#i think working on this whole thing hurt my hand the area on the palm of my hand under my thumb still hurts kinda sdjfklsdj

[jeondesu]

ೀ⋆ 🍂 SKZ + WAYS THEY SHOW “ I LOVE YOU ” !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ pairing ꒱ ˒˓ ot8 x gn!reader ˒˓ established relationship genre: fluff warnings: not many… just some mentions of food & kissing <3

this is an old repost from my deleted blog !

방찬/BANG CHAN. chan is the most perfect boyfriend you could ask for. he’s the type to never let you lift a finger when he’s around you. whether it be fixing a broken pipe in the house or carrying all of the groceries; it wasn’t a problem for him at all. he may get consumed in his work sometimes but that didn’t mean he spends less quality time with you. he’d call you throughout the day to check up on you and tell you how much he misses you. he’d share what he was working on and update you on small things. always smothering you once he comes home— no seriously, he does not let you breathe. he’d pepper kisses all over your face whilst having you wrapped tightly in his arms. the warmth of his loving embrace made you feel the safest and utmost protected.

리노/LEE KNOW. lovesss taking you out on fun interactive dates. movies, bowling, mini golf, fruit-picking, and candlelit dinners were a just a few to name. minho enjoyed going to small family owned restaurants, he loved desserts and would order a milkshake with two straws on each side. you’d be playing footsie under the table like little kids, teasing you while staring into each others eyes trying not to burst out laughing. he loves you just as much as he loves his cats and that’s saying a whole lot. he has a picture of you playing with soonie and dori as his lock screen, it was probably the cutest pic he’s ever taken of you. he calls you and his cats a little family >\\< he loves the way they all get along with you and it affirms even more that you really are the one for him.

창빈/CHANGBIN. constantly showers you with dozens upon dozens of compliments. could write a full-fledged novel on simply everything he adores about you. he’ll write sweet notes from time to time and leave them in random areas for you to find. your relationship with him always kept you guessing, he was so full of pleasant surprises. he noticed the littlest details about you and could practically read you like a book. he knew immediately when you were in a slump, it became his personal mission to cheer you up. is super touchy feely with you but does it with the most pure intentions. pressing feathery kisses along your hands and the insides of your palms, then trails further up your arm. he loved seeing how flustered you’d get by it, only wanting to keep doing it more.

현진/HYUNJIN. treats you as his artistic muse. his deep infatuation with you fed his inspiration with new ideas constantly. his paintings were a reflection of his mind, his most inner thoughts and emotions. almost every painting he’s done was inspired by you in some way, shape, or form. art and photography are one his favorite hobbies so naturally he’s going to always wanna snap pictures of you. whenever you two go on dates he takes pics of you without you knowing, smiling to himself and thinking how lucky he is to have you. he tells you often how much you mean to him, he was a very vocal partner. you didn’t need to ask for reassurance because hyunjin would just give it to you anyway. it was like he could read your mind, he understood you on a intuitive and spiritual level.

한/HAN. he is completely and authentically himself when he’s with you. your relationship is the most easy going thing in his life, he couldn’t imagine life without you. he loves that your humor is the same and you’re both always goofing off. he feels most accomplished if he can make you laugh until your stomachs start hurting. almost everything was a joke to him but the love he had for you was definitely not. he share’s everything with you, his clothes, favorite snacks, deepest secrets, nothing off limits for him. never stops talking about you with the other members, every little thing reminds of him you so he has to announce it. he could be doing something serious and then one of your inside jokes would randomly pop in his head, smiling like an idiot to himself. he was so proud to have you as his lover and best friend.

필릭스/FELIX. the most sweet, nurturing, individual in the universe. put a million heart emojis next to your contact name and never fails each time to get a stomach full of butterflies every time he’s with you. hears a song that reminds him of you and instantly sends it; will make monthly playlists for you too. he gets lost in your eyes all the time, can’t help but feel his heart beat out his chest by your ethereal beauty. you could be having an in-depth conversation with him and he’d zone out from just looking at you. he can’t stand being away from you when he’s gone and gets real sad and lonely if he can’t hold you >.< will send you LENGTHY messages of what he loves most about you and how much he wants to be with you. if he can’t physically be there, he’ll do all he can to still feel like he’s right beside you.

승민/SEUNGMIN. thoughtful gestures were his love language. he would notice your shoe is untied as you’re both walking and stop everything he’s doing to fix it for you. will do anything you ask him to at the drop of a hat. does chores and tasks around the house when you aren’t feeling up to it, he never complains about it either which you love. lots and lots of hugs and kisses !! he especially loves hugging you from behind and resting his head within the crevice of your shoulder. he’d kiss your knuckle before dancing with you in the kitchen and acting like an old married couple. the two of you would be slow dancing and lock eyes, your lips would collide as you both sway to the melody of the song. it was soft moments like these that proved seungmin owned all of your love.

아이엔/JEONGIN. very much into showing PDA and lots of it. doesn’t really care about what the other members think when he touches or kisses you in front of them. likes to give you unexpected forehead and neck kisses, intertwining his fingers with yours while doing so. he bought you a necklace with his initial on it as a gift and you never took it off since the day he gave it to you. whenever he’s gone for long periods of times that necklace would get you through it all. he’d also buy matching couples pajamas and plan a night in where you do face masks and watch movies (^o^). late night cuddling was his forte; you’d be all tangled up in bed together and he’d leave short series of pecks to your cheek until you lull asleep in his arms.

#stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz headcanons #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x gn reader #bang chan fluff #lee know fluff #changbin fluff #hyunjin fluff #han jisung fluff #felix fluff #seungmin fluff #jeongin fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines

[russellsppttemplates]

I'm here for you (Lance Stroll)

When you finally let Lance help you, you quickly find out that doing things with his support makes them just that little bit better

Note: english is not my first language. I'm not a doctor, so there are probably some inaccurate informations here, but this is what I know both from reading and from experience. Everyone has different experiences and I wanted to be able to depict that in some way.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions periods, blood, medical appointments, endometriosis, (in)fertility

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"How bad is it?", Lance asked you as you both laid down on the bed, "like a 7, but hopefully the meds will kick in soon", you mumbled, finding a comfortable position in your boyfriend's embrace. "Wake me up if you need anything, okay? I don't want you to be uncomfortable when I can help with something", he said, kissing the top of your head and cuddling you in.

Your period had been acting up again, and while you usually knew what to do and when, this time around all of the tricks you knew seemed lack the hability to soothe you, so to say you were feeling less than fine was an understatement.

Sleeping usually helped, but soon enough you ended up being woken up by a particular sharp pain on your lower belly and lower back, and despite his insistence, you tried your best to get up from the bed to grab something to relieve the pain without making too much noise, not wanting to wake Lance up. Your efforts seemed small, though, because as soon as you got up, It didn't take your boyfriend long before his hand palmed the area where you had been asleep on, "Y/N?", he called, "I just wanted to get something to ease the pain, go back to sleep, love", you whispered, seeing him get up instead.

"I'll get the machine, you just rest, okay?", he said in a both stern and soft way, making you lie back on the bed as he looked for the TENS machine. In one of your appointments, your doctor mentioned that if you had the possibility and the means, you could try the machine as it would help you deal with the pain, and so far it had helped you a great deal.

"Here, sweetheart", Lance helped you with your top and shorts, placing the small circles on either side of your tummy, "is that good?", he said as he regulated the level on the machine, "it's not doing much, if I'm honest", you whimpered, feeling bad because of how much effort your boyfriend was putting in hopes of making you feel better and how little it was working.

"Come here", he nudged you, cuddling you closer to him as his hands traced shapes on yout tummy, "does this hurt?", he asked, "no, you're okay", you mumbled, trying to distract yourself from the intense cramps, "thank you for being here", you kissed the skin near his clavicle, "I'll be here for you, always".

You were in and out of sleep for the whole night, seeing the light seep through the windows slowly as the cramps kept getting stronger again, keeping you up for most of the time.

"Hey you", Lance mumbled, "how are you feeling?", he asked, "I think they're a little bit softer now, or maybe I've become numb to them", you huffed, trying to find a better position when you felt the need to use the toilet, "I'll be back", you said, walking slowly to the bathroom.

The uncomfortable feeling in your underwear was justified by the amount of period blood that had been way heavier than usual this time around, taking you a while to clean up before going back to the bedroom and change your bottoms.

"Did any of it get in the bedding?", you asked Lance, seeing he was already up and looking for something, too, "no, I noticed when you got up and looked for any spots, but the bed is fine", he smiled sadly, "I was thinking we should call your doctor and tell her about this? I've seen really rough cycles you've had and none of them compare to this", Lance reasoned. You had been together for nearly four years and he never saw you in this much pain and discomfort, and adding the fact that you had a good pain threshold, it was concerning him even more.

"I'll send her a text to see if she thinks I need to go somewhere, or at least give me something, and maybe this will help the diagnosis", you mumbled, grabbing your phone and writing a small description of how you had been feeling.

The last set of exams you had got done were already because of some suspicions your doctor had because of how intense your cycles usually were and this may very well be another situation to help you get closer to understanding how your body was working.

"While we wait, I'm going to get us breakfast, okay? I know food is the last thing on your mind, but you'll need to eat", he nodded, kissing your forehead before going downstairs to prepare the food.

You were reading the text your doctor sent you back when Lance entered the room, a tray with tea and toast on it, "she texted me back", you began, "she says that these are all common symptoms and that there isn't much I can do, but that she can get me an appointment for tomorrow because this helps put things into perspective", you shrugged, setting your phone on your bedside table, "I'll go with you", Lance said, helping you sit up so you could eat, "I would usually say that I don't need it, that I can go on my own, but it's not like you would let me anyway, am I right?", you smiled, "but I will actually say that I'm thankful for that and that I love you very much. I'm very lucky to have you with me", you smiled honestly for the first time in a while, "I love you, too, sweetheart".

.

When the next morning rolled around, Lance drove you both to the appointment, his hand resting where your leg met your hip and rubbing circles. After checking in and grabbing your card so you could go to the lab and let them collect the samples they needed, you went back to the waiting area, Lance sitting in one of the sofas. "Was it okay?", he asked, "yes, the nurse just had to get a blood sample so the doctor can check if everything is fine with that, the scan os inside her office from what she told me", you replied. Just on time like the appointment was scheduled, your name was called and you both got up, Lance lacing his fingers in yours and squeezing it as you entered the office. Greeting you both, your doctor asked you to sit down, "Hello Y/N, Hi Lance, please take a seat", she said, "it seems your pain hasn't been getting any better", she added, letting you carry on.

"I've been managing it just fine like I told you in the last appointment, but this month it was unbearable, I don't think it ever got this bad. Especially around my lower back and lower tummy, definitely never felt like this", you explained.

"I'm just opening your lab results here on the computer", she said, "you remember the possibilities we talked about in our last appointment, and I think we have enough results here that would suggest one of them, which is endometriosis, so I'd like to do another scan to see if there is support to that hypothesis", she nodded to the table.

You set your bag on the chair you were sitting in, moving to lay on your back and lift your shirt up so she could place the gel on your skin, "it's cold, I'm sorry", she smiled apologetically as she grabbed the wand, looking at the screen and frowning. You had been her patient long enough to know her enough to gather that it wasn't good news. Question was: was it bad news because it supported the diagnosis or was it bad because you were back to square one with no idea about what symptoms to look for?

"Do you see these parts here? This is all endometrial tissue that's grown outside of your uterus, which is here", she pointed to the screen, "because you're about on the last day of your period, so your flow is smaller now", she checked and you nodded, "so this, like we spoke about, can be the cause of your symptoms, why you feel so much pain, why your cycles tend to be on the heavier side, also the tiredness, the nausea", the doctor added, now turning to Lance so he could also be involved in her explanation.

After cleaning you up, you sat back in the chair next to Lance, feeling his hand land on your thigh as your doctor typed the results on the computer, "having said this, I'm recommending you a few specialists in this area, so you'll have specific, specialised and personalised care", she offered, "I know this can be a scary moment, but I also want you to see the side where you're finally aware of what is happening in your body and now look for the answers that target it".

"Was there anything that could've prevented this? Are we doing something wrong?", Lance asked, "no, this isn't something you can prevent. Usually, endometriosis is hereditary, and since Y/N mentioned her aunt had some issues getting pregnant and her mother also showed these symptoms, it is most likely that is is genetics", she enlightened, seeing you nod as you squeezed Lance's hand back.

After she went over a few more tricks for your pain management, you and Lance thanked her and walked out to the car, getting inside and fastening your seat belts. "Are you okay, darling?", Lance wondered, not being able to read your expression, which wasn't usual.

"It may sound weird, but I think I've been expecting this. Like, I knew what I had wasn't normal, and after talking to my mother and my aunt, it started to make sense. And then I read things on Google, which I know it's not the best thing, but I did it carefully", you began, "so I was expecting it, I guess. Me and Dr. Marlin have been discussing the possibility, so it wasn't a shock. She was very direct because that's how it has always been and I appreciate her for it", you noted.

"I have to admit she was a bit forward", Lance chuckled lightly, his hand grabbing yours, "but it makes sense now. I want you to know, though, that I'll be here for everything that I can, I want to support you as much as possible", he added.

"It's still something to process, and it's only for sure whenever I go to the next appointments, so I'll just take it in", you answered honestly, smiling at Lance before kissing him, "thank you for always being here".

When you arrived home, you felt your body get even more tired as you changed into comfortable clothes, sensing that as soon as your head hit anything resembling a pillow or a mattress you would fall asleep.

While you slept on the big sofa, Lance was on his phone looking up the best specialists in the area, typing the phone number and email as well as their name in his notes app so you could both discuss it later once you woke up. Even though Dr. Marlin explained a few things about what her suspicions were and you had also told him about them from previous appointments, Lance had to admit he wasn't well-versed in the topic beyond what you had told him, so he did what he thought was best and looked it up on the Internet. Mindful of the websites he was reading, he came across a few ones that seemed legit and that had a simple language and didn't sound too alarming and rather only just wanting to spread knowledge about the topic. They all mentioned your symptoms, gave a brief explanation of what it was and the implications did catch his eye, smoothing his finger over the screen as he locked his phone, hearing you stir in the middle of your sleep.

"Hey, bub", you said, approaching him and craddling his arm, "are you feeling better?", he asked, pressing his lips on the top of your head, seeing you nod.

"I was looking up specialists, and I have a few contacts here, I made a little list", he began, "and I know we should've done this together, but I couldn't help myself, and I was looking up a bit more information because I didn't know about it", he scrambled out, "I was not taught this, I don't think anyone is, but I looked it up, and- yeah, there are doctors for these kinds of things and they seem to know what helps and what to do".

He looked so nervous that you felt you were the one to calm him down and reassure him, "hey, one thing at a time, yes?", you urged, grabbing his hand in yours in an attempt of calming him, "thank you for looking them up, I'll see the list and the ones that fit the situation best", you said.

"Fortunately, we have the means to do this and seek help to make you feel better, for all the options we have", your boyfriend continued, "I sort of fell in the spiral of what it would mean and I want to be with you every step of the way".

"As much as I think this is too much, I can't help but be grateful that we can do it, so I'll let you have this one", you smirked, "and like you said, we'll take it one step at a time".

#lance stroll imagine #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #lance stroll x reader

[heeheegf]

For me- Lee H.

leeheeseungxfem!reader

warnings_ mention of alcohol, masturbation, sex over the phone. i think that’s all :)

both are over 18

minors DNI

english isn’t my first language, so if you see any spelling mistakes or any other mistakes, you can tell me ����

there you were again, sitting in front of your bestfriend at a school reunion. you loved him (as a friend and most likely romantically). it all started one day last year. you started feeling something for him; some butterflies here and there, blushing sometimes when he gave you compliments, stuttering when talking to him and barely holding eye contact with him. this of course made it difficult for you talking to him, because when you did, you felt shy and your voice was barely heard; you slowly were fading, and your friendship was slowly growing apart.

you took this reunion as an opportunity to try and talk to him, just like you did in the past. “hee..?” you call him with a shaking voice “yeah? do you need anything?” he says, turning his face to you “uhm, can you come with me to buy an ice cream?” you ask fidgeting her rings on her fingers. “sure, let’s go”, he says as he stands up.

as you buy your ice cream, you notice him staring at you. “do i look weird? why is he staring at me?”you think, but decide to not say anything. “hee, do you also want ice cream?” “no, i’m good. if you’re done now let’s get back”. you nod and follow him to the table where everyone is. you sit down and start eating your vanilla ice cream. you slowly lick it, making sure to taste it completely. but what you didn’t notice is that was making heeseung’s cock twitch in his pants. the sight of you licking the ice cream and getting it on your lips was driving him insane.

after a few hours you decide it was time to head back home, so you say bye to everyone and wait outside for the taxi you called earlier. you kept thinking of heeseung (who left the reunion earlier since he had to start his shift at work). you kept thinking of his voice, how he was dressed and how handsome and hot he looked, how his hands weee veiny and big compared to yours.

at home, you change from your outside clothes, wearing something comfy, and you enter the kitchen to look for something to eat. there you see your favorite drink, raspberry vodka. you smiles happily and took the bottle in your hands. “it’s been so long since i drank a little bit, i guess tonight it won’t hurt, will it?” you say giggling. with the bottle and the little glass, you sit on the couch, pouring some alcohol in the glass and shove it down. one became two, two became three, three became four.. untill you drank half a bottle.

you’re definitely drunk. you start feeling hot and sweaty, your brain is foggy and you start feeling a tingling sensation on your lower part of the body. you rub your legs together to feel some relief, but that didn’t happen. you feel it more and more, and your small fingers start wandering in the area. you rub small circles on your clit, trying to get again some relief, but it made you even hornier. you kept going until your phone light up.. it was heeseung calling. you pick up the phone, trying to sound normal, not horny or drunk. “y/n, did you take my wallet earlier? cause i can’t find it” “i-i don’t.. aah.. know” a small moan managed to leave your lips “are you okay y/n?” he asks and you tried to reply but small whimpers leave your mouth instead. “are.. are you touching yourself y/n?” he laughs amused “h-hee.. please..” , at the sound of you pleading, he looked confuse “what? please what?” “m-make me cum, i can’t stand it anymore”. at the sound of your words, his cock twitched. he puts a hand over it, palming it. “y/n.. are you touching yourself while thinking of me? really?” “y-yes, i need you so bad. my whole body needs you”, you cry out desperately. “keep going then y/n, show me how much you need me” he demands unzipping his jeans and freeing his big cock.

you kept moaning and whimpering, his name was the only thing that left your lips. from the other side, he was stroking his member. each time you pronounced his name, he could feel the vein on his dick pulse. “h-hee.. i’m gonna cum..” you say out of breath “cum for me, c’mon” he says, stroking himself faster. at the sound of your last moan, his cum exploded all over his hand and abs.

