “Want to…” He drives against you with abandon, cock pressing between your legs- “Want…” He gasps, but he’s already lost the thought, his mouth moving without thought. “Want… oh, fuck.”

Your legs tighten around him, draw him closer, calves pulling at the backs of his thighs. Air hisses through his teeth- pain. You stiffen, start to sit up- and Tomura is gone in an instant. He reels back onto his heels for only a moment- and then his arms are forcing their way under your knees, his hands held in tight fists. Your breath catches- seeing your legs lifted up to rest on his shoulders- and he’s on you again.

Folded in half, there’s little you can do but take how his grinds against you. Rutting hard, all you can do is mewl and sink into his mattress, rock uselessly into each thrust. “You’d want it just like this-” He grunts, shifts his left arm- but doesn’t miss how you moan beneath him, nod thoughtlessly because yes- Tomura on top of you, holding you down, whispering in your ear all the things he’ll do to you. His expression softens, his face coming back to hide between your jaw and shoulder. “You’re so good, so good to me. Letting me touch you-”

“I like it.” You whimper, clutch at him. “Oh, gods, Tomura, please-”

“You want…” Tomura hesitates, licks his lips. “You want to be good for me?”

You whine, nod frantically- more than anything you want to make him happy, want to tell him you’d do anything for him, if only your mouth could put words together again. If his hips would just stop for a moment-

“That’s right.” He coos, pulls his face back. Framed by waves of his light hair, his cheeks are burning red. “Then be good and cum for me. Let me watch you.”

That’s all it takes to have your teeth sinking into your lip, every nerve in your clit set alight. It’s not the same as his mouth- those precise, tortuous movements with the tip of his tongue, but the weight of him on top of you- knowing he was getting off on this too- it’s enough. The dam breaks, liquid pleasure rushes through your abdomen- makes your thighs twitch and spasm against his chest.

Your lips part- to moan, to praise him, you aren’t sure- and his left hand catches your chin. Pinned with his index finger and thumb, he holds your face still- his teeth catch your bottom lip and bites. His teeth sink into your soft mouth, drag the thin skin between incisors- and all you can do is keen, ride out the wave of your orgasm against the firm shape of his cock.

You’re still trembling when he lets go, pants hot and damp against your cheek, “That’s it,” He groans, eyes pinching closed. “So good, perfect for me- mine.” You whimper, nod again, choke out his name- “Mine, mine, all mine.” And every muscle goes stiff, his hips stuttering in their pace- and through his hair you watch as his face draws in tight, the damaged skin of his brow pushing together over his eyes-

And his mouth drops open, eyes cracking open just enough for you to make out the crimson of his iris, staring down at you through his thin lashes. “Mine,” He repeats, low and quiet, his lips barely moving. You nod wordlessly, release your hold on his shirt and side to cup his thin face. Shock makes his pupils recede into pinpricks, before softening again, letting his eyes fall shut once more.

He groans and rolls off you (much to the relief of your aching thighs) laying on his side, pressed between you and the wall. You waste no time in turning towards him, huddled in close. He pants, his mouth opened, lips cracked and scarred- and you still so badly want to kiss him. It almost feels forbidden now- he’s initiated everything. But perhaps…

You crane your neck upwards- and as his eyes crack open just enough to watch you move in. His chin dips, lets you find his lips- and it’s like the first. Soft, unhurried- his left palm presses over your cheek, the tips of four fingers curl under the line of your jaw, his thumb hovering away from your skin. You break away only to sigh.

“Are you hungry?”

You blink, look up to him. “Um, yeah, actually.” The moment is lost, but you can’t help the smile that slips over your face. “Though, I think we’ve kind of done this backwards.”

“Backwards?”

“You’re supposed to take me to dinner first.” You grin, smooth your hand over his shirt. “But it’s okay. I, ah, like how this turned out.”

He watches for a long moment, before the corners of his mouth also lift, lift until his teeth peek out from his pale lips. “A date. What did you have in mind?”

Putting a name to it makes your cheeks heat again. You fumble, arch on the bed to dig around in your pockets until you can find your phone. It unlocks easy- and Tomura watches as you type in the search bar. “I dunno. Let’s see what’s around here.”

=====

If you like my writing, please consider reblogging or leaving me a tip!

=====

Tag List:

@annonymousbread

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki fanfiction #tomura shigaraki imagine #shigaraki imagine #x reader #reader insert #bnha shigaraki #Game Start #LMAO got my own fucking title backward fml #start game #kat talks