#and it is oddly softer and less loud

[phantomenby]

The Cornerstore Cuatro

You could feel music bouncing along the ground, the loud beats and deep bass making the ancient wooden pier hum.

Only you weren't at the pier anymore, you were in bed, and the pounding you could feel growing was in your head.

"SHH! You're gonna wake them."

And there was an intruder.

"I'm not the one wearing a million pieces of metal-"

Two intruders?

Then another, shushing the first two.

You thought about getting up and grabbing something to defend yourself, but when the world spun you decided being murdered was the better option.

Maybe if you pretended to be asleep they would leave you alone.

Your home was small enough, they were still in the hall and you were sure if they ventured any further they would realise you had nothing of real value beyond things personal to you.

Creak

Shit

They were in the kitchen, you could make out the faint sound of rustling and the clanking of bottles as the fridge was yanked open, followed by the sound of-

Wait-

You knew that voice, it was alot clearer the closer they moved. But you knew Dwaynes monotone voice anywhere.

Now if only you knew why they were in your house.

When you heard them approaching your sleeping quaters you opted to lay back down, buring yourself in the soft sheets you had created quite the nest out of.

"I think they're asleep.." someone was inching your door open, pushing softly on the wood so as to avoid making too much noise. Not that it mattered, the ruckus they caused from the moment they crossed the threshold was enough to pull you from your slumber long ago.

A head peeked through, surrounded by curls tousled from the night breeze, and you could feel eyes searching for you in the darkness.

"Paul put that down and get in here!" Marko hissed at his brother, watching as he chowed down on a donut you were saving in the microwave, they would buy you some more tomorrow.

The other blonde rolled his eyes but continued eating the sugary treat, licking blueberry jam off of his fingers as he glided across the floor, lifting himself up to avoid stepping on the warped floorboards in your hallway.

Soon enough they were both inside, looking at you, inspecting you.

If you hadn't already begun to doze off you might have thought about engaging with them, but your pillow was much softer and more interesting.

"Should we wake them?"

They froze as you shifted, finally growing irritated.

You couldn't see them, but you knew they could see you. The only response to your minimal movement was the sound of them kicking off their shoes along with their coats.

A knee pressed into the mattress, a body climbing in beside you.

"Oh for fucks sake-"

Marko shushed you, pushing a cold finger to your lips and pinching your cheeks, "go back to sleep dude."

You didn't fight it and let him pull you into his shoulder, feeling his pointed chin press against the crown of your head.

Paul followed soon after, his long arms wrapping around your middle and helping soothe your skin warmed by the summer heat.

And that's how you fell asleep, with the memory of being surrounded by your oddly cuddly friends, lithe fingers running through your hair and a nose pressed to your back.

-

When you woke again they were gone, the sheets mussed and sand on the floor where they had walked.

As the sun shone through your window you focused less on them and more on the aching pain behind your eye

#paul tlb #the lost boys #tlb #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys #the lost boys fic #tlb 1987

[day0walkersdrafts]

“Benji,” when the call connects, saying his name gives Xavier an immediate dopamine rush, an excited warm blossom in his chest as he smiles at the phone. He shakes it and goes, “Ahhh, earthquake, oh my God, Benji, save me!” Then sets it down on the kitchen counter and leans forward with his arms folded in front of that little digital window to his boyfriend. “Just kidding, I’m trying to make pasta.”

“You remember to turn the stove on?”

“Oh fuck, hold on.”

Xavier swivels swiftly behind, turning the knob up high, sheepish with his smile when he peeks over his shoulder. The little vision of Benji on the phone screen is smiling, clearly laying on something—a couch maybe, at his mother’s. He looks comfortable and relaxed and Xavier feels the same way every single time he sees him—like he wants to lean through the phone and grab a kiss somehow. He swallows that thought and looks at the water in the pot before turning back to his phone.

“At your moms?” He asks as he leans back over the counter. Xavier’s necklace swings a little so he tucks it back into his shirt. He’d been fiddling with it idly, waiting for the facetime call to pick up—no idea why every time it makes him a little nervous. Giddy, with excitement. They call like this a lot. More than a lot, sometimes nightly. But every time, he leans against something, yanking on that necklace and staring at their names, linked together in a circle as the call waits to pick up.