“y/n, how do you feel?” he asks “g-good, i was waiting for this moment for so much now” you say, still feeling tipsy “i don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but tomorrow we are going on a date, and you are gonna show me how much you’ve been needing and craving me. how does it sound?” he says “sounds good” “but just so you know, from tonight you’re mine, got it?”.

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #lee heeseung smut #lee heesung x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts

[steviewashere]

Trans Eddie Munson WIP

There's always demand for some trans ftm Eddie Munson content. And today I offer the first section of my wip fic.

I'm hoping to have this whole fic finished by the end of the first week of March, we shall see. But I thought that I could focus on trans Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington works during the month of March. If that's something people are interested in.

CW: General Dysphoria, Referenced Minor Character Death, Deadnaming (him figuring things out)

🏳️‍⚧️—————🏳️‍⚧️

There’s something about her body that Elizabeth Munson can’t quite put her finger on. Something different and wrong. Maybe…Maybe wrong is a strong word, but that’s what it is, she supposes. She had soft areas on her body that she often glared at with disdain. The curves and small pouch of fat at the bottom of her tummy. Which, she doesn’t hate all that too much, her mama told her about how that pouch is protecting her. That it’s meant to keep her insides safe. But she still, very much so, wants it gone. Wants a lot of herself gone. Her long hair, curly and wild—like her mama’s, but it’s prettier, and gentler less ill-fitting on her mama. She wants what her period is giving her to be shunned to another realm. The breasts, as her mama calls them, her smile all nurturing and sweet and doting. But they make shirts sit weird, and they’re kind of heavy, and they remind her too much about having babies. She doesn’t think she wants to have kids, not in the way she was made to have them. That doesn’t feel good to think about, either. Her fingers are long and narrow. Which, they aren’t too bad. Useful to learn the guitar with. But she looks at them and believes that they aren’t what her eyes are meant to see.

She finds herself admiring boys a lot. How they often don’t have to think about their body, unless they’re playing sports. They make her chest hurt. Like a quick staple in her skin. The boys in her school have short hair, first of all. Tidied up, shaved cleanly on the sides, high tapered and shaped nicely to their heads. Boys have lean bodies with defined muscles. They have flat chests and flat tummies, for the most part, and big feet, big hands, thick fingers.

Why did she have to come out looking like herself, she often wonders. Why couldn’t she have meaty muscles and hair all over the place and a deep rasp in her throat? How come she’s gotta smoke cigarettes to achieve the voice of her dreams? Why does she even dream about having a different voice, a different body, even a different name?

When she stands in front of her mirror, much like she does this morning, much like she does every morning, she sees an imposter cloaking her soul. If monsters exist, she believes that they have wrapped themselves around her bones, mutilated themselves to be human flesh and skin toned, and they inhabit her brain. 

Her fingers comb through her hair for the thousandth time, frustrated beyond belief. She can’t make her hair look good or normal or right. 

In a feeble attempt to make some sense of herself, she wraps her palm around her heavy head of hair, tugging it back behind her ears, above her shoulders, and imagines herself without it. What she’d look like. All rounded facial features and pouty lips, her mama’s eyes and her daddy’s crooked smile. Wraps her free arm around her chest, pushing and prodding around until her breasts are practically as flat as they can possibly be. She steps back from the full length mirror of her bedroom, the portal to monsters and Narnia and Wonderland, and sees it for what it is for the first time: A simple bedroom mirror.

Because there, in the reflection where her body once stood, is a little boy with scraggly arms and a chubby little belly and knobby knees. A little boy who’s mama doesn’t know how to cut hair all that well, maybe settles for a bowl cut each time, and each time he thinks she did a great job. A little boy who’s freshly twelve years old and doesn’t want to go to his first day of seventh grade, where the other kids will mock him. This little boy who seems to smile.

And she realizes, dropping her hair in haste at the rapid knocking on her door, she is not a girl. No, not at all.

Elizabeth Munson is a boy.

————— Boys act tough. Boys are rowdy. Boys are stupid creatures.

Elizabeth mimics them as well as he’s able. He still hasn’t figured out his name, not yet. But he knows how to growl and retort. Can take up space with big gestures and act all bothersome at the prospect of sitting like a lady. He can do all kinds of things.

But the one thing he hasn’t been able to do yet? Shake the sensation of his heavy hair.

He goes home one afternoon after a difficult day of school. Where he got called pretty and ugly and chic and darling. Shoved into lockers and teased for not wearing makeup. For stealing his daddy’s flannels and covering himself up, like he doesn’t want to be seen. He sneaks into the bathroom and finds his dad’s shaving kit.

If he can’t go somewhere and request for his hair to be cut a certain way, then he’ll just have to do it himself. He’s not sure how to successfully do it. But he begins with snipping away the ends. Up to his ears. Cuts off his bangs all choppy like. Drags the razor across his scalp. The tufts of hair falling to his shoulders. His naked shoulders. His naked torso still shining like dull copper in the mirror, heavy breasts and curvy waist and slim shoulders.

He shakes himself off like a dog.

And when the razor is unplugged, repackaged, put away for nobody to find. He takes himself in.

There in the reflection, is a…person with a shaved head. He throws on a t-shirt. And sees, truly, a little boy with his mama’s eyes and his daddy’s nose and unruly little scars from being shoved into things at school. 

But he sees a boy. Or the outline of a boy. He sees the imprint, the footprint in wet sand, an initial carved into a tree. Then he thinks about his introductions. About going, “I’m Elizabeth.” The grimace that brings to his face. He holds a hand out to the mirror, his reflection almost mocking his movement. And rolls some names off of his tongue.

“Hi, I’m Allan,” he starts. Maybe he should be named after his father, but that doesn’t taste all that well. Another Allan Munson would be the end of the world. If being a boy in girl’s skin doesn’t kill him, then being the appendage of a criminal would. And he’s already had plenty of close encounters.

He takes a deep breath. “Hi, I’m Sam…I’m Sammy,” he tries. His mama’s name is Samantha, so maybe he should go after her. But if she was considered a hippie basketcase to the rest of Townsend, Tennessee, then he will, too. By default. Seems like maybe going the family route won’t work in his favor.

“George,” he shoots. “Georg—ie.” That’s another option. He wants a nickname.

Elizabeth garners Eliza and Liza and Beth and Bethany.

Allan gets Al. Samantha is Sammy or Sam or Mandy.

But he can’t, for the life of him, think of a single name that fits like a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. Can’t find something sweet, maybe a little sophisticated. Something that rolls. A name that would be easy for himself to remember. Or one that a person could hear in passing, maybe think he said something else.

What about famous artists?

“I’m Jonathan, but I prefer Johnny,” he mutters, thinking of Johnny Cash. He shakes his head and resets on his feet. “John, but I like Johnny.” John Prine is on his mind for that one. Flaps his hand to get rid of the ache from holding out for so long, drops it to his side, switches to the other. “Woody,” he whispers, but that’s not right either. Woody Guthrie has that.

He sighs. Never in his life did he think finding a name would be so hard. Briefly, he wonders how his mama did it. How she remembered his birth name even after heaving and laboring for hours, coming out exhausted and bloody and sobbing. God, he hopes he never has to experience this again. But, knowing his luck, he may as well start making lists—who else in his life may want a new name? Seems like he’s got plenty to pull from the recycling bin.

Holding out his palm again, he thinks about Eddie Van Halen. Thinks about fast music. Thinks about music that bonds him to the floor, that thrums his heart, that boils his blood. He imagines playing to sold out crowds, being called out to the stage. The crowd cheering, voices a concoction of screaming and wailing. “Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!” They shout.

“Eddie,” he murmurs. Looks himself in the eyes. Big and brown. Just like his mama’s. Thinks of her holding his head. Kissing his temple. Folding the collars of his shirts, helping him tie his shoes, teaching him to brush his teeth. Of her saccharine voice like honey on the shell of his ear, sticky and golden.

Her lips to his sheared hair. Holding him by the shoulders. Her eyes watering from pride. Whispering, “You make Mama proud, you hear me Edward? My little Eddie’s gonna make Mama proud.” 

Thinks of her body not ravaged by illness, her tummy fluffy and her arms full, her hair still long and tickling his neck. Thinks about the day she called him to her arms, announcing that she was sick, but that her biggest accomplishment—the thing she’s most proud of—was that she had a wonderful little kid. A brave kid. A tough kid.

“A precious little stone. ’T’s what you are, baby,” her voice had lilted. That Tennessee drawl to her bottom lip. Her nimble hands, just like his, soothing the ache in his sides, showing him how to take care of himself. Where the pads were and how to get blood out of clothes. Of her applying mascara, but nothing more, because less is more. He thinks of her hands on his cheeks. Murmuring all sweet like, “You were almost a baby boy, you know that? How funny that would’a been. But, you wanna know something, angel?” And he had nodded in her hold. “I would’a named you Edward. Cause you are the guardian of my heart. My heart is yours. And you are my heart. And whatever you do in this world, baby, I will be right there with you.”

Her voice against his cheek, kissing away his tears. “I’ll be right here,” she whispers, tapping his heart. “And no matter what you do. No matter who you are. Where you end up. You will always have my heart, my pride, my joy.”

He thinks of her at the end of her life. He’s nearly twelve years old and he’s feeling all too awkward about himself. She holds out her palm. And he takes it. She squeezes, murmuring, “Never change your heart, angel, never change your heart.” Her breath gone. And him, that ache and her palm, but those words being all that was left.

“I’m Edward Munson,” he introduces to the mirror. “But you can call me Eddie, if you’d like.” And yearns like a sunflower in the middle of winter.

🏳️‍⚧️—————🏳️‍⚧️ More to come later, but here's your first serving.

#stranger things #trans eddie munson #ftm eddie munson #eddie munson

[omiyagiri]

Just Breathe

pairing: Atsumu Miya x gn!Reader cw: swearing word count: 5.7k

Summary: Atsumu Miya was sick, and all he wanted was some extra attention — who knew his plans to get it could backfire so heavily.

Three days had gone by since Atsumu first came down with a cold, and he was already at his limit. It wasn’t the liquid meals or the snotty nose, the wobbly legs or the stuffy head — it couldn’t be the night sweats or the sneezing — and it wasn’t even the sore throat. The problem was the lack of attention he got from you for being sick.

Granted, he didn’t want you to catch the cold, but he was antsy for some time with you. He’d try and talk to you in the morning while you made him breakfast, but would get into a coughing fit and be sent back to bed. When you brought him his meals, he’d sneeze and send the tissues littering the bed in your direction, making you jump back at minimum three whole feet. He tried to watch a movie with you, even if it was in the living area and several feet apart, but his constant sniffling, sneezing, and blowing of his nose ruined any focus you could have possibly had on the film, so he just shut it off. Thanks to all of this, you’d gotten into a good routine when it came to caring for him: doing what you had to do, and then booking it out.

If he were to get you to come in the room — and stay in the room — he’d need a new plan.

He let out a tired, slightly whiny but thoroughly exhausted call of your name. In seconds, he was met with the quiet thump thump thump of your feet hitting the ground, and your head poking out from behind the door frame.

“Yes?”

It took everything in him not to break his act then and there and bust out into some dopey smile. You looked so silly, like a cartoon character in the way you stood, and yet you had an expression that practically radiated care and concern.

He was lucky — which meant he definitely shouldn’t be doing this. But, desperate times call for desperate measures. Taking in a breath, he deepened his pout and sunk into the pillows.

“I don’t feel good…”

You raised a brow, and finally stepped fully into the doorway.

“I’m fairly certain that’s the definition of being sick, Atsumu.”

He shifted his gaze to the side, realizing he probably should have thought about this more before jumping into action. Oh well — too late now.

“I mean… ya know… really not good.” He paused, nodding his head as he collected the pieces of his half-baked plan. “Yeah. A lot worse than before.”

“Worse?” you repeated, concern instantly gripping your features. Oh, was he awful for making you worry. Though, he couldn’t deny it: he was excited to have those worried eyes on him.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, eyes drifting down sadly. He was playing it up, and it was working; just as he let out a long breath of air, you were taking in a short one and rushing over. He heard you mumble a quick “poor thing” to yourself, before sitting down at the edge of the bed, your fingers already raking down his arm.

“What’s wrong? What feels worse?” you asked, the concern practically dripping off your tongue.

“My throat…” he said meekly. “It hurts.”

You frowned, slowing the rhythm of your fingers down, resting your hand on top of his. You flipped his hand over so you could trace circles across his palm, then going up and down each finger with your own. At this point, he didn’t care if lying was bad — this was great.

“It does? Do you want me to make you some hot tea?” Your eyes drifted over to the clock, thinking about the numbers that reflected back in them. “Or, it’s getting close to lunchtime… Are you hungry? I could make you some soup!”

The expression you wore was so proud, like you’d just masterfully solved an intense problem. Which, technically, you would have if he was telling the truth — unfortunately, he was a big fat liar. His real problem was about to be left unsolved once more.

“I’m a little hungry…” he mumbled, a hint of a grumble, and you smiled and went to stand up.

“That’s settled, I’ll be just a few minutes — ”

“Wait!” he exclaimed, and you stopped in shock, the worry instantly settling back on the lines of your face as you drifted back down to where you sat before. OK, that’d gotten him a bit of time. Quickly, he turned his hand, reaching to lace his fingers with yours. “Do I have to wait here?” he asked pitifully.

Instantly, your expression softened, and you looked down at him with a warm look.

“Sweetheart, you need to rest.” You gave his hand a small squeeze. “I can make you some soup by myself, you know.”

“I know…” he whined, rubbing his thumb against yours. “But I’m tired of staying in bed! I think it’s what’s makin’ me feel worse.”

You let out a soft laugh, and scooted closer as he fidgeted with your thumb.

“Really? The rest and taking care of yourself is making you feel worse?”

He gave you a pitiful nod, and clearly you couldn’t fight the warm, caring smile that came onto your lips.

“Alright,” you breathed out, “Just this once. You’re going to bed right after though, you hear?”

Atsumu nodded as fast as he could, an eager tight-lipped grin sprouting.

You parted from him and stood up, your fingers trailing as you did. He wanted to spring up from the bed and run to the kitchen, but sick people usually don’t get the kind of energy to move mountains, so he slowly and carefully swung his legs over, wobbling a bit with each movement. When you reached your hand out to help him, he gratefully took your hand again, this time making sure to not let go as you walked together to the kitchen.

Though, it didn’t last long, since he had to let go once more so you could work.

“I’m not Osamu,” you’d stated. “I’m a decent cook, but I’m not good enough to make this with one hand like he probably could.”

Atsumu grumbled a bit, but complied.

So, he ended up sitting at the table while you went to work. He didn’t sit like a normal person though, no, you made sure to wrap a big blanket around him that, despite being wrapped around him alone, still took up the seats adjacent to him. He could hardly move, and you were darting back and forth across the floor.

He took to watching you for a while, the way you handled everything. You said you weren’t like Osamu — thankfully in more ways than one — but you weren’t bad at cooking. At least, you knew more than Atsumu did. He’d be the one to mess up boiling an egg; you’d be the one to step in and turn it into an egg salad.

From where he sat he could watch you peel and chop potatoes, shred carrots, and slice mushrooms — these were tossed into a pot where you had some sort of tomato base — then you drained a bowl of kidney beans that had been soaking on the counter (he remembered you saying something about them needing to soak overnight — had you been planning on making this?), tossed the beans in the pot, and filled the newly empty bowl with frozen corn and peas: all of which went into the pot as well. He had no clue how you knew what to do, but damn, did it smell good.

When you finally got to a still, just stirring a hot pot, Atsumu decided to stand up and hobble in the fluffy blanket over to you. Standing behind you, he wrapped blanket covered arms around your waist, leaning his head on top of yours.

“Atsumu,” you sighed, “I said you could come, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to take it easy anymore.” Your stirring slowed as you glanced up at him. “Sit down, I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

He frowned, not giving up so soon.