“For a bit, yeah. Then to Saha’s till—”

Benji’s smile slips softer, his eyes wandering away, like he’s looking at someone in the room. As he lays, he tucks an arm up behind his head, which almost makes Xavier groan. Because at the angle Benji has his phone, he can see the swell of that brown bicep, the vein in it. The urge to kiss grows stronger, grows teeth, because of how bad he misses the smell of him, the feel of that skin under his palm and those strong drummers arms around him.

“Till you’re up here, yeah?” Suddenly the phone is moving, the image pixelating and blurring until Benji’s sister comes into focus. In so many ways, they could almost be twins, that’s how beautiful she is. Xavier smiles and lifts a hand in a little bit of a wave. There’s rarer people on Earth he likes more than this woman, even if they’ve only met through this form of communication.

“Twelve days,” Xavier says, tucking his hand under his chin. “But whose counting?”

“Benji is. Constantly, non stop.”

“M’not.” Benji’s voice takes on that sullen little brother sound to it and makes Saha grin into the camera, knowing and smug. She captures him in a bit of conversation for a moment until there’s a loud sigh that interrupts and the phone blurs again. He can hear Benji making a bit of a grunt, the sound hitting his chest or stomach before Xavier is getting vertigo. It’s moving again—Benji’s standing and traveling around the house.

Xavier could watch, from this angle up at him as he does, all fucking day if he could.

—

“Uh,” Xavier stands over the pot, the spatula he’d been using to stir the pasta poking into the congealed mess. “I think I did this wrong.”

“Lemme see.”

He tilts the phone over the pot and for a second, Benji is quiet before there’s a soft snorting sound. It, of all things, oddly makes Xavier’s chest ache. He remembers feeling that soft snort against his chest, telling a bad joke. He turns the phone back to himself, sheepish and almost apologetic as he takes the pot off the burner and onto a cool one, turning the stove off.

“I’ll cook for you, Xavier, when you get here.”

—

Benji comes with him to the bodega down the street. The call doesn’t disconnect even once, phone tucked into his pocket, wireless headphones in. Mostly, he listens to Benji talk to Saha then—listens to the cadence of their conversation less than what they’re actually saying. Hears the high notes of affection in either of their voices, the way they banter back and forth and tease. Her shocked and loud exasperations with him when Benji is being Benji.

The call stays connected on the walk home and the elevator lift up to his apartment and then inside. Stays connected when Xavier eats his sloppy, messy sandwich and Benji prods at him for the smear of sauce across his mouth. Stays connected through the shower, when Xavier props Benji up on the counter (gives him that classic, you’re gonna watch me, right? smile) and Benji has to step outside his mothers home entirely for that part. His turn for a walk.

The call just stays connected. No reason to hang up. They do this, frequently—fit each other into the others day, somehow, like this.

—

Xavier wakes up the way he always does—one giant jolt of his entire body, sitting up straight and suddenly aware. Then he groans, long and hard with a hand to his ribs as he slowly settles back into the bed. His blankets have become a tangled mess around his long body, one leg dangling off the bed and nearly touching the floor. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to find his phone blindly on the bedside table.

Until he remembers he’d sat it on the bed with him. He fishes for it more gently then, because he doesn’t want to accidentally touch that little end button that he knows is still there. Because, when he does find it, the call is still, miraculously connected. Benji must also be asleep, because the phones mostly black with a little peek of what might be sunlight coming in through a window. Five hours ahead—and Xavier’s phone reads three AM.

Xavier listens, though, because the phone is close enough that he can hear Benji’s soft, sleepy breathing. A reminder pops up on his phone that he nearly swears at, swiping up as if the notification will somehow bother the sleeping man on his phone. It’s a note that says REMINDER: PASSPORT PHOTO and that makes Xavier swear loud enough that somehow it reaches the UK and wakes Benji up.

“Hn,” is a soft sound and then a muffled one over the phone as a palm seems to grasp at it. “Hmp.” Another soft sound that makes Xavier’s whole chest crack open and briefly he puts the phone down, because if Benji holds his up to his sleepy looking face he might not be able to handle that. His eyes scan around his disorganized room; hockey gear shoved in the corner, a TV mounted absolutely incorrectly to the wall with a game console stacked haphazardly next to it, his dresser and the weird collection of plastic ducks.

“Xavier?” the rough hoarse tired voice from the phone makes him jump a little when he picks it up. Finally tilts it so he can look at Benji in all that morning beauty—there is sunlight. It’s watery and gray and splashes over him; hair all out of sorts because he sleeps weirdly tucked up and moves occasionally so that one side of his head flattens and the rest is a messy tangle. Eyes blinking, a fist rubbing at one as he yawns a little. “S’three AM there?”

“Oh, devil hours,” Xavier says in a spooky voice to cover how much it’ll waver because looking at Benji sometimes is enough for him. Kind of makes it worse that Benji laughs in that barely awake, tired way and he can see him get more comfortable in bed as he does. Xavier clears his throat a little. “I have to get my passport photo taken today.”

“Should probably sleep then, yeah?”

“But you’re awake now.” Benji laughs again, hand sliding over his face, head shaking. Xavier’s thumb unconsciously brushes over the phone display.

“S’vacation for me, Xavier. Off tour. I’ll be asleep again in thirty.”

“In eleven days, we can sleep in together.” Benji’s hand falls from his face, looks directly into the phone in a way that makes Xavier’s whole body shiver. “If I remember to get my passport photo taken today.” Benji’s hooded, you wont be sleeping much face cracks into a smile and a laugh as he brushes a hand back through all those long black curls.

For a while, Benji indulges Xavier (they talk about Saha’s job and yoga and if Xavier could try it out while he’s there and they talk about home cooked meals and if Benji’s mother will like Xavier, no that she will like Xavier and what he’ll get for breakfast and—), even though he’s clearly falling back asleep himself. Every blink becomes a micronap before he goes, no I’m awake and adjusts a little more on the bed. Another reminder pops down, but his eyes cant focus on the, REMINDER: ASK TESS TO WATER CACTUS (CACTUS NEEDS WATER?). The cactus survives, miraculously in his kitchen.

Then eventually, he does fall asleep and Benji this time, gets to listen to those soft, boyish snores until the call, unfortunately does disconnect.

#xavier #xavier x benji #band au

[themowearchives]

Press Archive, Part 6

The Noise

Live Review, with Muck & The Mires & Prime Movers, Church, January 11, 2008

The three-piece (with no bass) My Own Worst Enemy plays Snowflake, my favorite song of theirs, early on, and I question how they will be able to build their set. Steve goes from a sales pitch for their CDs to a "if you dont know me and want a CD, I'll give it to you (free)." They get rocking when they hit their Ramones-like Come On and Steve gets extra aggressive on Hey Hey Sunshine. Then it's Sue's turn to release testosterone in Pay Attention to Me. A.J. grabs the spotlight for the elongated drum intro of Turn It On. They definitely were able to bring the set to a peak, even with Snowflake up front. They end with the Clash's Police on my Back, and though it's typical of original bands to end with a cover, MOWE's own material is more exciting to hear. (T Max)

Jersey Beat

Live/CD Review, 2008

I saw MY OWN WORST ENEMY at a Nancy Neon show in Boston at the Cantab Lounge. Before they went on, she said to me, "You're really going to like them!" She was right. They are a strong trio of two guitars (no bass) and drums. While the songs on their third CD, Total Action (Pristine Indigo Records, c/o myownworstenemy.net) written by either guitarist (Sue or Steve), most of the vocal focus is on Sue. I remember Steve singing as much as Sue live, and as with her, he does admirable work here. I could throw out descriptive words like indie, garage, folk rock, alternative, and they would all be accurate as influences, but MOWE (as those in the know refer to them) have taken all of that and created something else that works for them. It's hard to pick out a fave song since both Sue and Steve write songs that are memorable with good (non-cheesy) hooks. The CD opens with a powerful drumbeat by AJ. In various parts of the release, AJ also aptly lays down a harmonica. Some of the standouts include "Turn It On", "Green Apple", "Catherine the Waitress", "Drunken Angel", and a strong and sparse cover of Patti Smith's "Redondo Beach". (Robert Barry Francos)

Indie Music.com

Total Action CD Review, July 2008

The guitar/guitar/drum trio My Own Worst Enemy was inspired by Sleater-Kinney to become a bass-less band. But whereas that band was most often a noisy outfit, this group alternates between loud rock and softer folk. Total Action, though always active, moves at various speeds and levels throughout.