“I’m tired of sitting. I need to stretch my legs, ya know?”

You hummed, changing the temperature on the stove.

“Now, do you?” You patted the hand on your waist, and let out a small laugh. “Good thing I need to go to the spice rack, then. Let's get those legs moving.”

So, you started heading that way, and not wanting to get left behind, Atsumu trailed along right behind you. Halfway through, tired of jamming into your feet thanks to the difference in stride at such close quarters, he lifted you up slightly, placing you on his feet. The two of you did your awkward dance, the kitchen’s linoleum your ballroom floor, your own stumbling waltz to the spice rack. You picked out the containers and shakers you needed, laughing at the predicament you were in, and he happily hefted you back to the simmering pot.

As you dashed spices he didn’t even know the name of into the mixture, Atsumu soon became your own spice rack, holding all of the ones you’d finished with or would need later so you could measure, pinch, and sprinkle.

“I’m planning on eating some of this too, you know,” you said, passing one spice to him as you grabbed another. “I think your brother would pass out if he realized I was letting a sick man handle the ingredients.”

Atsumu groaned, leaning his head down into the crook of your neck. Focus on me, he was practically shouting. All this work to keep your attention, and here you were, talking about Osamu.

“Can we stop talking about him, please?”

You let out a soft laugh, and he pouted against your skin.

“Fine, fine. Instead, how about we talk about how someone so sick shouldn’t be burying their snotty nose so close to my face,” you teased, but he lifted his head and returned it to the top of yours with a frown. “It’s worrying just how fast germs can spread, Atsumu…” you continued, and he let out a huff of air.

“What use do ya have worrying about germs on the top of yer head?” he whined, and you were laughing as you stirred the pot.

“All kinds of worries,” you mocked. “I could have a sensitive scalp, you know.”

He grinned, and instantly placed a loud, wet, smack of a kiss on the top of your head, his grin only widening as you let out a squeal in shock.

“Oh no. Guess yer hair’s gonna get sick. Ya better lay down and rest,” he teased. “Preferably with me, since we’ll both be sick.”

You had to catch your breath before replying, laughing as you finally turned the stove off.

“I’ll let you know if I start getting symptoms. Until then — ” you poked at his arms, signaling to let go, “ — soup’s on.”

Stepping away from him as he dropped his arms, you grabbed a ladle and two bowls, filling them both with the soup. Its scent wafted to him, and he realized just how much he missed being able to be near you when you were preparing food. Not only did he get to see you work, but he got to experience all the senses of the leadup to the product, not just getting it handed to him all at once. Plus, the fact that he could smell it was a good sign — maybe his nose was finally clearing up.

He wouldn’t dare mention that, though. As much as he wanted to compliment your cooking, he needed to be the sickliest Atsumu he could possibly be. Settling back down at the table, you placed the bowls with their spoons in spots across from each other, and went back to get something to drink. While you were gone, Atsumu quickly grabbed yours and slid it right next to his. When you came back, you had two glasses of a golden, fizzy drink, and an eyebrow raised that seemed it couldn’t be surprised anymore. With just a sigh, you slid into a chair, an empty one covered by the blanket between him and you.

“Make sure to drink all of this,” you said, ignoring the pout that was practically radiating off Atsumu, and slid the glass towards him. “It’s ginger ale. It should reduce any swelling and congestion, and help your throat feel better as well.”

He grumbled something incomprehensible, but took the glass and slid it next to the bowl under his blanket fortress. After a moment of watching you take peaceful bites of your meal, he got tired of eating so far apart. He grabbed the end of the blanket, yanking it over your head, ignoring the surprised shriek you let out and smiling to himself proudly.

“Whoops,” he said innocently, and contently took small, tender bites of his meal.

A moment later, he heard a loud sigh, and felt the blankets shifting as you moved into the seat directly next to him now, getting rid of the weird dip from where the blanket sunk between you. He tried his best to hide his shit-eating grin, but you solved it for him, jabbing him with your elbow as you snuggled closer underneath the smothering blanket.

“Whoops,” you mocked, sidling up next to him. He went to toss back a remark about attacking a sick person, but stopped himself when he saw the warm smile on your lips, and settled for eating instead. You won this time — for now.

He brought the spoon to his lips again, savoring in the heat of the meal. As much as he wanted to gulp it down at once, sick people usually don’t do that. They’re usually weak and tired — which meant he couldn’t drink it like a bottle of water in the middle of a game.

So, he took slow, slow bites. You were done with your bowl by the time he’d gotten through half of his, finishing off your glass and preparing to get up.

“This is really good,” he said, watching you shift the blanket to the side. “Are ya gettin’ more?”

“No,” you replied, smiling down at him. “I’m full, and I made it for you, anyway. Help yourself to as much as you’d like.”

He couldn’t hide his visible pout as you stood up from the table, moving to the sink to wash your dishes. As much as he tried to think of a reply to get you to come back, he was coming up empty — his repertoire of excuses was running low.

Letting a wash of silence fill the room, Atsumu poked and prodded at his dish while waiting for you to finish. Eventually, you put them on the rack to dry, turning around for your eyes to meet his pouting lips. You looked like you didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh — after a moment, a small laugh seemed to win the battle. Stepping back to the table, he watched as you sat down and clambered back under the blanket, slipping in next to him.

“Need some help?” you asked, and he gave you a confused look.

“What’re ya gonna help me with?”

You let out another small laugh, picking up his spoon and holding it up to his lips.

“Open up!” you teased, and shock came over Atsumu’s features. His eyes darted between you and the spoon; when he noticed your reflection was in the spoon’s handle, he focused on the part with food — which he noticed was millimeters from his lips, and meant your hands weren’t that far away either.

“Huh?!” he finally burst, unable to take it anymore. In the moment’s notice, you slipped the spoon in, your thumb nearly brushing his lips in the process. Atsumu felt like his face was going to set on fire, while you laughed to yourself and let go of the spoon, now dangling from his teeth. Refusing to open his mouth again for fear of you pulling something else, he hastily threw the blanket completely over himself to hide his rapidly heating cheeks.

Of course, he didn’t think about the fact that you were also under the blankets; just as he tossed it in the air and over his head, you were caught in the motion, sealed under the blanket with him. You squealed as the sudden darkness enveloped you both, and he nearly let out one even higher pitched than yours as he realized his mistake. Scrambling for any semblance of control, he pulled the spoon out of his mouth and blindly grabbed for the bowl.

“I can — ” he shouted, stumbling on his words already.

“You can?” you teased, and he grumbled as he finally grabbed the bowl and slid it to himself.

“I can eat by myself! I don’t need ya t’feed me!” he finished, and you burst out laughing.

Atsumu was embarrassed — probably karma for what he’d been doing — but you were laughing so hard he was worried you might pass out. Chest rising and falling, he loved the sound of your laugh, but he also appreciated the breaths you usually took between them.

Suddenly you clamped a hand on his shoulder, and the lack of breaths between your laughs made him breathless. He felt you shaking and squeezing him, and momentarily thought it was a sign that you actually couldn’t breathe. He got ready to jump up and drop the act completely, about to dash across the house for the inhaler you kept in your bag, until you calmed down seconds later. He could hear your deep breaths, feeling your shoulders move with each breath as you leaned slack against him, and his tense muscles relaxed back into you.

“Sorry to get you so worked up,” you eventually mustered out between giggles and deep breaths. “I saw the opportunity and just couldn’t resist.”

Atsumu couldn’t even find it in himself to groan or pout — not with you smiling at him like that. He was just glad he got worried over nothing. Instead, he let out a puff of air, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer, taking another bite with his other hand.

Then, you were nudging him away all over again, worming your way out from the blanket.

“Now what’s the problem?!” he ended up shouting, and you laughed as you wriggled out from under the blanket’s darkness.

“You’re going to actually get me sick acting like that, ‘Sumu.”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“So it’s a problem when I do it, but fine when you do?!” he hollered out. Despite the fact that he was yelling, when he threw the cover off from over his head, he found you clutching your stomach again, having moved to lean against a counter — your lips were pressed together, trying not to let out a laugh. After a moment of breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, you looked at him with a cheeky grin.

“When you act and I end up sick, it’s your fault. When I act and end up sick, I’m sick by choice!” you said proudly, as if you’d just answered the easiest question you’d ever heard.

Oh, he was going to get you. By the time he was done with you, you’d be sick as a dog.

But, he wouldn’t be able to yet. Just as he was ready to get up, you were back in action. He realized as you grabbed the bowl in front of him that he’d emptied it in a fury while you were laughing.

“Oh, are you done?”

“Yeah — ”

“Do you want any more?”

“No — ”

“Alright, you go on back to bed then and I’ll wash this up.”

“But — ”

“Atsumu,” you warned, and he realized his chance was up. Flushed down the toilet in an instant. Slipped down the drain. Completely, utterly, destroyed. And now, as he slowly stood up to hobble back to your shared room, he realized he needed a new plan — again.

He was never the best at thinking before he acted, though, so before he knew it he was in the bedroom, fake coughing as loud as he could. His vocal cords would hate him later, but for now, he focused on jumping into bed and throwing the covers over himself, just in case you came in too soon. He couldn’t just make it a few coughs though, he needed to make it like he was fighting for his life if he wanted you to come check. So, he coughed as if it were more natural than breathing for him.

Moments later, you rushed into the room, a deep look of concern as you came to his side.

“Hey, hey…” you soothed, hand reaching behind him to help him sit up as he hacked imaginary mucus from his lungs. Your palm drew shapes on his back, circles and stars littering across his muscles.

“Throat… hurts… worse…” Atsumu choked out, drinking in the gaze that fell solely on him, your touch reserved for the dips and curves of his spine.

“Still?” you remarked, brows knitting together enough to make a sweater. You sat down on the bed, scooting closer to him and looking him over. “Is it just sore, or is it itchy as well? Tight?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, pouting, “All of those,” he added, aiming for the sickest of the sick effect.

You stilled, before scooting a tad closer, your thigh bumping against him as you pushed further onto the bed.

“How’s your chest? Does it hurt?”

Your free hand gently placed itself against said area, right under his heart. He’d asked for this attention, but he wasn’t prepared for the rising and falling of your hand as it slid up and down the muscle, the other stilled against the small of his back.

“Uh — yeah — ” he stumbled, before covering up his shock with a few more coughs.

“How so? Like there’s a pressure on it?”

His eyes drifted down to your fingers, soft digits rising closer to him, the hardness of a nail gently scratching with each trip down.

“Ya could say that,” he said mindlessly, cheeks heating as he finally broke his focus.

When his eyes met yours, they were closer than before. Your hair was tickling his forehead, drooping down as you hung over him. He couldn’t be upset — he wanted this — but it was getting to be more than he planned for. He hadn’t prepared for you to be inches away from him: he prepared for soothing words and pouty lips of concern.

He covered his mouth with a fist to cough quickly, hoping it’d make you back up for a moment so he could recover. Instead, you stayed in place, and he felt his face reddening more with each second you remained. He kept glancing between you and your fingers, mesmerized by the way they ebbed and flowed against him. The more it went on, the more his chest kept rising and falling faster and faster, as if he were the tide and you were the moon pulling against him. Soon your hand came to a standstill, planted like a rock in the middle of the crashing waves.

“Your breathing is rapid, Atsumu,” you pointed out, before pulling the hand behind him out and placing it against his forehead. “And look at you — you’re sweating!”

“…Yeah? Aren’t those… ya know, symptoms of bein’ sick?” he waffled, talking out of his ass. You gave him a serious look, hand trailing down from his forehead to his cheek.

“Is your breathing difficult, at all?”

He panicked, and knew you could tell he was panicking. This only made you look more concerned, as you waited for his answer.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he blurted, but before he knew it something told him he’d gotten himself into trouble with this. You were more than concerned now — you had a scared look on your face.

Suddenly, you rushed up and off the bed.

“Atsumu, I — I think — ” You stuttered, pacing back and forth, and Atsumu frowned as he noticed that you were gnawing the inside of your cheek.

“Babe, hold on — ” he started, nearly prepared to confess, but this time an actual cough came through and cut him off. Your eyes shot to him, worry encapsulating your whole expression.

“I’m getting my inhaler and calling the doctor,” you stated, matter-of-factly. “Stay here.”

You raced out of the room, leaving Atsumu sputtering in confusion. Before he could even ask himself what you meant, you were back, shaking the tiny object up and down as fast as you could. Placing yourself back on the bed, you stretched your arm out, the opening of the inhaler now mere inches from his lips.

“What’re ya doin’ with that?!” he shouted, leaning back and away from the device.

“Atsumu, what do you think?” you said, scooching yourself and the inhaler closer. “Take a puff of this.”

“Why should I?! What’s with the sudden peer pressure to do drugs?!”

You frowned, sitting still and focused, while he floundered around wildly.

“Because you’re showing symptoms of the onset of an asthma attack, Atsumu!”

His jaw dropped, eyes as wide as the moon.

“What do ya mean asthma attack?! I don’t have asthma, yer the one with asthma!” he shouted, pointing at you energetically. So much for the act, he didn’t have the time to uphold it.

“Some people have asthma that flares up from colds or the flu!” you yelled back, and he crossed his arms in front of you like an X.

“Well I don’t!”

“How do you know that?!”

“I just do!”

The two of you stopped, waiting for the other to pipe up and throw in the next attack in your vicious battle of “to inhale or to not inhale.” Eventually, you let out a breath and calmed your tense fighting stance.

“I’ve done the research, Atsumu,” you started calmly. You help up the inhaler, tapping on the label of the canister inside. “I take albuterol. While it’s not recommended to share medication, albuterol is unique in that it has relatively low risks compared to other types of medication. For someone to take it, even if they don’t have asthma, it should pose no harm. This is simply a matter of precaution until I can get the doctor on the phone.”

Atsumu squinted at you, not standing for the explanation.

“You said low risk, but that’s not no risk! There’s a chance something could happen to me!” he argued.

“It’s practically zero for you!” you retorted, arms thrown up. “You live a healthy lifestyle, with lots of exercise and food that’s good for you, with no other major health concerns.” “What about the concerns of my health now?!” he whined. “I’m sick! And that’s yer inhaler! That you use!”

“You’re also not breathing correctly! And I, oh I don’t know, don’t want you to die!”

“What if I overdose and die more!?” “How is that even a possible outcome in this situation?!”

Atsumu couldn’t do this. You were fervently holding the inhaler out to him, but he rolled his head side to side, dodging you with each thrust like a child who didn’t want to eat their veggies.

“Atsumu, please,” you begged, and the tone of your voice had him sweating even harder. “Just one puff, here, let me — ”

You stopped, brought the inhaler to your lips, and let out a breath. He watched as your lips puckered against the plastic, the last bit of air in your lungs forced out. Then, you pressed the canister down, sucked in the air, and held it as it settled. He noticed the way your back arched unconsciously, moving in tandem with your breaths, before softening as you pulled the inhaler away from your lips and let out a sigh.

“Your turn.”

He froze, his face instantly turning a whole different shade of red as heat traveled all the way up from his stomach, through his lungs, and then out of the pores on his cheeks.

“No way.”

“Why not?” you groaned, the tension released in your high-pitched, drawn out vowels.

“It’s too…” he mumbled, and you frowned.

“Too…?” you pushed.

“Too…”

“Atsumu,” you warned, and he fumbled with the covers on the bed, looking away from your face.

“It’s too intimate…” he murmured shyly, blushing like this was your first time out together. When he looked up, he was not met with the flustered look of a shy date who had their hand held by him for the first time, but the blank, dead eyes of someone who looked like they wanted to pass out into a nap on the spot.

“Atsumu,” you finally spoke, his name parting dryly from your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re fighting this for the reason I think you are.”

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” he said, ignoring the blush that covered his cheeks as he thought of the idea of placing his lips onto the plastic ring, still warm from where yours had been only moments ago. You both were nearing your last straw — yours was threatening something completely different, though.

“Atsumu fucking Miya,” you huffed, “if you don’t take a puff of this inhaler I’m leaving you for your brother.”

Atsumu went stock still and silent. Every atom of his being was frozen in place, every brain cell buffering as it tried to process this new unforeseen outcome. There was no way you’d do something like that — not over an inhaler. But the determination in your eyes had him sweating harder than five full sets of a game.

“…You wouldn’t,” he breathed out, gravely.

“Try me,” you countered.

An apprehensive intake of air. A slightly quivering lip. Eyes that flickered from one side of the room to the other. Atsumu wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it — if he could take it anymore. He probably wouldn't have a problem faking being sick longer — he’d come up positive for a fever at this rate — but your stone gaze was unrelenting, and he felt his willpower draining. This would be the moment his games and tricks had consequences: he had to come clean.

“Let’s just take a moment to think about this,” Atsumu stated, hands out in front of him in surrender. “Just put the inhaler down. We can talk this out,” he added, his tone as if he were talking down an intruder holding a weapon to his head.

You gave him a hard look, but eventually complied. The device rolled limply across the bed, settling a few inches away. He let out a breath of relief, and moved to sit up straighter, while you pressed him with a stare.

“I may have… a confession.”

--

Several days had passed, and Atsumu had since overcome his “severe” cold. You were mad for a moment after the truth, but soon it became the funniest thing you’d heard all week. You spent plenty of time with him thereon out, but he eventually learned to stop asking what was so funny each time you’d randomly start giggling out of nowhere: he knew what it was.