You can tell a lot about a group simply by examining the songs they choose to cover. In this case, MOWE takes on works by two of America's best female songwriters. The first is "Drunken Angel," a sad tale about a brilliant, alcoholic Texas musician, penned by Lucinda Williams. The second is "Redondo Beach," by punk-poetess Patti Smith. Each of these tunes features guitarist/vocalist Sue's authoritative vocals.

Nevertheless, MOWE is by no means its own rival when it comes to original material. The peppy "Catherine the Waitress" is particularly memorable for its harmonica part. Guitarist/vocalist Steve also sings some of these songs, and he comes off like a weary psychedelic rocker during the especially mellow "Snowflake". Both singers reveal their softer side via the regretful "Corner of my Eye", which is highlighted by a beautifully twang-y electric guitar solo.

At times, Total Action feels like a spirited garage rock offering. This is especially so with "Come On". The track rides atop handclapped rhythms and loose, but enthusiastic, vocals. Other times, as with "Drunken Angel", alt.country is the label that immediately comes to mind. Oddly enough, however, this group is from Boston, which - while certainly famous for its dirty water – is not especially known for its country music roots.

This band also deserves extra credit for choosing a wonderful name. Isn't it sometimes the case in love and romance where we are our own worst enemies? How many times have we been jealous without cause? And aren't we simply selfish by nature? Thus, this moniker is like the description of us all. While we're quick to point fingers and blame, when things go wrong, more often than not, it's our own darn fault.

My Own Worst Enemy is the sort of group I can easily imagine on stage at Coachella. The act's music appeals to fans of singer/songwriters; albeit, ones with strongly beating rock & roll hearts. The decision to cover both Patti Smith and Lucinda Williams reveals great taste. But, as the old commercial used to say: "Starkist doesn't want tuna with good taste. Starkist wants tuna that tastes good." And with this effort, My Own Worst Enemy shows off great taste while all the while tasting delicious. (Dan MacIntosh)

Northeast Performer

Total Action CD Review, August 2008

On the latest full-length release from this excellent trio, rumbling toms and drama-building feedback immediately set the stage - you are about to be rocked. The rocking is accomplished without needing a bass guitar, by Steve on guitar wizardry and vocals, Sue on rhythm guitar and sinewy lead vocals and A.J. of the killer drums.

The lead track, "Turn it On" forms a powerful one-two punch with "Used to Be a Fighter," the record's standout second song. Harmonica makes an appearance on Total Action, as does piano, and assorted electronic touches, but this is a guitar record, full of lean, muscular six-string hooks and strong-willed melodies. When the band eases up on the fourth track, another standout, "Green Apple," the result is equally affecting; no matter the tempo, the result is strong without being surly, and honest without being contrived. The honesty of the songs may owe itself to the fact that the band recorded Total Action largely live over three long weekends in Vermont. Recording that way at Pete Weiss's cavernous Verdant Studios, MOWE makes Total Action hang together like a real record rather than a collection of songs.

Much like their music, the band maximizes the effect of its vocals, without doctoring them up, by adding subtle harmonies to Sue's leads, having Steve and Sue alternate verses, and changing up lead vocal duties and arrangements from song to song.

From first song to last, a primitive power-chord rendition of Patti Smith's "Redondo Beach," Total Action is true to its title. (Chris Gorham)

Brett Milano, music writer/author, Sound of Our Town, Vinyl Junkies

Electric Like The Moon CD Review, October 2011

Bad romance, late nights out, the intersection of love and squalor...That's traditionally the stuff of great rock and roll, and it's the territory My Own Worst Enemy inhabits with this album, which makes good on the promise of their last few years of heartfelt live shows. By now they've found a sound that isn't quite garage, or pop, or alt-country or psychedelic, but they can call on all of it when a song demands. And the songwriting is definitely the point here, as Sue and Steve's tunes and lyrics key into the joys and dramas of a life in bohemia. This band knows and loves its Boston roots, covering Tribe's previously-uncoverable "Abort" (one of three outside surprises here) and dedicating "The Kids Don't Care" to a certain keeper of the local flame. Electric Like the Moon doesn't sound like some old-school throwback, but it does take you back to the days when a night in clubland was a true adventure, and the bands didn't mind trying to change your life just a little.

[unknownjpegs]

earthquake

“Benji,” when the call connects, saying his name gives Xavier an immediate dopamine rush, an excited warm blossom in his chest as he smiles at the phone. He shakes it and goes, “Ahhh, earthquake, oh my God, Benji, save me!” Then sets it down on the kitchen counter and leans forward with his arms folded in front of that little digital window to his boyfriend. “Just kidding, I’m trying to make pasta.”

“You remember to turn the stove on?”

“Oh fuck, hold on.”

Xavier swivels swiftly behind, turning the knob up high, sheepish with his smile when he peeks over his shoulder. The little vision of Benji on the phone screen is smiling, clearly laying on something—a couch maybe, at his mother’s. He looks comfortable and relaxed and Xavier feels the same way every single time he sees him—like he wants to lean through the phone and grab a kiss somehow. He swallows that thought and looks at the water in the pot before turning back to his phone.

“At your moms?” He asks as he leans back over the counter. Xavier’s necklace swings a little so he tucks it back into his shirt. He’d been fiddling with it idly, waiting for the facetime call to pick up—no idea why every time it makes him a little nervous. Giddy, with excitement. They call like this a lot. More than a lot, sometimes nightly. But every time, he leans against something, yanking on that necklace and staring at their names, linked together in a circle as the call waits to pick up.

“For a bit, yeah. Then to Saha’s till—”

Benji’s smile slips softer, his eyes wandering away, like he’s looking at someone in the room. As he lays, he tucks an arm up behind his head, which almost makes Xavier groan. Because at the angle Benji has his phone, he can see the swell of that brown bicep, the vein in it. The urge to kiss grows stronger, grows teeth, because of how bad he misses the smell of him, the feel of that skin under his palm and those strong drummers arms around him.

“Till you’re up here, yeah?” Suddenly the phone is moving, the image pixelating and blurring until Benji’s sister comes into focus. In so many ways, they could almost be twins, that’s how beautiful she is. Xavier smiles and lifts a hand in a little bit of a wave. There’s rarer people on Earth he likes more than this woman, even if they’ve only met through this form of communication.

“Twelve days,” Xavier says, tucking his hand under his chin. “But whose counting?”

“Benji is. Constantly, non stop.”

“M’not.” Benji’s voice takes on that sullen little brother sound to it and makes Saha grin into the camera, knowing and smug. She captures him in a bit of conversation for a moment until there’s a loud sigh that interrupts and the phone blurs again. He can hear Benji making a bit of a grunt, the sound hitting his chest or stomach before Xavier is getting vertigo. It’s moving again—Benji’s standing and traveling around the house.

Xavier could watch, from this angle up at him as he does, all fucking day if he could.

—

“Uh,” Xavier stands over the pot, the spatula he’d been using to stir the pasta poking into the congealed mess. “I think I did this wrong.”

“Lemme see.”

He tilts the phone over the pot and for a second, Benji is quiet before there’s a soft snorting sound. It, of all things, oddly makes Xavier’s chest ache. He remembers feeling that soft snort against his chest, telling a bad joke. He turns the phone back to himself, sheepish and almost apologetic as he takes the pot off the burner and onto a cool one, turning the stove off.

“I’ll cook for you, Xavier, when you get here.”

—

Benji comes with him to the bodega down the street. The call doesn’t disconnect even once, phone tucked into his pocket, wireless headphones in. Mostly, he listens to Benji talk to Saha then—listens to the cadence of their conversation less than what they’re actually saying. Hears the high notes of affection in either of their voices, the way they banter back and forth and tease. Her shocked and loud exasperations with him when Benji is being Benji.