Now he felt right as rain, standing in the kitchen humming to himself as he made a sandwich. You’d been tired this morning, so to let you sleep he handled what simple cooking he could. That is, until he heard the deathly moan behind him.

“Atsumu…”

He whipped around, worried he’d made the wrong decision, but that didn’t last long as he saw the ghostly figure wobbling towards him, eyes red and droopy and bedhead a mess.

“I don’t feel good…” you moped, sniffling as you rubbed itchy eyes. “I think these are the symptoms we talked about…”

He let out a huff of a laugh, ignoring your instant frown as he sauntered over to take you in his arms.

“Let's get ya to bed, then. I made breakfast, so go lay down.”

You peered around him, uncaving your face from his chest to look at the table.

“Sandwiches for breakfast? Really?” you said with a laugh. Atsumu wore an embarrassed smile, but at least a fraction of one had graced your grumpy, tired features.

“I think yer supposed to kiss the cook, not complain about ‘em.”

You pouted, but he laughed as you returned to him, warming your face against his chest and placing a weak, half-ass kiss against it, too tired to stand up on your toes.

“Is it at least egg salad or something?” you asked, and he turned you around to start walking you back to bed, hands on your shoulders.

“You put too much faith in me,” he said bleakly, and you let out a tiny giggle-cough, little smiles in between hacking up whatever gross stuff Atsumu had given you.

Soon, you were tucked into bed, covers tight and pillow fluffed, with Atsumu raking his hand through your hair.

“What do you want for lunch? I’ll make it for you,” he said, eyes glittering with pride. This time he’d be able to care for you, and he knew he’d do just as good of a job as you did him.

“Can I have some soup?”

His resolve cracked, the sparkle in his eyes going dull. There was no way he was going to feed you canned or boxed mix soup after you made it for him homemade just days ago.

“…I’ll call Osamu.”

You smiled, closing your eyes, and he left the room to let you rest. He’d just bring you the “breakfast-in-name-only” sandwich later with the soup.

As he paced around the couch, snatching his phone off the charger to call his brother, he made a pit stop at your bag. Digging through, he retrieved your inhaler — which had luckily been returned to its designated place after the commotion he caused. Grumbling about how he wanted to cook for you and show how he could be a cool, self-sufficient, caring boyfriend, he punched Osamu’s name into his phone and put the small medical device in his pocket.

He’d stay by your side until you got better, just like you did for him, and it’d stay by him the whole time for safekeeping, just in case.

by kenzie  cross-posted from my ao3

Taglist—

@sexyandcringe

#atsumu miya #miya atsumu #fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu oneshots #hq oneshot #hq!! #haikyuu!! #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu headcanons #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq x y/n #haikyuu x self insert #hq x self insert #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x gn!reader #atsumu x gender neutral reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu miya x y/n #miya atsumu x y/n #atsumu miya x you #miya atsumu x you

[venusandsaturnsrings]

sorry for the break but im back ueueue

got me thinking,,, do u ever think that incel diluc has some sort of savior complex rooted from the whole dark knight hero thing from canon? like i imagine that when he was running that bar, he'd have cases of people getting roofied and nearly taken advantage of and saves them, not mentioning that more than 3/4s of those cases were paid staff he hired personally,,,,

then when u came along strutting in with ur colorful attire and cheeky grin, dilucs mouth nearly waters and he has since decided to plan the most elaborate rescue to have u in his palms. he doesn't immediately save u when u were dragged out and stuffed into the van, he tracks u down (more like just drives through the abandoned warehouse he obviously rented for this masterpiece) and times his entrance just right so that he can stop it just as u were about to be disrobed. he knows he's won this when he sees ur thankful eyes, mascara running down ur tear streaked cheeks and pupils heart shaped at ur gallant savior.

honestly i see him justifying this with no one being really hurt in the end, and sometimes treat it as some sort of extreme sport.

idk sorry im really bad with other charas that aren't childe aaa

OOOOOOOOOH my love... you always feed me so so yummy... i'm never opposed to childe content EVER since he's almost all i talk about but diluc is so yum too... emotionally constipated red-head man <3 responding to this with @teyvatmoon in mind...

PLEASE READ THE TAGS ON THIS, IT'S A WEE BIT DARK

Diluc could justify anything and its somewhat of a talent. it's gotten him out of plenty sticky situations and is partially what has kept his reputation so very shiny. what kind of respected figure can't smooth talk and pull excuses from their ass? none of them. Diluc can do whatever 'horrible' things he wants as long as he can paint them as 'honorable' instead. who would go against the twenty-three year old student and business owner? no one with a brain, that's for sure.

since owning a café on campus was wildly successful in the day time, it was only the natural progression of things for Diluc to obtain a liquor license to host events in the evening. such after-hours happenings weren't frequent since it always took a lot of work and a lot of staff but he was happy to provide a space on campus for people to drink since, for everyone but you, it was safer. prior to starting these monthly events it took a lot of work with both the university, himself, and city representatives but Diluc is beyond charming when he sees fit. sorting out rules and standards was like nothing to the young man and so, every last Friday of the month, he'd host drinking at was usually a calm café.

you and your friends had frequented there during the day for quite sometime now so it was no surprise when you all began showing up to these monthly binge drinking sessions. it was nice to attend such an event somewhere you were already so familiar with in the day time. it didn't take long for you and the rest of your group to warm up to the place. perhaps for you, it was too fast.

the buildings front was a large glass garage door that would be rolled up in the hot months to create better airflow since there was no air conditioning and it also allowed for more people to hand about the area with extended seating. being September it wasn't quite cold enough for it to be necessary for the door to close and thus it was still left open. students milled about the whole area drinking and laughing. you had decided to wear something a bit more revealing and daring this evening just for fun, well, what was supposed to be fun.

the skimpy and fully pink outfit had definitely garnered stares; hungry ones. such a head-turning outfit surely had more than just Diluc staring desperately. this... choice... of yours simply furthered the righteous feelings brewing in his heart. he was excited and many surly mistook the slight upturn of his lips as love for his work when really it was love for you. it was hard for even such a self controlled man as him not to stare at your tits, ass, thighs, stomach, or any other expanse of skin his eyes could find. your plump flesh was everything to him and he was certainly going to savour this first night of many in which he'd indulge in such a beautiful body. Diluc had almost entirely zoned out on you up until you had finally come to him grinning and asking for a drink. whatever he recommended, you said. his dick jumped at the words. well, he certainly did have something extra special to make for you. the drink was a deep purple colour, bordering on black, and glittering. it smelled of alcohol as well as a cacophony of berries. it tasted almost better than it looked. the only thing that would've made it better was a less salty and bitter taste but Diluc had given it to you on the house so no real complaints could be made. the drink as well as the evening was gone in what felt like seconds.

you had stumbled around back near the parking lot for some air and to text your friends only to remember you had handed off your phone and wallet to one of your friends with pockets in their outfit as you had none. it only took that one moment of disorientation for you to feel as though your body was being twisted and wrung out in every direction. in a way, you were. the hard landing on metal barely covered in cheap blankets did nothing to soothe the growing panic and nausea filling your body. you squirmed in every direction and cried as loud as you could but the hands trying and holding you down never ceased. the latex gloved hands all smelled of rubbing alcohol and all the voices sounded like venom. you were wholly convinced this was where you'd die. the roughhousing that ensued upon the van stopping was almost worse. being thrown on the ground and dragged over sharp gravel and nails would've made you worried about tetanus if there wasn't a knife right against the back of your throat. you heard doors slam and felt your body slam. this was the final time you were to be thrown but also the first time it had caused you to throw up.

the bile rose up your throat quickly. the salty and acidic liquid that rose up ended up covering part of your front and all of the floor in front of you. the group of men merely laughed at you. mocking how you're so weak and useless. can't even hold it together enough to not make yourself sick, they crooned. their hands, however, never let up on their assault of roaming your body. you thought perhaps they expected this and the gloves were a preemptive measure. with your head still spinning and stomach churning you almost felt upset about the masks you could now see obscuring their faces. 'cowards,' you thought. they paused. did you say that aloud? ah. you're really fucked now.

the chunk of wood that flew across the room and hit one of them hard in the nose startled you. with a heavy head, you turned to see him. Diluc. so he had piped up to insult them and he had come to save you; if the gun in his hand was pointed at them the way you thought it was. it didn't take long for the under-armed group to flee and Diluc to land by your side. concern was etched all over his features as he gently untied and helped you up. he didn't seem to mind the vomit getting on him at all. it was sweet in a gross way.

he took you back to his very nice home, after a brief trip to urgent care for aforementioned needed tetanus shot, to have you properly cleaned up and given a mix of medicines that should alleviate the drugs running through you rather quickly. his hands were soft and human. not a touch of latex or a whiff of rubbing alcohol. his arms felt safe. Diluc held you until you slept that night, more than pleased with how things turned out. you'd be his now and the extra jack-off material he got from recording the whole ordeal could stay a secret. that was his guilty pleasure. <3

#cw: vomit #cw: noncon #cw: kidnapping #cw: incel #cw: misogyny #cw: stalker #cw: manipulation #cw: abuse #incel diluc #diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #chit chats

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 17 - Panties!

You and Gale chat about linguistics. Astarion has elf ears and thus, elf hearing. Ruh-roh.

Rated M for language and violence. Still not for smut, because when I said this was a slow burn, I meant it and also Eleanor is demisexual, so does not compute for her (yet).

On AO3.

You don’t make it much further before calling quits. Between your horror vomiting, Lae’zel’s brush with acid, and the rest of the party being generally wrung out from killing a wholeass owlbear, y’all are beat.

Camp is in a pretty, little clearing just off the trail. The grass is soft—and joyously free of ticks—with patches of pretty, yellow flowers. It’s a clear night; the moon is a great, big silver plate, and the spray of unfamiliar stars overhead shine bright and crystalline.

While Lae’zel scrapes the brains out of the skull of the owlbear, the others hunker down for a good and proper soup. It’s mostly vegetables, with sliced sausages, and you’re so, so fucking thankful Gale kept spices in his magical go bag. More than salt and pepper, too. You’re picking up traces of chili powder, paprika, and even a taste of cumin, you think. Not bad at all.

After your meal, y’all sit around for a bit. Astarion returns from scouting and takes his bowl back to his tent. Mr. Fancypants doesn’t like eating with commoners. It’s the first night everyone’s free, not working on spells or meditating or sulking alone. But the mood is still heavy and subdued.

Fucking cults will do that.

You wonder if your group’d listen to White people ghost stories—the Cherokee ones you do not tell at night out in the open.

You kick back and stare at the red line dancing around the edges of the embers.

Your stomach is still sore; throat still scratchy. And your headache is a constant grind. Must be the brainworm chewing on your gray-meats. The others hide their own discomfort pretty good—though that might just be the whole “not human” thing. Except Gale is human. Does he have wizard ibuprofen?

You stare into the fire some more and resist the urge to palm your right eye and press until you see sparkles.

The next thing you know, everyone has moved around the fire.

You sit up. Look around. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are arguing over the importance of keeping trophies (which Shadowheart dismisses as barbaric nonsense). Astarion is now standing outside his tent with a book propped open on one arm. You literally blinked and they all moved. What the fu—

“Are you alright?” Gale says. He was opposite you on the whole other side of the fire. Now he leans on the same fallen log you rest against with his own book sitting in his lap.

“I,” you say. You lost time. You completely lost, at minimum, several minutes. You try to breathe normal, instead of panting like a sick dog. “Yeah. I just…zoned out pretty good right there.”

Gale frowns. “’Zone?’ How would you use area as a verb?”

God, your head hurts.

You flap a hand. “Means I wasn’t paying attention, is all. D’you, you got anything for a headache? The stress has got my neck wound so tight it could crack a walnut.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. Shadowheart may have an easier time of it. Are you…?”

He pauses. There’s more than confusion etched into his brow. It looks suspiciously like concern.

“Are you having any other symptoms?” he says in a low voice.

You look at him until it clicks. The whole face melting thing. All the stuff he’s described.

“No, no,” you say. “I don’t think it’s any of that. I woke up with this back on the butthole—I mean, the nautiloid.”

But his eyebrows have already shot up to his hairline. “The what? I’m not sure that translated accurately.”

Oh shit.

You groan. “No, it probably did. It’s what I been calling the nautiloid, before I learned its name. The doors on there looked like, well, buttholes. So I just went with it.”

His mouth opens. No words come out. You’ve shocked Mr. Verbose into silence. You almost give yourself a high five.

“I named all you’uns,” you continue, a bit more of Uncle Randy’s vernacular slipping in. It feels nice, letting your tongue slide back into that cadence. Feels like relaxing. Once you’d moved away, you tried to soften your country accent, fold it up into neat, shortened northern.

“I can only hope it was more sophisticated than your naming convention for the ship,” Gale says.

“You were mumu.” You wait. His expression doesn’t change, so the dirt potion must not’ve had a decent replacement for that. So you explain it, and by the end, he’s got a wry sort of smile.

“I can state with full confidence I’ve been called much worse,” Gale says. “Though it is a slight blow to my ego that I couldn’t impress any of my more noteworthy traits over my wardrobe.”

“It was either that or mullet.”

Having explained that, he proceeds to quiz you on the others, stumbling only over “goth.” But educated on that, he agrees with you on all counts.

“We’d been calling you Tav,” he says. At your blank face, “It’s a name used for orphans or someone whose name isn’t known, usually due to illness or injury. Quite common.”

Tav. It’s…their version of Jane Doe?

Then Gale’s face twists up. You can’t tell if it’s some flavor of perplexed, or if there’s a hint of amusement around his eyes. “Though I am curious how you’d gotten a glimpse at Astarion’s pants?”

You stare. Twist to find Astarion lounging on a nest of pillows he’s somehow managed to collect—he stole them from the tieflings, didn’t he.

“He’s wearing them?” you say and gesture with your thumb.

Gale’s whole face opens in surprise (relief?). “Ah! Another translation quirk. We call the outer garments trousers. The inner clothing is called pants, or smallclothes.”

You sit there. He’s definitely amused, now. Because you’ve been calling Astarion ‘Fancy Underwear.’ Good god. You’re so glad you figured that one out with Gale.

“Right,” you say. Your face definitely doesn’t feel warm. Not at all.

“Apologies for the distraction, and back to your headache. So you have no other symptoms.”

“I mean.” You gesture to your face, which as far as you can tell by touch is still your face. Goddamn, you haven’t had a proper bath in days. At least y’all are camped next to a stream; you can keep on dunking yourself as best you can. Still, no moisturizer or shampoo. Your elbows are getting rough.

“It’s all rather odd,” Gale says. “We should be halfway through the gestational process, yet none of us—aside from possibly you—have shown any sign of it. Either your being from a different plane has made you more susceptible, or our own physiology has shielded the rest of us. But Lae’zel isn’t a local, either, and even you aren’t following the standard process, as I understand it.”

He studies you a long moment. His lips press thin. But then he sighs and shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think you alone are going through the melt-change-condition.” You catch the vague shape of the actual word he uses behind the magical translation, but can’t suss it out. “I think it safe to assume this is merely the stress from all of this. I would suggest you find a way to relax, but, well.”

Lae’zel has finished both her scraping and her argument. She settles down next to a big, stone wheel that starts to spin as her foot taps a pedal. You watch, curiously, until she lifts her brains-scraping knife and you realize that sumbitch is a fucking grinder.

The noise shoots right through your eyeball to lodge deep in your aching brain.

“Nice talk, Gale, I’m getting out of here,” you say.

He winces next to you. Nods. “I’ll retire to my tent and see if I can’t come up with something in my stores to help with that ache of yours. In your head. That you mentioned.”

He rolls to his feet super spry for someone with gray streaks in his hair. He gives a little bow with his head, which you return with a nod as you make your way to the opposite side of the camp from Lae’zel.

Which happens to be where Astarion has set himself up for the night. Almost like he didn’t want to be around someone scooping out a dead owlbear head.

He glances up as you near. Watches you sink down into the grass nearby. You pause for a moment, considering, and flop onto your back in a full sprawl beneath the stars.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he, for a long moment. He flips a page. The pounding in your brain begins to unclench. Turns another page.

“So,” he says in a fucking tone.

“Oh god,” you say preemptively.

“You think my pants are fancy?”

Fucking elf ears. Of course he fucking heard you. Of fucking course.

You cover your face with one arm. “Would you stop if I said it was a mistranslation and I meant your trousers?”

“Whyever would I do that?”

Whyever would he. The man is a fucking menace.

Thing is, you’ve been so polite and quiet this whole time (until today, really). But Mother and the other leadership saw something in you, even as a child. And they weren’t exactly wrong about it (just the part where it was bad bad sinful bad the devil shame shame bad).

You turn to squint at him through the throbbing in your skull. “Are they?”

“Are what, dear?”

“Your underwear. Are they fancy?”

Bitch doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. He wants to give some, he better be able to take some.

You almost miss his hesitation, it’s so fast. Then his malicious smirk is back on and he snaps his book shut. Spins to face you. “They are, actually. I would ask the same of you, but I’m rather sure you���re not wearing any.”

“Nope,” you say, popping the “p” and waggling your legs back and forth in the grass. Outbrazen that, chucklefuck.

His mask doesn’t even crack. Not a flinch, not a micro expression; the man is stone cold fucking with you. “Are those not a norm in your realm, either?”

“Oh, they are, I just didn’t have them on me when I got grabbed.” Let him wonder about that. Dare him to fucking ask. The reason is you were asleep, but he doesn’t know that. “Unless we find some kinda clothing store soon, I think I’m gonna have to make some myself.”

He leans forward to rest an elbow on his bent knee. “I could help you with that, you know.”

You…can’t tell if he’s being serious.

“I ain’t wearing your drawers, fancy man. You only got the one pair anyway, unless you’re walk around with spares in your pockets.”

To this, he grimaces. “I didn’t need the reminder. All the material we’ve come across has been roughspun, mildewed, or both. Not a scrap of silk to be seen anywhere.”

You turn your head to frown at him for a long moment. Because yeah, that tracks. Of course this floof-haired, ridiculous city man wears silk drawers. You should not be so surprised at this. But also…

“You expecting to find you some silk out here in the boonies?” you say.

Now it’s his turn to frown. You watch his lips form the word “boonies.”

“Outside the city,” you say. “Back woods, back water, the sticks, wilderness, middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Hmm. No, I suppose I didn’t. People travel through here, but not the sort to own any apparel worth salvaging, would they? No, you’re correct.”

You say nothing to that. Content to lie beneath the moon and let the conversation about y’all’s panties die a quiet, natural death.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch his head tilt. He’s watching you.

“That was a clever little plan, back there,” he says after a moment. “I dare say, you thought further ahead than any of the others regarding those cultists. And regarding how to deal with them. It was very clean—efficient, even if their deaths were very much not. It’s a shame you had to leave us so quickly back in that den.”

To vomit.

You’re not gonna out-edgey the edgelord here. Simpler to go for the boring answers. “Ain’t used to seeing something like that. Horror is a normal response to people getting torn up back where I come from.”

“Mmm. Sounds terribly dull. And yet, for someone so inexperienced,” he makes some gesture that either their version of air quotes or him just being a theater kid, “you came to that conclusion quickly and you saw it through. Against some objections, even.”

Objections from half of them. Or only Gale, really, as the only part Lae’zel hadn’t liked was the sneak factor. She seemed pleased as punch when then owlbear turned on y’all and she got to hack it to pieces.

And Gale got over it all well enough to come hang out with you at camp.

These fucking people.

And goddamnit, you’re fitting in.

You find him with his chin propped up, his gaze fixed on you.

“I have never, in my life, had to deal with this kinda shit before,” you say. “I’m just…getting ideas as we go along and trying not to die.”

“Quite vicious ideas.”

Your neck is hot. You turn away, point your face at the sky as if the cold starlight will chill the head building over your cheeks.

He’s not wrong. You have a ruthless streak, you know. Part of your whole healing process was recognizing and accepting that part of yourself. And you had. And now, you wonder if that is part of the problem. If you hadn’t just gone down into your mental basement to feed the monsters there, but you’d pulled up that cellar door and leapt in yourself.

You feel guilt, for sure. But you already know you’d do it again. You’d put up that ruthless streak in a shoebox and set it up on a tall shelf in a back closet in your brain. But now you went and you opened that up, and it’s working for you. It’s a tool and a weapon, and it might be your best shot at surviving all this.

“Your ideas got you out of that crash,” Astarion says. “They kept you with all of us, saved you from that bandit, and effectively took control of our little band of miscreants.”

“What? I’m not—”

You didn’t take control. Did you? They went along with one horrible idea. Or two, actually, with Kahga. Except there were several ideas involved in that—

You’re not the leader.

You’re not.

“And even now, that mind of yours is plotting out our continued survival, isn’t it?” he says. “You might be a useful person to know.”

“Well thank you, darlin,’” you drawl.

He makes a sound that forces your attention back to him. You catch his eyebrows raised, eyes round. The laugh is more of a snort, and he seems as surprised at it as he does at…whatever caused it.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“That’s just a saying,” you start.

But he’s already waving it off. “Not to worry. I believe I’ll leave you to your little respite away from that cacophony. Take a walk and get some air, myself.”

Oh shit, you weirded him out. It’s just a phrase. Old, southern ladies you’ve never met call you “sugar” and “honey” all the time.

He stands. Sweeps the wrinkles out of his clothes—mostly his silly, frilly shirt. Then he gives you some ridiculous, over-the-top, one-arm-in-the-air courtly bow. “Do sleep tight, darling.”

He wanders off. The wind hisses in the trees. Lae’zel’s grinder screeches like a thousand souls of the damned, and your brain worm nibbles contentedly at a piece of your pre-frontal cortex.

“Jesus christ,” you say and roll over to lie face down in the grass.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #no betas we die like men #feeding alligators fic #tavstarion #plus size tav #demisexual tav

[lsotp]

Hi-! I'm here for the daily blog attacks!

Questions from Chapter 5 and 6 Incoming-!

1.) Your heavy eyes looked up into the face of your rescuer. His eyes were squeezed shut, his own ears being covered by his hands as he formed a cage over you. You felt a bit better here in this strange man’s lap.

In the world of LSOTP, Is Edge afraid of storms and lightning too?

2.) Figure 1:

“S-sissy?” His eyes opened to look at you, the white eyes that were usually about the size of a dime seemed to fill his whole sockets.

Figure 2:

His eyes snapped open as a shrill scream left his small body. His soul rose from his chest as the scent of watermelon lemonade filled the area, his soul turned a beautiful sunset orange casting the same bright light in the area before shooting up in a beam.

Figure 3:

Whip opened his eyes- once white- were now the same sunset orange as his magic

Before a whelp has reached a certain age/maturity, is their magic generally white before turning to a color AFTER an awakening?

I think i know the answer. The Figures I've provided said it all, but I just want confirmation.

3.) He popped his magic in little pops of orange, as he had practiced while his magic was still white. Little fire works of lemonade scented orange sprang up before a jet of water squirted out of his palm and sprayed Buck in the face.

I would like to know more about Special Skill Sets, please.

4.) they’re sharp teeth biting into your collar bone or neck to put you back in line after you decided to go against the grain.

Mate Marks? 👀.

5.) Figure 1:

You had forgotten about those features, honestly. All the doors in the house had two knobs. One for your taller family members and guests to use,and one for you and (at the moment) Whip to use.

I feel bad for (Y/N). She's essentially a mouse in a family of cats. ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ.

Figure 2:

It was humiliating to you. Your feet didn’t even touch the floor and your head barely poked above the arms of the chair.

I arrest my case.

6.) What happened during 'The Seige of Coronet'? Just how bad was it?

7.) “She can speak, it’s just hard for her to do. It’s a side effect from an injury from when she was little.

We were in the Siege of Coronet when Old Centry fell in the war. The enemy was after women and children, in hopes to put a dent in our numbers. Sadly both my wife and daughter were injured.”

I FOUND A CLUE-! I'm sure of it.

IM SURE THAT THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE REFERRING TO!

During this Siege of Coronet, Cobalt basically admitted that there were enemies, enemies that scarred both (Y/N) and Lilith.

He KNOWS who they were fighting with.

But the fic doesn't give any implicit confirmation as to WHO or WHAT the enemy is.

(1) Edge isn’t terrified of storms. He has super great hearing. The noise of the wind, the debris, and other noises were hurting his ears.

(2) Yes. They are born with white magic that they can practice with until they hit puberty, when they start to unlock their abilities.

(3) You may need to open a new ask post for this one with more specifics on what you want to know. It’s too broad of a question for this post and would make this entirely too long.

(4) Not necessarily. The reader is just kinky. It’s a form of discipline between mates and usually how a male will dom a female. By biting- however the bites don’t hurt more so than overstimulate the person being bitten. (Don’t bite someone in the LSotP au. The scandal that would result would be massive.)

(5) Yeah. She’s a lil’ short stack compared to everyone else. Her baby brother is only three inches shorter than her.

(6) Old Centry was a province or state in the region.

The siege of Coronet was an invasion of the state and one of the first settlements hit in the dead of night. It was pillaged and burned down in less than 10 hours. A flag that said “Down with the Queen” was left on the hot ashes of the site.

(7) I never said he didn’t know. And while it’s important, that wasn’t the thing I was referring to. ;p

#lsotp #undertale au #undertale #undertale fanfiction #undertale oc #skeleton

[crimson-calligraphyx]

Death is All Around | part VII

At some point later in the night, Billy was able to coax the hysterics out of my system. His whole demeanor had flipped since his outburst; he did whatever he could to calm me down. He had made me a hot chocolate and searched high and low in the cabinets for any traces of candy—for some reason I was really craving chocolate after all the stress of tonight. He did manage to find the hidden stash that my dad had bought in preparation for Halloween, which he didn't want me to find, but Billy was great at scoping things out.

After I warmed up on the inside from the hot cocoa and filled myself to the brim with Reese's and Crunch bars, Billy decided to run me a bath. At first, I wasn't really in the mood for it, but after a few moments of soaking in the cherry-almond-scented suds, I was very appreciative of this kind gesture. I had been relishing in the warmth of the water, playing with the colorful orbs around me when Billy reappeared with a tiny smile spreading on his lips. I returned the smile, reaching my hand out towards him. He takes my hand, kneeling to be at the same height as me. I pull him towards me gently, giving him a soft kiss. "Thank you for this," I whisper when I break away from his lips. He places his hand on my cheek, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb. "Of course," he whispers back.

I sit up, still mostly submerged in the bath. "Would you like to join me?" "Sure," he chuckles, promptly standing to remove his clothes. I take in the sight of my naked boyfriend, a blush crawling up my neck and across my face. He was toned in just the right areas, his back and arm muscles accentuated as he removed his shirt. I couldn't help the tingle in my belly as I swooned over his boyish good looks. I scoot forward some as he steps into the tub behind me, slowly lowering himself down. Once he wrapped his arms around my waist, I leaned up against him and made myself comfortable.

My head moved with his steady breathing as I lay against his chest, lulling me into relaxation. I closed my eyes and hummed, feeling at peace being wrapped up in Billy's arms. He slowly begins to trail his hands over my arms, massaging the bubbles into my skin. "You know I'd do anything to protect you, right Sid?" he quietly asks, his hands continuing up my shoulders. "I know," I whispered. "I'm still so sorry about earlier." "Don't be," he tells me, now rubbing his fingertips into my tense traps, causing me to lean forward. "If I were in your shoes, I'd think the same thing." I groaned as he pushed on a knot in my upper back, wincing at the pain. "Christ, that hurts." "I know, I'm sorry, but it'll feel good after the knot is out."

He continues working on my tense muscles, eventually running his thumbs up the back of my neck. They meet at the base of my skull, rolling there momentarily before trailing them up the side behind my ears. I couldn't help but moan, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "Feel good, baby?" "Yeah," I say under my breath, grinning at the new pet name he gave me. "Good," he whispers, kissing the back of my head. He runs his hands back down my upper arms, my body melting into his torso. He gently caresses my sides, tracing the shape of my ribs; I shiver at the touch. I feel a chuckle vibrate in his chest, amused at my ticklishness. He begins to reach higher, palming my breasts lightly as he waits for my reaction. When I don't stop him, he rubs his thumbs over my nipples that were now perking up, earning a moan from me.

"Is this okay?" he asks lowly, sending another round of shivers down my spine. I nod against his chest. One hand leaves my breast, slowly tracking down my stomach, halting at the front of my pelvic area. Feeling his growing erection against my lower back, I gasped, bashfully giggling. "Sorry," he murmurs. "Would you like me to stop?" I twisted in his hold, turning so I could look at him. I longingly stared into his espresso-brown eyes that glimmered with adoration and lust. "No," I say confidently, turning back to my original position, a smirk on my lips. He then presses his lips to my neck, kissing the tender skin before he nipped it lightly. I raised my arm behind his head, holding him there as I tilted my head to the side to grant him more access to my neck. His tongue lashes out, licking before he pulls a section of my skin into his mouth and begins sucking on it. I moaned out embarrassingly loud because of it.

His fingers brush lightly against my clit, my body involuntarily bucking toward his hand. A sigh passes my lips while I get used to the pressure of his fingertips against me. "You like that, don't you?" Billy growls in my ear, nipping my earlobe. I whimpered, nodding as I dug my nails into his scalp. He quickened his pace against my swollen bundle of nerves, his erection poking harder into my back as he grinds his hips into me. He tried to slip a finger inside of me, but the angle was all wrong; he retracts his hand. "Why don't we dry off and take this to your bedroom?" He speaks slyly into my ear.

With that question in the air, we made our way back to my bedroom with towels wrapped around us. My bedroom door had just shut and Billy’s hands were already planted on my face, his lips finding mine in a heated kiss. With his tongue slipping into my mouth and tangling with mine, he slowly backs me towards my bed, gently lying me down when we reach it. Without breaking our kiss, he unravels the towel from my body and trails his hands down my abdomen. When his fingertips reach my clit again, it caused me to moan into his mouth, my back arching to his touch. He chuckles as he breaks away from our kiss, gazing into my eyes as he continued to work through my folds with his fingers.

He stands up to drop the towel from his waist and crawls back on me, peppering kisses along my collarbone and jaw. “You’re so precious to me, Sidney,” he mumbles against my skin. I couldn’t find the right words to say, being tongue tied while feeling my heart swell at his words. I lace my fingers in his hair instead, lightly massaging his scalp, earning a quiet groan from him. His eyes find mine again as he flashes me the sweetest smile, my own smile taking form on my face. He moves my bangs out of my face then runs his thumb across my cheek as he captures my lips with his again.

Our mouths moved in sync while he adjusted his position, gently spreading my legs apart. He hooked one of my legs around his hip as he slowly entered me, causing me to breathe in sharply at the sudden sensation. While his hand was still caressing my face, he rocked his hips slowly against mine, penetrating me delicately. I broke our kiss, pulling his head towards me until our foreheads connected. I gazed longingly into his eyes as I ran my fingers through his hair again, curling them at the nape of his neck. “I love you, Billy,” I murmur. “I love you, too,” he hums happily, kissing the tip of my nose. He begins to pick up his pace, grinding into me while bringing his mouth back to mine. He bites my bottom lip, earning a whimper from me, while chuckling into the kiss, forcing his tongue back into my mouth. As my tongue found his, I pulled my other leg up around his hip, feeling him deeper. He struck that sweet spot with each thrust, a string of moans expelling from me while I dug my nails into his back to urge him to keep going.

He halted his movements when there was a sudden bang within the house. I gasp, my eyes growing wide in panic. “Is your dad home?” he questions, still buried inside me. “No, he’s away on business.” He remains still for a moment, listening for any more sounds. There was a soft thumping from below, like heavy boots trudging along downstairs. “I’m gonna check that out,” he mutters as he slips out of me. He stands, finding his jeans and hopping into them, followed by shrugging into his flannel that he leaves unbuttoned. “I’ll be right back, stay here.” I nodded, my heart pounding against my chest with fear icing my veins. When he leaves the room, I take the opportunity to find a nightgown and throw it on, sitting back down on my bed, waiting.

I heard another loud bang, causing me to jump up and run into the hall, leaning over the banister to see what was going on. All I could hear was grunting from below. Suddenly, Billy comes into view, panic across his face. “Sidney, run!” he shouts at me. I froze—I had no where to run while I was upstairs. “Billy, what—” His body goes flying into the wall, a dark figure tackling him. I gasped, tears prickling my eyes once I realized what was going on. Ghostface was in my house, and he was attacking Billy. “Oh, God, Billy!” I scream, charging down the stairs. The masked man picks Billy up by the collar, slamming him against the front door like a ragdoll; I watch his head slump forward. “Let him go, you fuck!” I yell at him. He does just that, Billy’s body sliding down into a heap on the floor, and turns his way towards me. He brandishes a knife as he stalks towards me, causing me to cower against the wall.

“I got you right where I want you,” his menacing voice sounds, followed by a chuckle. He makes his way over to me, inching the knife towards my face. I turned my head away, whimpering in terror as tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt the tip of the blade graze my chin, pushing my face forward so that I was staring at the monster in front of me. “Please don’t hurt me,” I whine. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sid,” he chortles. “I’m going to kill you.” I let out a sob as my whole body trembled at his words.

“Leave her the fuck alone!” Billy suddenly shouts, throwing a lamp on top of his head. Ghostface collapsed, allowing my eyes to lock with Billy’s. He waves an arm, gesturing me to follow him while he was down for the count momentarily. I jumped over his body, clinging onto Billy as he guided me through the kitchen, knowing there was a door that led to the porch from there. When we made it outside, Billy took my hands in his own that were shaking violently. I grasped onto them, my brows scrunching in alarm when I felt that they were wet. Looking at them, I saw that they were covered in blood. “Oh my God, Billy, you’re bleeding!” I yelled out in full panic. “Shh, shh, I know, Sidney,” he removes one hand to fish something out of his pocket. “I’ll be okay, just…take this and call 911,” he demands, placing his cellular in my hands. When my brain couldn’t tell my hands to hold the phone, he squeezed my hands around it for me. “Go!” he yells, his eyes pleading.

Everything was moving in slow motion, and tears were blurring my vision. My legs barely moved me across the porch as I fumbled with the buttons on the cellular. When I was finally able to dial 911, I heard more commotion behind me, halting me in my tracks. I looked back, the phone ringing in my ear as I watched Billy try to fend off my predator. Billy’s screams echoed in my head as he slouched forward, clutching his side. “911, what is your emergency?” “Please help!” I shouted into the receiver. “Th-there’s a man—Ghostface—he’s, oh God,” I collapsed to my knees. “He’s attacking me and my boyfriend!” “Where is the state of your emergency?” I blurted out my address as clearly as I could. “We’re sending officers your way, please stand by.”