The call stays connected on the walk home and the elevator lift up to his apartment and then inside. Stays connected when Xavier eats his sloppy, messy sandwich and Benji prods at him for the smear of sauce across his mouth. Stays connected through the shower, when Xavier props Benji up on the counter (gives him that classic, you’re gonna watch me, right? smile) and Benji has to step outside his mothers home entirely for that part. His turn for a walk.

The call just stays connected. No reason to hang up. They do this, frequently—fit each other into the others day, somehow, like this.

—

Xavier wakes up the way he always does—one giant jolt of his entire body, sitting up straight and suddenly aware. Then he groans, long and hard with a hand to his ribs as he slowly settles back into the bed. His blankets have become a tangled mess around his long body, one leg dangling off the bed and nearly touching the floor. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to find his phone blindly on the bedside table.

Until he remembers he’d sat it on the bed with him. He fishes for it more gently then, because he doesn’t want to accidentally touch that little end button that he knows is still there. Because, when he does find it, the call is still, miraculously connected. Benji must also be asleep, because the phones mostly black with a little peek of what might be sunlight coming in through a window. Five hours ahead—and Xavier’s phone reads three AM.

Xavier listens, though, because the phone is close enough that he can hear Benji’s soft, sleepy breathing. A reminder pops up on his phone that he nearly swears at, swiping up as if the notification will somehow bother the sleeping man on his phone. It’s a note that says REMINDER: PASSPORT PHOTO and that makes Xavier swear loud enough that somehow it reaches the UK and wakes Benji up.

“Hn,” is a soft sound and then a muffled one over the phone as a palm seems to grasp at it. “Hmp.” Another soft sound that makes Xavier’s whole chest crack open and briefly he puts the phone down, because if Benji holds his up to his sleepy looking face he might not be able to handle that. His eyes scan around his disorganized room; hockey gear shoved in the corner, a TV mounted absolutely incorrectly to the wall with a game console stacked haphazardly next to it, his dresser and the weird collection of plastic ducks.

“Xavier?” the rough hoarse tired voice from the phone makes him jump a little when he picks it up. Finally tilts it so he can look at Benji in all that morning beauty—there is sunlight. It’s watery and gray and splashes over him; hair all out of sorts because he sleeps weirdly tucked up and moves occasionally so that one side of his head flattens and the rest is a messy tangle. Eyes blinking, a fist rubbing at one as he yawns a little. “S’three AM there?”

“Oh, devil hours,” Xavier says in a spooky voice to cover how much it’ll waver because looking at Benji sometimes is enough for him. Kind of makes it worse that Benji laughs in that barely awake, tired way and he can see him get more comfortable in bed as he does. Xavier clears his throat a little. “I have to get my passport photo taken today.”

“Should probably sleep then, yeah?”

“But you’re awake now.” Benji laughs again, hand sliding over his face, head shaking. Xavier’s thumb unconsciously brushes over the phone display.

“S’vacation for me, Xavier. Off tour. I’ll be asleep again in thirty.”

“In eleven days, we can sleep in together.” Benji’s hand falls from his face, looks directly into the phone in a way that makes Xavier’s whole body shiver. “If I remember to get my passport photo taken today.” Benji’s hooded, you wont be sleeping much face cracks into a smile and a laugh as he brushes a hand back through all those long black curls.

For a while, Benji indulges Xavier (they talk about Saha’s job and yoga and if Xavier could try it out while he’s there and they talk about home cooked meals and if Benji’s mother will like Xavier, no that she will like Xavier and what he’ll get for breakfast and—), even though he’s clearly falling back asleep himself. Every blink becomes a micronap before he goes, no I’m awake and adjusts a little more on the bed. Another reminder pops down, but his eyes cant focus on the, REMINDER: ASK TESS TO WATER CACTUS (CACTUS NEEDS WATER?). The cactus survives, miraculously in his kitchen.

Then eventually, he does fall asleep and Benji this time, gets to listen to those soft, boyish snores until the call, unfortunately does disconnect.

#writing #hj #band au #2023 #xw #bp #bp x xw

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Drabblecember 16: Scrapbooking

(so I'm writing a couple of these out of order, and I said something about an upcoming one I already wrote being a palate cleanser of angst? well it seems like i may be all fluffed out tonight. choo-choo all aboard the unsettling implication train!!)