When Billy hit the ground, Ghostface lifted his head and stared right into my soul. He lifts the knife covered in my boyfriend’s blood and points it at me. “You’re next,” he laughs maniacally, promptly jumping off my porch and into the night.

I crawled my way over to Billy, rolling him onto his back. With his shirt being open, I can see where he had been stabbed—just above his hip, but it was deep. The wound was gushing blood, leaving Billy incoherent from blood loss. I dropped the phone and pressed both hands into his laceration, full on sobbing while trying to save his life. “Please, Billy, please stay with me!”

|Chapter 8|

#billy loomis #billy loomis x sidney prescott #scream #scream 1996 #ghostface #smut #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction #sidney prescott #death is all around

[riahlynn101]

"Be Honest, Be Truthful." (11).

Chapter 11

--

Yoichi sits, alone, in a supply closet. The smallest movement causes him to knock into the various brooms, mops, and cleaning supplies. But he can’t bring himself to care, this being the only place Nisuke could guarantee privacy 

“Why?” He sobs into his hands. “Why, brother, are you so obsessed with Izuku and I?” 

From what Nisuke told him, his brother is working with the government to take down the rebel bases. This didn’t propose a problem until recently, because the rebels have been extra cautious in regard to keeping their bases hidden. But apparently someone in one of the bases either got caught or was a rat all along and sold out everyone else. 

This was one of the bases farther away from them, so they have some time before the government is knocking on their door. But not much. 

Some of the guys are already making plans to hand over Izuku and him if it comes to it. And, knowing how persistent his brother can be, it most certainly will. 

If Hisashi gets his way, they’ll never be able to leave him again. Nisuke is trying to convince Yoichi otherwise, but with his and Izuku’s health being precarious at best and his brother learning from his past mistakes, it’s unlikely they’ll ever see the light of day again.

“Ichi…?” Nisuke asks, knocking softly on the door. 

He sniffles, wiping his eyes with his palm. “Just…just a minute.”

“All-alright….just….please remember you’re not alone.”

Yoichi stares blankly at the door, processing those words. All his life, no matter how present his brother had been later on (to his detriment), Yoichi has been alone. In his younger years, even with their parents still alive (a time he only remembers from scrapbooks and recollections from his not-so sentimental, older brother who liked to indulge him at times), they were both busy with work (either of the house or traditional variety) all the time. Most of the child-rearing fell to Hisashi who, despite what he may try to tell Yoichi now (and one of the only things he can recall from that period of their life, besides their mother’s perfume or their father’s booming voice), resented him for it.

Sometimes, when he couldn’t escape the darkness of the vault or when he really allowed himself the time to think about Hisashi’s actions, Yoichi resented him as well.

On shaky legs, he manages to stand up and start to move forward. One step….two steps….until finally he’s in front of the supply closet door and can open it to let Nisuke in. 

“Hey,” Nisuke says, so casually. As if this whole interaction was something that happened everyday. 

Maybe it is. Yoichi isn’t much of a judge when it comes to what’s normal.

“Hey,” Yoichi answers back, weakly. “Uh, thank you for….” he motions vaguely to the area behind him. 

“Not a problem. Are you sure you’re alright? You can stay in there for-”

“No, no I’m fine. But I appreciate the offer.”

Nisuke places a hand on his lower back, leading him from the supply closet. “We’re making preparations to leave as we speak,” he tells Yoichi. “Don’t worry, you both are in safe hands.”

Despite the persistent worry of Hisashi catching them and hurting their loved ones gnawing at him, Yoichi finds it within himself to smile at his boyfriend. 

“I trust you, my hero.”

-x-x-x-

Hisashi glares at the man standing in front of him. The commissioner is dressed as nicely as Hisashi himself, but his hair is noticeably greased back making the man look as sleazy on the outside as he undoubtedly looks on the inside.

“Thanks to you we’ve taken down three rebel bases,” the commissioner says, a sadistic look in his beady eyes. 

His stomach twists, uncomfortably at the mention of the takedowns. But he ignores it, for now. 

To mask his unease, Hisashi scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back in the office chair. “And what of your end of the bargain?”

“What about it?” The commissioner asks, nasally voice grating on Hisashi’s already frayed nerves. 

“Mr. Sato-”

“Call me Takehiko.”

Hisashi corrects himself with a slight grimace. “ Takehiko-San, I am a man of my word. I have delivered my end of the deal - I would argue ten-fold. So,” he tilts his head to the side slightly, fixing Takehiko with his cruelest glare, “when will you deliver yours? I am not a man to be trifled with, and you’d do well to remember who you’re dealing with.” 

He resumes his previous laid-back demeanor. “But it’s up to you, really.”

Takehiko looks a little taken back at the sudden change of behavior. 

If this weasley, little man thinks Hisashi is another one of their puppets that sit and wait patiently for their rewards (that likely would never come), he has another thing coming. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, we’re 99% sure of your brother and son’s location.”

“And…? Why haven’t you given it to me?”

“We weren’t exactly sure-”

“You just wanted to use me,” he says, voice betraying none of his emotions. 

Takehiko slinks down in his seat. When the commissioner makes no move to explain further, Hisashi slams his hand on the conference table. The other man jumps. 

“Well!?” He asks, impatient. 

“Y-yes, Mori!” He calls over his shoulder. 

The woman that visited Hisashi previously hurries over to the commissioner’s side. “Yes, sir?” She bends down to be eye level with her boss. 

“Retrieve the file we have on base twenty-six.”

Mori gives a curt nod and hurries to fetch the requested files. 

They sit in silence. Hisashi keeps his eyes on the commissioner, relishing in the way he makes Takehiko wriggle in discomfort. By the time Mori returns, the man’s visibly sweating. 

“Here’s the file, sir,” Mori announces, handing it off to Takehiko. If she notices anything off, she doesn’t mention it. 

“Thank you, Mori.” He turns in his seat, obviously trying to regain his composure, he clasps his hands on the table. “Here’s the information…as promised.” 

A manilla folder is slid across the tabletop. Hisashi pulls it closer, fighting the urge to just rip the file open and find the relevant information he needs. “Hm, thank you.”

He excuses himself shortly thereafter. Hisashi’s a busy man, after all, and the commissioner….probably…maybe… perhaps has an important job, doing….very important, very much needed work. Maybe. 

( Important work tearing families apart and riling up the non-meta users into violent action)

The file lays open in front of Hisashi. Carefully, he reviews the contents inside. 

“In the forest just outside Mustuafu,” he reads aloud. A pressure that had been laying heavily on his shoulders is suddenly lifted. He laughs, smiling widely. “My brother and son are within my reach. And when I get my hands on them…..

They’ll never leave again.”

#mha yoichi #mha fanfiction #mha au #mha hisashi #cross posted on ao3

[basic204]

You should never have touched the strange glowing spear.

"You should never have touched the strange glowing spear." I repeated to myself for the hundredth... yeah, it had to be at least that many as I raised my slim, perfect arm, and deflected the tank's sabot round with my palm. I mean sure, it’s amazing being nigh invulnerable to harm, but was being pulled to every area of conflict on Earth 24/7 worth it? I mean the soldiers can't even actually see me as I stalk the battlefield, watching, encouraging, leaning down to whisper "If you run to that boulder, you can throw the grenade into the hatch of that damned tank." Running my hands through the hair a young soldier about to break and run saying "Courage, I promise you will survive this" Touching a general on the shoulder as he pours over his maps and making him see the best way to smash the enemy's flank without losing too many of his men. As amazing as it all is being in this beautiful, perfect form, I'd give it all up if I could just go back to standing while I damned well pee again.

I guess I should explain how this started a little better. After I got out of the Army, I moved back into my parents’ old house. Ms. Stratos been part of the neighborhood as long as I can remember. She was the crotchety old biddy that every neighborhood hates. Weeds in your yard because you've been working doubles for a month, she'd call the HOA. Get together at your house with your friends ran one minute past 10pm, the cops would be on your doorstep because "She called about a wild party". When we were kids, and cut through her yard she would go full scorched earth, shaking her cane, screaming, HOA, cops. I don't think there was a soul on this Earth that she liked.

Not long after I came home, I was pressure washing my driveway, when she walked over and asked if I could do her walkway when I was done. Her voice, which I had only ever heard as a shrill shriek my whole life, was full, rich, and commanding, and did not belong on a wisp of a crone like this, it was more like the voice I'd heard from every colonel, and general I'd ever served with, that is the kind you don't say no to. After I finished her walk, I cleaned her driveway as well since it looked like shit, and frankly, part of me was afraid of half-assing it.

As I was wrapping up, her garage door opened and there was a pair of lawn chairs, and a cooler. Were sitting just inside. She motioned me to sit, fished out a beer, and handed it to me before she sat down. She didn't say a word, and just looked over the driveway with a slight nod of approval. We never spoke a word, just sat drinking our beer, watching the neighbors walk by, giving her glances that ranged from fear to contempt. When the beer was done, I gathered my things, and crossed the street to my house.

Thus it went for a few years. I'd be doing something outside, look up, and she would be there asking me to help her with something. Repairing windows, changing the float in the toilet, replacing a ceiling fan. Her house was a monument to clutter. Souvenirs from all over the world, pictures showing a younger, much hotter version of Ms. Stratos. Each task I completed was followed by a trip to the garage for beer, and laughing at the neighbors.

One day, after I replaced her garbage disposal, she pointed at the scars on my arms and asked. "Those still hurt?" I shook my head "Nah, these I don't even notice, its the plates, and screws holding my legs together that hurt like hell." I shrugged "IED, Kandahar. Could have been worse, if I hadn't listened to that little voice in my head to stop, I'd have driven right over it. It was the difference between living and dying." She nodded with a sad smile and laid her hand on my cheek. "Its a good thing you listened to that voice then, most don't." She looked me right in the eyes. "Part of you misses it, I can tell." I nodded. "I miss teaching the young guys so they didn't get themselves killed doing something stupid. Mostly, I just wanted to walk into the HQ, and tell those idiots with the stars on their shoulders, everything that they are doing wrong, and how to fix it." I swear, it was like her eyes lit with fire for a moment and she said coldly. "Is that what you really want? To help the soldiers, and fix things?" I laughed to break the tension and said "Yeah, wouldn't that be fucking great?" I quickly left, as things were getting a bit intense for me.

The siren from the ambulance woke me at midnight, and I went outside in time to see them loading Ms. Stratos into the back. Fighting the paramedics, she clawed the oxygen mask from her face, and pointed at me. Her voice rang clear as a bell. "I'm leaving it in your hands, you can take up the spear now." I watched the lights until they were lost around the corner. I found out that she died on the way to the hospital. A lawyer named Nina Themis contacted me a little while later, informing me that I was the sole beneficiary of the estate of one Athena Stratos, and, with the exception of a few items she had donated to various museums, was entitled to her house, and everything contained within it.

It was a few weeks before I could bring myself to go over there, and start cleaning out the place. When I entered, the place simply felt dead, and hollow without her personality filling it. I spent an hour checking out things that I had always wondered about. A few statues in marble, a stabbing spear I swear must have been a prop from the movie Zulu, a huge painting of the Parthenon, mostly hidden behind a pair of cabinets holding Hummel figurines. I was at a loss where to start when I saw a curious light coming from under a side room. I had to put my shoulder to the door to get it open, but there are advantages to being 6' 3", and 220 pounds of muscle. Moving through stacks of boxes, filled with what appeared to be Jane's Defence Weekly, and Soldier of Fortune magazines, I saw it.

It sat on the armor tree, the metal looking like liquid gold. Burnished bronze was my guess. Breastplate, helmet, greaves over a pristine white tunic, all in the most classical Greek style, right out of the museums, and leaning on it was a spear that, I shit you not, was glowing like a fucking light saber. As freaked out as that was, I just couldn't help myself. If you tell me you wouldn't have done the same, I'd call you a liar to your face. There was no heat, as I grasped it, but the glow enveloped my whole body instantly. I felt a burning sensation as my clothes disintegrated. I felt agony as I looked down to see the hair fall from my rapidly slimming legs, and a wet clank, as the plates, and screws that had been my tormentors for years, hit the floor. My arms slimmed, becoming the color of marble, and my pecs started doing things that I didn't want to think about.. There was an uncomfortable feeling in my groin, and I gave out a scream as, with a pop, everything inverted. The armor on the stand flowed onto my body, and took its proper place. With a final flare, the glow snapped off, and I could feel the knowledge of centuries of combat, and battles flowed into my brain, and I almost crashed to my knees.

I ran into the bathroom, stupid damned spear still in my hand, and flicked on the light. My heart sank as the face of a 6 foot tall goddess of a woman staring back at me. I looked down at my arms, and didn't see a scar, or even blemish on them. I leaned the spear on the hamper, and used both hands to lift the hem of the tunic up, as I watched in the mirror. Bracing, I saw exactly what I was expecting, an innie, where is should be an outie. I looked at myself in the mirror and could only say one thing. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

#funny #nyc #scion #scion hero #demigods #mythology and folklore #greek mythology #mythology #myth and legend #athena

[kirayamidemon]

中秋节快乐!

Happy Mid-Autumn Festival!

#twisted wonderland #twst #jade leech #floyd leech #yuu #twst mc #drawings #i havent been feeling well or myself recently so the fact i was able to finish n crank this out is a miracle #well still late but im usually late with tribute stuff anyways jfdkfj #was hoping to finish yesterday but with two colored parts it wasnt possible jdfk #honestly this was just an excuse to draw yuu in pretty outfits hhhhhh #which sucks cause i am not one to draw pretty outfits or even details fjkdsj #n also trying out practicing drawing diff hairstyles cause i usually suck at those n am usually stuck on just default hairstyle ljfkd #idk just something dumb n selfindulgent like always djlfjsdd #i think working on this whole thing hurt my hand the area on the palm of my hand under my thumb still hurts kinda sdjfklsdj #coloring is def not my strong point jdjdj i tried with the lighting n everything fjsdkd #n text too ldfjskjd #but i hope you had a good 中秋节 if you celebrate it!! #now to doodle jade for luck on summoning lkfjsdjfdk

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT PHILLY

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I write for free - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

-

Harry is predictable.

He falls into the same patterns during every tour since he was on the Up All Night with One Direction.

The excitement that comes with the first couple of shows begins to fade as he starts his world wide tour that doesn’t end for nearly eight months.

His constant adrenaline wears off and his exhaustion from not having toured in two years settles deep in his bones.

YN senses it from a mile away, has nearly eleven years experience dealing with her jet-lagged, exhausted, and stubborn husband.

It hits the day of the Philadelphia show, they got in late the night before, and YN always set her alarm for seven thirty in the morning to workout.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Harry got up with her and they either did a jog around the new city or they took advantage of the in-hotel gym.

Four percent of the time, he would whine and tug the comforter over his head, whimpering, “M’too tired, baby. Stay in bed w’me.”

And then the one percent, which was today.

The alarm emits a low, constant beep that rouses YN, in the time she takes to rub her eye and come back into reality - Harry hisses with a sharp edge, “Turn tha’ fuckin’ thing off.”

She bites her tongue at his tone, reaching to turn it off but she can already tell what day they’re going to have.

YN slips out from under the covers and automatically gets a comment from her husband, it another whiney demand, “Cover m’feet, y’too the blanket off them.”

“Yes, your majesty,” YN replies reproachfully, rearranging the blankets before quietly moving around the room to change.

“Stop makin’ so much noise.”

“Turn off tha’ light.”

“S’too early f’this, d’you not care that m’tired?”

She chooses to ignore the remarks, hoping that he can sleep off the attitude.

When YN is about to leave, he grumbles, “Y’need to kiss me goodbye.”

Harry purses his lips for a soft kiss, not moving a muscle, and after that - she leaves to head down to the gym.

YN is required a body guard, definitely when she isn’t with Harry or a group of people, and she decided not to follow those rules today.

She had her TPWK water bottle in hand, a cute workout set on ***, and her AirPods tucked in her ear with some Spice Girls playing.

It’s only about twenty minutes into her exercise, a light jog on the treadmill, that a young girl slips up beside the machine.

YN is kind, stopping the belt to smile for a selfie before the girl scampers off and she resumes her run - music blasting.

However, what YN didn’t know, is that fans had found out early in the morning which hotel they where at and a hoard was rushing towards the small gym.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a swarm of fans in rushing into the work area, lining up around her machine with their phones flashing and recording.

She tries to be nice, “Hey! Uh, I’m just trying to workout. I’m sorry, but no pictures please.”

Then there is loud protest and people shoving each other, begging and pleading for a selfie or for her to sign something - all because she was Harry’s wife.

There is literally no exit to escape to, so she relents and anxiously calls Frank - one of the body guards - to come retrieve her.

-

The whole way back up to her hotel room, Frank is lecturing her about safety and how she could have gotten hurt.

And when he scans the keycard for her hotel room, she feels her stomach drop because Harry is sat against the kitchen counter.

His brown locks are rumpled and going every which way, just in his briefs that are low on his narrow hips, and absolutely irate expression on his face.

“Are y’fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Harry snaps, brow furrowed and jaw clenched - his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

“Good morning to you, sunshine,” YN mutters, shutting the door and kicking off her tennis shoes to the side.

“Don’t,” Harry replies sourly, “Please explain t’me why I get woken up by Frank to be told y’getting mobbed in the gym? And y’didn’t to call him.”

YN bristles at his tone, giving him a pointed look as she steps further into the room, “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Y’right about that, y’weren’t thinkin’. It is a big deal, y’could have gotten hurt - shouldn’t have t’babysit m’own wife,” Harry huffs, stomping back over to the bed and sliding back under the covers.

“You better watch your tone-“

They’re interrupted with a knock to their door, Harry throws the covers over his head and leaves YN to open the door.

It’s Jeff, who barges in with a coffee in one hand, “Come on, H. Did you forget? You have soundcheck early today and then you have to meet with FullStop to review the details of that new merchandise contract.”

“No, move it,” The popstar groans, muffled from the heavy blankets over him, and his manager and wife give each other a knowing look.

“We can’t. Get up, we need to leave in fifteen,” Jeff replies casually, unbothered as he sips from his to-go mug.

It has Harry dramatically ripping off the covers and getting out of bed, as he charges off towards the bathroom, he shouts backwards, “Wish someone would have fuckin’ told me! Like m’manager or m’wife!”

“Oh my god, here we go,” YN groans quietly to Jeff, snatching up the few things she needs for the venue as well as Harry’s and shoving them in his duffle.

He comes out a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and a vintage Queen shirt - going to tug on his Nikes without a word to either.

But in true Harry fashion, even when he’s mad, he’s still a gentleman. He slips the duffle off his wife’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to carry it.

“Thank you,” She murmurs but he avoids eye contact, being the first to open the hotel room and trudge towards the awaiting car.

It’s a quiet ride, Harry looks out the window with a deep frown and puffy eyes - eyes heavy from the lack of sleep.

Usually, he’d be curled into YN - snuggling as close as possible and asking for her to pet his hair to soothe him.

Not today. But he does have his hand on her thigh.

There’s already fans at the arena and Harry doesn’t acknowledge them - keeps his head down and walks quickly into the private entrance past the barricades.

When a irritated fan screams, “Asshole! We waited all night here for you!”

YN watches as Harry goes to turn, to say something but she pushes him forward through the door to prevent him from doing something he’d regret when wasn’t in a foul mood.

They manage through the long hallways, filled with bustling tour crew, and everybody there to make the show happen.

Sound check isn’t as fun as it usually is, the band stays low-key when Harry does exactly what he needs to do and nothing more.

And after the merch meeting, Harry has reached his limit apparently.

He was so tired, so fucking moody that he couldn’t deal with anymore human interaction.

YN has to step in when she gets a text from Harry Lambert.

Come get your husband. Sarah’s Kitchen.

She sighs, excusing herself from hanging out with Jeff and Glenne - she can hear him from the hallway and now she’s finally get irritated.

“I asked for that specific brand. It’s literally one of the only things I’ve asked for on this tour.”

YN takes a deep breathe before stepping in, there are crew trying not to stare as Harry complains to Sarah about something unimportant.

“Harry,” She says flatly, “Come on.”

He snatches his water bottle and follows his wife out without another word, trailing behind until they end up in his dressing room.

“You need to stop. You’re being a literal nightmare today,” YN tells him, watching him as he digs in the duffle.

“Where is m’charger? Did y’not pack it?” He ignores her words.

“I must have forgot. Harry, I know you’re tired but you can’t be treating everyone like-“

Harry pushes back the bag, seething for no reason, “I’ll treat people however the fuck I want!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled popstar right now,” YN replies, attempting to stay level-headed and calm with him.

“S’my show! M’tour!”

“Yes and everyone is here to support you and you’re treating them like shit. Including me, I’m your wife - the one person in the world that’s here for you no matter what and you’re being downright mean.”

“Y’so fuckin’ sensitive,” Harry mutters angrily, digging around to try to find a charger in a different bag.

And…that stung a bit.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up and notices how her demeanor had changed - it brings him back to reality for a little bit.

“I’m not going to stay here and be talked to like that because you don’t feel good. I’ll leave you alone because you are being insufferable.”

“Bab-“

YN is already out the door, storming back to Sarah’s kitchen to apologize for her husband’s diva behavior and everyone shrugs her off - knowing it’s not her fault.

She is sat down with the band and a few others when her husband saunters in, he doesn’t look at anyone else as he walks up to his wife.

“Baby, can I talk to you?” He mumbles, his warm hand coming to cup her shoulder.

“Harry,” YN says back, they’ve been together for so long that those words are all she needs to say for him to formulate a response.

“Come nap w’me please, need you. I’ll apologize t’you,” Harry says, his palm encompassing and big on her.

“Harry,” She repeats.

The crew looks on in amusement as Harry huffs, he lifts his head and speaks loudly to the room at once, “I apologize for my behavior. I have no excuse for getting upset like I have been today. I hope you guys can forgive me.”

Everyone assures him that they forgive him, most of them have dealt with actual spoiled celebrities and Harry was just having a bad day (which still really wasn’t that bad.)

“Okay, come on, bunny,” YN agrees, satisfied and can’t help but smile a bit when she stands up and Harry automatically intertwines their fingers to hold her hand.

The sofa in his dressing room folds out to be a bed and they still had hours before the show.

Once they’ve locked the doo and settled down on the mattress - they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Harry whispers, “I haven’t been very nice t’you today. I was just upset about the gym thing and just being so tired.”

YN hums, combing throwing his fluffy curls with her fingers as his hands explore over her hips and belly like always.

“You always get like this every once in a while on tour, like a little spoiled popstar,” YN says softly, no sharpness in her tone, “You also need to be nice to your wife.”

“M’always nice t’my wife,” He mumbles childishly, leaning forward to nip at her chin, “I am sorry, know tha’ when I act like that it embarrasses you.”

“You’re better than acting like that,” YN reminds him, allowing him to tug her into his warm, now bare chest, “I’m never gonna let you turn into some fame monster. You’re gonna stay the kind, funny, compassionate person I met when I was young.”

And when YN doesn’t get a reply, she glances to see Harry’s eyes shut, mouth slightly parted as he breathes rhythmically and his entire face relaxes as he sleeps.

“Still my boy,” YN murmurs lovingly, nuzzling before letting sleep overtake her.

-

#hslot!harry #hslotrry #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #Harry styles angst #husband!harry #harry styles huband #erodsafishtacos masterlist #file #Harry styles au #update #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing request #harry styles angst

[eclipixels]

Finding out and telling Kaneki you're preggo

______________________________

"You're leaving right now?" I yawned, still shaking off the dryness of the morning.

"Yup. See you in a bit." He responded tying the last knot on his shoe laces then lifting his head up to look at me. Oh those doe innocent precious eyes. Sigh

"Have fun learning about old dead people and words." I stretched my arms out towards him.

"I will and you better not forget to have fun at your doctor's appointment. They're gonna stick flashlights up your nose, ears and mouth." He smiled sheepishly leaning into my arms.

I felt the area around me sink as he rested his palms beside me, putting full support into them. A long kiss was shared between us ending with a soft and cute audible, "mwuah" from Kaneki.

And with a sweet kiss my lover dissipated out the cold door, leaving behind the warmth of our shared home and far-away from me.. but he'd return at like 4:00 PM or something.

I yawned once more, annoyed at the fact that yawning hurt my jaw and that I couldn't control it. After sitting there for a bit, I finally got up and got dressed. Soon after finishing my morning routine, I headed out to the doctors.

It was a regular check up with the whole sticking flashlights down your throat and nose along with the blood pressure machine thing. The last thing I had to do was pee in a cup.

I went in the bathroom, did my business and gave them back the pp cup. I waited inside my room for the doctor to return. I was about to text Kaneki checking up on him since he usually takes a break during this time but stopped as soon as the doctor came in. Finally.

"Well all your results seem great, there seems to be no problems. Vitals are all good, no sign of any health risks. Looks like you're healthy," He said nothing more or less than I expected. I was waiting for him to wrap it up so I could get home.

"Also, your labs came back and congratulations, you're 2 weeks pregnant Ms. L/n!" He finished.

Excuse me I'm what? 😃

"I'm pregnant?" I repeated.

"Yup, shows here you're exactly 2 weeks pregnant! Would you like us to help schedule you an appointment with your gynecologist for ultrasounds and pregnancy check ups?" The doctor asked politely.

"Uh no thank you, I'll do it when I get home." I spoke feeling a bit lightheaded.

"Alright then, you're all set! Just make sure to make your next appointment in y months." The doctor said and with that I made my way back home.

Fuck it's almost 4, Kaneki would be home any minute now. God, what do I do? Should I tell him yet or should I wait? Holy pickle salad, what if he doesn't want the baby? What will I do then?

"Y/N!! I'M HOME!!" Kaneki yelled with glee as he took off his shoes and quickly held me in a tight hug like a little child.

"How was your day?" I giggled in his arms.

"Same old routine oh and I got lunch with Hide at this really cool bakery. I would've brought some for you but I want to take you there myself so you could have it while It's still warm." He smiled, guiding me into our room so he could tell me more about his day.

Immediately he started changing into something more comfortable, a black t-shirt and dark grey shorts. He then sighed as he laid down on the matress, feeling his hand link with mine.

Just then, I suddenly felt really hungry. No, this isn't a pregnancy craving, I'm just a hungry bitch.

"Hey what's wrong?" He asked noticing my troubled faced.

"Nothing, I'm just hungry." I muttered.

"Oh ok, I'll order some pizza then." He smiled, rushing out the door to find his phone. God damn he's so cute.

"Wait! I forgot to ask, do you want a side of garlic cheese bread too?" He stuck his head through the door with the phone held behind him.

"Of course I do!" I said in disbelief.

"Ok" He laughed at my expression before leaving the room. I think that laugh just impregnated me- oh wait, I already am pregnant. Oh, shit, that. I'm still in that dilemma.

"Ok, they'll deliver since I'm tired and don't wanna go out." He said as he sat next to me one again.

"Yay!" I lunged towards him in a hug, careful with my tummy though.

-

"So anything interesting you did today?" I asked taking a bite of the pizza.

"I don't think so. It was mundane. Nothing much happened except for what I told you" he yawned, drooping his eyes.

"You're tired though." I narrowed my eyes.

"It's probably just from working out." He accidentally slipped, slapping his hand over his mouth.

"Working out?" I smirked.

"S-shut up" He blushed.

"There's nothing to be insecure about. Although I do love your feminine looking ass a lot, I wouldn't mind." I leaned closer to his ear before letting out a mischievous giggle.

"Stooooppp, now I don't even wanna do it anymore." He crossed his arms.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you're making me feel embarrassed." He turned his head to the opposite side, attempting to avoid my stare.

"But.. I love your body. No matter the change." I smiled, snaking my hand under his shirt, gliding it over his smooth stomach.

"mm, keep doing that" He sighed leaning back. I then rested my head on his lap, tracing random shapes on his bare abdomen. He did have to run around campus a lot so I understand why he's tired.

"Why do you want to work out though?" I asked, truly puzzled.

"B-because I wanna be able to pick you up and stuff a-and you're always doing the hard work around here.. I want to help too! Ugh, this is so embarrassing." He held his head in his hands.

"No it's not."

"You stroke my ego too much. It's bad for me." He sighed.

"That's not the only thing I can stroke for you-" I was cut off by Kaneki's hand covering my mouth, muffling my words.

"Don't!" Kaneki said with widened eyes.

I only laughed and bit his palm for him to let go.

"Anyway, how was your day at the doctor's." Kaneki remembered to ask.

"Oh the doctors said I'm fine." I replied calmly.

"That's good" He leaned over to take another pizza slice, holding it above my mouth for me to eat. Kaneki then took a sip of his drink.

"Oh yeah and I'm pregnant too by the way— if that matters though." I said, purposely using a nonchalant tone as I took another bite of the pizza.

"YOU'RE WHAT!?" Ken shrieked as pepsi blew out his nose.

#kaneki ken x reader #kaneki ken #tokyo ghoul x reader #tokyo ghoul #kaneki x reader #kaneki #anime x y/n

[emmys-writing]

I Can Help

Warning: Mommy kink, titty sucking, cockwarming, soft domme reader, super subby spence, riding, lactation by taking a pill.

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

summary: Y/n and Spencer try out something new

The whole day you have noticed Spencer staring at your chest, which wasn’t unusual for him to do, but he was usually able to keep it to a minimum. He was also usually one to keep it as a private thing and not for a bunch of his profiler friends to see. The two of you had gone out for drinks with the rest of the team- Rossi was buying, why wouldn’t you? You knew your shirt was low cut and it made your boobs look good, it was the whole reason you bought it but you would definitely have to keep Spencers reaction to it tucked away in your memory. When you noticed everyone else in their own little conversations you leaned over to your boyfriend and whispered in his ear.

“I can see you staring” His cheeks heated up and looked down at his hands in his lap.

“‘m sorry..” He whispered back, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Just can’t wait to get home”

“I know bub, i know” You soothed, petting his hair softly and grabbing your purse. As soon as Spencer moved his head you turned to the rest of the group.

“Hey guys, I’m getting tired. I think me and Spence are going to head out” You smiled, standing up and Spencer following quickly.

The two of you said your goodbyes to everyone and thanked Rossi for being generous enough to pay. On the way to the car you hopped into the drivers side. Neither of you had to worry about being too intoxicated to drive because Spencer didn’t drink and you decided to just have some soda during your outting. After putting the keys in and Spencer putting his seatbelt on you noticed him become squirmy.

“What’s got you all worked up, sweetheart?” you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel.

“J-Just want you.. bad” he whined softly and put his palm on top of the bulge in his pants. You tsked and watched him from the corner of your eye, grabbing his hand that was working on his cock and holding it.

“You know better, baby. No touching for the rest of the drive and i’ll reward you when we get home” he nodded and held your soft hand.

If you asked Spencer that was the longest car ride of his life, longer than any jet ride he’s been on, and a longer waiting period than he’s ever had to wait. He usually was a patient person but when it came to you and your boobs he couldn’t get his hands, or lips, on them fast enough. Spencer bounced in his seat and kept his eyes on the road, becoming more and more antsy the closer they became to the house. He almost didn’t realize the car come to a stop.

“Go get naked, lay on the bed and i’ll be right in” You smiled, sending him on his way with a kiss to his lips.

Spencer didn’t have to be told twice before he opened the door and ran into the house and up the stairs. He stripped himself of the many layers of clothes he wore everyday and laid himself on the bed. Eventually you made your way into the room, a cheeky smile on your face when you saw him on the bed completely nude.

“Such a good boy for mommy, aren’t you?” You walked over, crawling on top of him and straddling his protruding hips.

“Yes mommy.. Can i get my reward?” He looked up at you with wide and hopeful eyes.

“Sure, sit up a bit” You removed your shirt and unclipped your bra, letting your breasts fall. You didn’t miss the intent stare from spencer as he sat up to be face level with them.

“Can i?” You nodded.

You watched as he leaned forward and took your nipple into his mouth, latching on and slowly sucking at one with the other in his hand. He rolled your other nipple between his fingers gently and moaned softly. Your skin was warm compared to his cold hands, the contrast making the sensations even more erotic for you. As your nipples hardened you could feel some liquid starting to form and being lapped up eagerly.

“You like it?” You whispered, playing with the hair at the nape of Spencers neck. He looked up at you and nodded a bit without removing himself. The nipple stimulation was great and felt amazing but you needed more, and you were sure Spencer wouldn’t mind getting a little friction on his cock.

“Hey baby, I got a better idea” You held his face in your hands, pulling him off your nipple and giggling softly at the excess milk on his lips. He licked his lips and looked up at you, a frown on his face due to being interrupted while doing something he enjoyed.

“Want me to ride you? Then you can suck some more after.”

“Okay mommy” he smiled and reached his hands down to unbutton your jeans. You helped him by lifting yourself off him a bit and shimmying out of your pants and underwear, throwing them off in the corner of the room somewhere.

“Already got Mommy so wet, baby.” you cooed, kissing him softly and grabbing his hand, placing it on your wet heat. He bit his lip and rubbed at your clit, feeling the wetness he caused. He slowly dipped a finger inside you causing a small moan. Soon enough he had three fingers pumping in and out of you, moans ripping through you and whimpers from him being desperate. His cock hurt from being so turned on, the tip was redder than usual and leaky, just begging to be touched.

“Okay i’m good, want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes yes yes please” he begged.

You chuckled, placing his cock at your hole and slamming yourself down on it. The both of you moaned and his back arched off the bed beneath him. You took a moment to get used to his size before slowly moving up and down on him. His hands wandered to your hips, gripping them harshly and pushing his hips up to meet your movements. Both of you were already so worked up from before you knew this wouldn’t last long, no matter how long either of you wanted to prolong it.

“M-M-Mommy i-i need to c-cum” He stuttered out, looking up at you with a blissful expression.

“Not yet, last a little longer for me and i’ll let you cum inside me. Be a good boy for Mommy” You bounced faster but sloppier, chasing your own orgasm in order to not make him wait too long. When you felt the knot in your stomach tighten you leaned down, kissing and nipping at his neck making him whine.

“ok baby, on 3 alright?” He nodded.

“1..2..3!” You came together, his seed filling you a few seconds off from at the same time but close enough for your liking.

“Good boy” you said breathlessly, a dazed smile spreading across your face. You stayed on top of his long and skinny body, recollecting yourself before pulling off.