Word Count: 500

Universe: GCPS

Warnings: mood warning, I guess? nothing explicit. just family weirdness I'm feeling out for these guys. general sublimated grief. also, intentional self-indulgent tense changes.

When the world split into gemstone flats, you reached for Carrie's arm. You knew it was coming, and you still reached for her arm.

Walking was a little bit tricky. Gordon hadn't been able to explain to you exactly what dipping into someone's psyche would look like, but the way she was talking, she made it sound like it would be a physical environment that you could explore– and it kind of was. But there was also something distinctly non–physical about it, and trying to move your legs was a little like trying to wiggle your ears– your brain couldn't find the right muscles, couldn't connect the wires.

And then you realized it's because Carrie wasn't trying to move. "Yo," you said. "Wonderkid, you good?"

Carrie's goggles reflected the scenery. She looked like a fly. "Yeah," she said, soft. She peeked into one of the facets, looked away fast, peeked into another. This one, she reached out to touch; you let her.

Her fingers met the smooth surface of the memory with the sound like the ringing of a bell, like jewelry bumping against a crystal glass. You peered into the memory with her. You felt like you should hold your breath.

A little boy with big glasses sits in the middle of a palatial parlor, a massive fire crackling behind him. Photographs cover the mantle of the fireplace, the walls, the soft carpet surrounding him. The boy looks up, grinning with a brace-filled mouth. The light catches on his glasses oddly– you can't see his eyes.

"I'm scrapbooking, Padre!"

You still clung Carrie's arm. You hoped she didn't mind. "Who..." you began to ask, even knowing the answer. "What's he doing?"

"-apbooking, Padre!"

"–g, Padre!"

"–g, Padre!" The scene looped. The audio was just a bit too loud.

"He's scrapbooking, apparently," Carrie murmured in a voice that didn't sound like her own.

"I got them all printed! Look, here's our first selfie together!" The boy fixes his glasses. His voice takes on a softer tone, less buoyant. "It's little messed up. But it's special to me!"

Something in the soundscape shifts that you couldn't quite pinpoint. It felt like something dripping. You wanted to pull your head back behind the curtain and found that you can't. Couldn't. "Can you make it go forwards?"

Carrie shot you a look. "Can you?"

You didn't look at her. You were stuck on the boy's face. You were trying to see past his glasses, into his eyes. The sound bytes continue, out of sync with the movement of his lips, just a little louder than before.

"–re's our first– messed– special to me!"

"What's wrong with him?" you whispered.

Carrie didn't respond. You stole a glance at her– you're so good at doing that– and could see the way her eyebrows pinched under her goggles.

"–r first– special to me!"

“–messed up–"

"–messed up–"

"–messed up–"

"our fir–"

"special to me!"

You grabbed Carrie's arm. "Robin. Hey. Let's move."

"–messed up–"

"Yeah."

"firs–"

#drabblecember #drabblecember2023 #self shipping #writing #drabble #gotham city party squad #wayne kids

[dragonofthestone]

What Tim Hears

Briefly brought it up but wanted to expand on thoughts of how Tim hears, and kind feels/perceives the way others walk, and how he can tell them apart.

Note: this isn't to say this is exactly how they walk only how he perceives it based on sound and the vibrations through the ground/what he can feel of it

Kumo:

When actually on the ground/walking, to him it comes across as very light. Barely any sound is made regardless of what kind of floor/ground they're walking in. Perhaps even has an almost bounce like quality- less like a full step more like he's just lightly pushing off the ground

(At least that's how it comes across to them)

Quite at first and for awhile he found it very unnerving not being able to hear/feel them coming. Friend or Foe alike it's just more comfortable when they can know where others are out of his line of sight.

Kaze:

Heavy AF. His steps have WEIGHT. Even if/when being stealthy although sound may be come muffled or limited he is very much felt.

In fact he surprisingly not as loud as he'd expect but as stated before it's the weight of the steps that give it away.

Kain:

He's pretty easy and unique, the obvious is if he's using his cane/any walking aid which creates an added sound and beat to his steps.