“Wait here, i’ll go grab some stuff to clean you up.” He nodded, too out of it to respond but there enough to understand what you were saying to him.

You limped over to the bathroom, going pee to avoid any infection later on before grabbing a wash cloth and wetting it with warm water. Crawling back onto the bed you cleaned him up, avoiding his most sensitive areas as best you could. You placed the wash cloth into the laundry bucket and laid next to him, pulling up the covers to your waists.

“such a good boy for me, you can go back to sucking if you want” you whispered softly to him, running your fingers through his messy hair.

You weren’t given a verbal response, he just leaned over and latched onto your nipple sleepily. It didn’t surprise you when not even five minutes later you noticed soft snores escaping his lips around your puffy nipple.

#sub spencer #sub!spencer #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #mgg smut #spencer reid x reader #sub spencer reid

[muffindaddystyles]

Someone hurts Y/N at work; and Harry’s owner of the company.

Angry young man CEO!H very protective of his lovie :)))))))))))))

It was Tuesday. Tiring Tuesday is what Y/N calls them to be because they lurk in the middle of week and drags you after a Monday. Today, it’s the worst fucking Tuesday since the day she started working at this company.

Harry offered her. More to say tried to convince her with his sweet puppy tactics, tried to lure her in with his seductive begging and would mumble the same thing in her sweaty neck while balls deep in her, “Please sweet toots ... promise I wouldn’t be there to take ye' interview, please work in my company.” He squished her sides in desperation. Y/N whined, mind too occupied in the way he’s leaking into her, the head of his cock angled to rub at her spongy wall making her hug herself into him.

“I could be a very hard boss in my office, ‘s all ‘m saying.” He wiggled his brows at her playfully, hissing when his double joke earned him a tight fit around his prick and he was soon forgetting all of it when she canted her hips to let him slick deeper inside her.

It’s not that; Y/N doesn’t wants to work at his company. When her boyfriend asked her so sweetly and stout-heartedly. Call him a sap but he actually wants to be closer to her in every possible chance he gets – she gives him an unyielding amount of comfort and happiness when she’s with him.

There’s this silver of pride he wants to take (since he’s the biggest narcissists) in being a power couple, because in the end everything will be theirs.

But she doesn’t want to seem like she took advantage of him. She didn’t study and worked hard many years to be called dependent on her boyfriend. She wanted to find her first proper job herself – feel all the odds and jitters of her firsts after UNI.

Harry called the battles off knowing his little stubborn baby’s too much a wiggler and he believes in her and he’s very proud of her previous achievements, he just wants to see her happy working with him or not.

She indeed got it. She was finally a design editor at a grand magazine company, excited to meet her boss who’s one of her absolute favourite graphic designers in the industry.

Harry and her celebrated her baby step towards her success by going out at this cafe which had cats you can pet and love on.

He was blissed to see her this happy, considering it a win win situation. But she doesn’t need to know? Does she? And Harry didn’t do anything suspicious? Did he? Nobody even know who she's! And if Y/N wants that, he’ll have it that way.

Soon her enthusiasm deflated like a sorrowful balloon whirling in the air for seconds before falling on the ground and getting it’s existence neglected, because, her boss was the meanest bitch alive.

At the moment, Y/N forced the pertinacious lump of pathetic tears down her throat, not blinking to dry out the moisture threatening to fall from her waterline feeling humiliation creep up her skin and making her want to shrink into herself and never show her face.

She listens patiently and optimistically as her boss practically screams at her for not liking the designs Y/N worked to modify for damn 62 hours and the Karen still had an audacity to degrade, Y/N.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back in fright shock when the file that had her precious designs composed in it flew and hit Y/N, the ragged corner of it scratching Y/N’s delicate skin and her boss was spinning away from her to stare coldly at the bustling city outside through the window drowning into fumes and anger.

Y/N opened her mouth, guppy like. Wanting to say something back and call her out on her act but she felt like her voice got strangled into her chest.

ShitShitShitShit.

Hammering in her brain when she felt something warm oozing from her skin and she’s panicking, wiping a vicious streak of blood from her jaw with her trembly fingers and scuttled straight to the washroom before anyone was able to see her in such vulnerable condition.

She had enough of it and left out of there without a word to anyone, not even to her cubby mate. She bottled all the emotions that were rattling against her bones to flood out of her each pore, until she could reach her home and once she did she was having a humongous and ominously scary breakdown, glad that Harry was stuck in meetings and the house was all of hers to cry ugly.

Once she was all blue lips, puffy and swelled up cheeks and eyes, nest of a hairstyle and all burned up lungs she was calming herself down with deep breaths just Harry taught her.

Scrubbing and cleaning herself off then going to bed without waiting for Harry, something very rare and the right hit in the nail for him to know she isn’t feeling well.

He was welcomed by silence. No dinner, just leftovers in fridge and his insides became all crummy and not very pleasant when he tailed to the living room and wasn’t met by his lovebug; either cramming her head to sketch down designs with an ipad in her lap while a buzz of random Netflix show accompanies her, dossing off cutely with hundreds of her study journals and magazines messed around her on the floor, or her in sleeping pyjamas with food already set up on the coffee table and brightening the whole room with her squeals when Harry announces his presence.

None of that instead he finds her in their bedroom, drowned under layers of blankies and her stuffies with room lit dark.

He coos softly, mattress dipping down from his weight and his heart expands and melts all around his other organs at how adorable she looks sleeping in his hoodie. He chuckles shaking his head at the way she has the strings of the hoodie squeezed around her head, not sure how she’s able to breath at how tight it seems around her neck.

Doing his own routine he was slipping into the bed, sighing from the warmth and how toasty she has made the bed already.

He bunched her against his chest and kissed her head then spooned her up in his arms, lips fluttering into a smile when she hummed and sniffed basking into his scent.

“Oi sleepy.” He whispers down at her cupping her neck and giggles softly when she whines mushing her cheek against his chest only to grunt sleepily and muffle her yelps into his sweatshirt.

Harry’s brows shoots up into slight bafflement then dips down into a frown when he slipped his calloused palm under her hoodie to cradle her jaw and felt something graze against his thumb that was about to press into her soft skin to bring her for a night kiss.

“Hey...” He perches himself on elbows, switching on the lamps and ignores her groans grasping the blanket she was about to pull over herself, huffing at him to let her sleep but Harry’s more stubborn than her if it involves assuring himself she’s okay and right now she’s not and Harry was already feeling it in his bones.

“Lemme see.” He persists gently, peeling the blankets and the hoodie off her head while she’s still stirring into sleep not able to open her eyes how much she tries because of the exhaustion dumped on her from whole day.

He stares at the wound she did a shit effort to cover with a gauze messily over her jaw and tiny bit area of her neck, a long bandage reaching to her ear and Harry tries to think rationally and not freak out as he touches it with cautious fingertips.

“What ... the –- fuck, Y/N what is...is this?” His mouth falls slack. His ears buzzing for a moment and he wraps his arm around her shoulder to bring her up as he leans them against the bedhead.

He feels bad when she knuckles at her eyes warily and mumbles something that’s barely audible.

“What happened, baby? Talk t’me? How did y'hurt yourself so bad?” Worried and fearful. He bombs her with questions not waiting for her to be fully awake and his heart breaks miserly upon focusing his gaze on her face, her angelic face that’s now soaked with sadness –- she’s been crying.

His loves been crying and he wasn’t there for her.

“Who did this to you?” Y/N's eyes widens abruptly. The alertness in them vivid for Harry to see under the lamp glow and she gasps, nose twitching and lip wobbling as Harry grabbed her chin and ducked to her eyelevel to ask her tenderly with a layer of strictness under his tone, “’M asking, Who did this to you, Y/N?” Her fragile heart could already take so much and she strangled out a sob lowering her head down in embarrassment.

“’M.. I’m —-.. no –..not telli –-..telling you,” She hiccups breathlessly, shaky fingers fisting onto the blanket thrown over Harry’s lap and he holds her hands kissing them gently, “I’ll know it one way or another baby. Don’t force me to get outta my way to find —–“ His soul stabbing glare was enough for Y/N to ramble and at first he thought he didn’t heard her right, that she was mumbling too much but when the reality seeped in gradually Harry almost froze in his spot.

“I know it’s very shameful —..” Y/N stammers barely able to get in a breather and Harry’s head snapped at her words, removing his nails away from making little graves in his palms and his jaw which almost felt like breaking from the hinges from how painfully furious he had it set relaxes as he tries to calm himself down and not to grab his keys and drive to that bitch's house to trash her place.

Because how fucking dare she treat anyone like that in his own fucking company.

“Hey, hey. Now none of that toots. Look at me darling, oh my sweet moppet ... shh.” It slices his heart in pain to see Y/N like this -- so small and disheartened. How dare she hurt his such delicate, sweet, loving girl like that? How!?

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself moppet. She should be, fo’ being such a heartless prick.” He spat, his guts full of bitter and hatred. His skin hot, his grip on her tightening protectively and his chin quivers trying to lock all his anger inside and not to burst out like a pressure cooker.

“I’ll deal with her tomorrow.” He nods curtly to himself, poking his tongue to wet his grimacing lips and Y/N was too woolly to get what’s he’s saying.

His gaze flitters back on her. His demeanour turned incredibly soft and gentle for her smooching a big generous kiss to her salty lips and then to both of her cheeks cared in both of his palms, “Are y'okay? D'you want me to take you to hospital?” She shakes her head mewling and melting and caressing herself into his wrist.

“Why didn’t you call me baby?” He asks her doing anything in his power to mask the hurt in his tone and sighs touching his forehead to her's when Y/N sniffled, “Didn’t wan’ you to worry.” He slid his forearm under her bum and scooched her atop of him, patching tiny careful pecks to her jaw.

“But, that’s love moppet. Worryin’ bout you, takin’ care of ye' and beating anyone raw who even dares to have evil intentions towards you,”

“Remember the time y'snubbed that one guy’s oh so expensive shoes who was very rude to me at one of your graduations party?” His simper turning into a proper ironic grin when she giggled hoarsely nodding along and the tension in his muscles released watching her getting better.

“Proper broke his big toe with your heel darling.” He giggles with her and then Y/N realised how sad and awful Harry’s feeling, how it’s hurting him the same way it hurt her an year ago.

“How about we have a glass of milk .... it’ll help us sleep less grumpy y'know.” He murmurs in the crook of her neck, elbow cocooned safely around her shoulder blade as he kisses the side of her head again and again nose buried in her hair to smell her treacly smell.

.

In the morning he was tragic to hear Y/N sound so heartbroken and dejected as she told him, “I’m going to resign and accept your offer.” Her smile small and sad, hugging him looping her limbs around his torso lazily.

“’kay baby, but first eat your brekkie.” He kissed her hair and squished her pout when he moved away to make some calls to his assistant.

Y/N had no-idea what he was upto. Glad that he was driving her to the company and that he was immensely supportive of her decision, her insides pooled with warmth and giddiness when he tried to cheer her up with his silly jokes and singing along the radio murmuring rubbish whenever he forgot the lyrics.

She was utterly confused when upon reaching he was giving the keys to valet boy to park his car and interviewing their fingers in a strong grip before leading her inside, even though she should be the one to do so.

She sputters a, “Huh?” when instead of telling her he’d wait for her in the lobby he’s rounding the corner towards the elevators and turns his wrist to push her infront of him to keep her closer to himself all the time.

When the doors are sliding apart the people scurrying outside halts for a moment, not looking Harry in eyes and keeping their heads low.

Phones were already rung in the building that Mr. Styles will be coming un-announced and everyone should be prepared to face the consequences if they stumble upon him – because well he isn’t in such a nice mood to start with.

“Harry.” She pokes him in ribs feebly, stepping away from him feeling timid due to few pair of eyes in elevator watching her awkwardly and maybe judgingly.

The tension in space could be cut through knife, as if everyone’s holding their breaths and she pouts taking a good look at Harry who’s smirking smugly confident in his element.

Do they all think her boyfriend’s way too intimidating and out of reach for them? They should know he’s such a sweetie!

Y/N huffs. Folding her arms over chest when Harry paws at her hips and pulls her back against his chest resting his chin atop of her head with a shit eating grin.

In all seriousness. Showing them that’s she’s his's and belongs under his wings, which will keep her safe and protected till his death.

“How did you know my boss's office’s on tenth floor?” She squints up at him suspiciously.

“Hmm. Dunno, moppet. Magical powers or summat?” He teases her, putting a hand at the small of her back to nudge her forward making her blush pink and ducks down to whisper in her ear, “You got this toots.” Biting her earlobe playfully to stroke down her anxiety upon sensing her hesitancy to step in the hallway that has cubicles lined up.

He already got this. He ordered his assistant to get the resign letter ready and showing her who’s the boss here’s not much of hurdle for him.

It’s weird. Bloody weird. Y/N wants to turn back and run away because the moment they step inside the whole damn hallway falls eerily pin drop silent and everyone’s peeking up from the short walls of their cubicles and then diverting their eyes immediately in embarrassment and apology seeing Harry behind her.

The ones who’re standing bows their heads lightly in respect for him and scurrying away to give him a way and that’s insanely surprising and weird.

Harry on the other hand was no stranger to those bogey looks. Of curiosity, uneasiness and dread when he passes through the crowd of his employs. Y/N is.

Slowly perhaps. It starts to sink in— jumbled and disoriented when she looks back at Harry. He’s keeping his head held high and shoulders tilted back with poise and conceitedness, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants and because though it makes him look like a proper snob— he is their boss and the owner of this company, he should act like one.

“Mr. Styles.” Y/N’s boss assistant Marina who’s usually very chirpy (and undeserving of all the yelling she gets from her boss) turns pale at Harry’s presence. She’s the only person Y/N's very keen of, now she’s fretting towards them with her head lowered and tries to stammer something but Harry’s walking past her with his lips pursued as he goes inside without knocking.

“Harry...” Y/N tattles behind him, lunging to clutch onto the hem of his suits coat, to scold him to stop babying her and let her handle it herself, too late since she’s already meeting with the sight of her overly stressed and upset boss.

Her knees almost gives in when Harry snaps his fingers for the employees that were inside to give them privacy and takes in the most relaxing breath of oxygen, feeling a gag of bitterness in his mouth from even looking at her.

Y/N gasped. Her boss (which she’s not sure is her boss anymore) gasped. The sweet assistant Marina gasped. When Harry told her in the most composing way– though his blood’s boiling absolutely sheathing through his veins.

“You’re fired.” His demeanour cold and voice monotone not giving a fuck how much she shakes and cries for his forgiveness.

“Mr. Styles. I..I can explain–-" She stammers rushing from the back of her desk and stops obediently when Harry gestures her to not to take another step forward.

“There’s no excuse for abuse. I don’t want your lame explanations, I can’t have an abusive asshole running my company for me ... we might be strict on our employees but we aren’t monsters.” He grits, his eyes flaring piercingly with rage and showing no empathy towards her as she pleads him to forgive her mistake– those bricks of money makes you work baby.

“You hurt someone so dearly to me ‘n think I’ll forgive ye'?” The assistance eye’s blows away at newfound information, Harry Styles love of life’s none other than Y/N. The girl she used to have smoked sandwiches and milkshakes with in their lunch breaks.

“I didn’t know ...” He chuckles ironically at her hypocrisy and that’s the last straw for him before he’s threatening her to call the security and she’s getting out of there cursing him under her breath but Harry grabs her from elbow roughly, conceding his brow at her dauntingly.

"Apologise to her right fuckin' now."

"Sorry, Mrs Styles. I'm very ashamed of what I did." She says nervously and Y/N nods not able to speak from the butterflies that are flapping around her stomach, which sure didn't go unnoticed at Harry's side and he smirks at Y/N.

When they’re left alone. Jovial cackles are bouncing against the walls and he’s pressing his hip to the desk, securing his hands around his triceps as he folds his arms infront of his chest entertaining himself to the cute and fuzzy reactions of his girl at what just happened.

“See. Told ya, nobody could defy my bossiness at work.” He grins at her, jerking his hand towards his chest to usher her closer to him and boops her nose smacking an obnoxiously loud kiss to her mouth when she toddles in his arms.

“The offers still there,” He looks down at her cheekily and she shakes her head, a small smile kicking up her lips at his determination and devotion.

“Couldn’t say no to you, could I? What will you be owning secretly next time?” She nips at him, planting her palms firmly against his midriff feeling the crispiness of his shirt underneath his jacket.

“A bakery shop ....?” He muses in the most pondering voice and she scoffs at him through pattering of giggles, “Suck it up Mr. Styles.”

“Hey! I know my prick’s huge but not tha’ much for me to suck it myself.”

Y/N chokes onto her own spit. Shaking her head at him.

“Your innocent employees knows how vulgar you’re?”

“Uhmm. Infact, She gets very hot hearin’ me like tha'.” He bobs his head grinning at her wickedly and she smacks his shoulder, “Harry!”

“Yeahhh! Tell everyone how good I make you feel babbbyy—....” Y/N clamps her hand around his mouth to muffle his lewd fake moaning.

“You’re so embarrassing.” She grumbles wiping his spit sticking to her palm down her skirt and spins around to head for the door expecting him to follow her.

“You don’t talk to boss like that!” He trails behind her, “Boss my ass!” She quips out a squeal looking around to make sure that nobody saw it when Harry slapped her bum.

“Boss someone’s ‘bout to get a pink ass.”

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