Without it, there's an unevenness to his steps and slightly slower then some others but also a bit soft and careful. Oddly he kind of likes the rhythm to his steps - in part cause it means he can always tell when his friend is nearby <3

Main verse: The boots he wears does add weight to the step and makes him a bit louder then if he were in regular shoes, yet still on the softer side compared to many

Cid:

Loud very loud and often hurried/fast paced. Subtle this man is not. Very much someone he's going to hear long before he sees- although that may be from their voice more then their feet (lol)

Chicken:

Always quick and light, with a clicking / scratching sound from their claws/talons/nails (whatever you want to call them)

#Chimera in Wonderland (ffu) #idk mostly jsut based off vibes and what felt like fit to me #and again take it with a grain of salt as it's basically Tim's opinion of how he thinks of them #lab report || about tim #lab!life tim

[maryeve-the-bitch]

I am 99% sure that the Canadian emergency alert give people panic or anxiety attack and frankly, I am extremely surprised that there's no petition to change the sound or MAKE IT LESS LOUD FOR GOOD SAKE. I hate it.

#i actually experienced the American emergency alert a few time before the Canadian government implanted theirs #and it is oddly softer and less loud #even though my dumbass thought this was a war siren at first #im not sure if i had an anxiety attack because of it or it was that and the fact there was a tornado warning and we NEVER have tornado #rant

[yoonpobs]

back-burner | 13

do it for you, if not for anyone else

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff

WARNINGS. feeling your feelings, healing, self-actualisation, Loli being the best person ever, Hobi also being the best person ever, JK also being the best person ever; a much-needed chapter for our oc!

WORDS. 6.4k

back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“I thought we were doing something fun!” you whine, complaining as Loli drags you through the exhibition she had surprised you with. And surprised you were, especially when you were under the guise that the pair of you were going to be going out to get drinks and get drunk (yes, getting drunk with an old lady was weird in itself but Loli was oddly disciplined when it came to alcohol. It was mostly for you).

“This is fun, child,” she says with an eye roll as you sniff petulantly while she snatches the tickets from the frontman and gives him a less than amicable smile before she practically shoves you into the compound.

You yelp, nearly tumbling into one of the pieces before turning back to give Loli a vehement glare.

“You manipulated me!” you accuse, loud enough to catch the attention of a hipster couple who side-eyed you and your loudness. “I did not consent to this!”

“Stop being dramatic and appreciate that I lied to Jungkook saying that I had an appointment with an old friend so I wouldn’t have to help him with his weird anatomy flashcards,” she snaps.

“You lied to your grandson?” you balk, “For this?”

“This is more important!” Loli retorts, yanking you by your elbow before linking your arms together. Her grip is iron against your own as you surrender to the brute strength of a nearly seventy-year-old woman.

“Loli,” you whine, “I really wanted to hang out with you—but why at an exhibition? You and I are the last people that would ever be here!”

“I have a purpose for everything I do, okay? So don’t fret.”

While Loli was a character of her own, she did in fact have a set of morals that you deeply respected. You knew, from experience, that it was easier to judge someone based on the persona that they displayed to the world as opposed to understanding the core values of an individual. People would call her weird, freakishly active for an old lady—but they didn’t see the kindness that Loli displayed to the people she loved. Like you.

“And what exhibition is this anyway?” you mumble. You were aware you were being a brat but you really just wanted to shit talk people with Loli over alcohol. At least you weren’t alone, this time. “Mirrors? Is this what you wanted to do? Be vain?”

You just wanted to forget for a while.

Loli rolls her eyes, “It’s for you,” she tells you before spinning you around to face a particular mirror.

It’s a mirror that enlarges your entire figure, and you look somewhat distorted behind the iridescent glass. It’s an amusing sight if it weren’t for the fact that Loli had dedicated this to you. You could appreciate the arts, you really did. But you were particularly grumpy because you had essentially been scammed to free drinks and good company.

“You know I’m not that type,” you say dryly, “I don’t like looking into mirrors.”

You really didn’t. And it wasn’t to say that there was a type of person that enjoyed looking at themselves in the mirror, but if there really was—Loli was one of them. She was unapologetically herself, and she was confident in her personality and appearance. That was one thing you really admired about Loli. It was the fact that nothing anyone said about her could deter or diminish the worth she saw in herself.

“I know, love,” she says, a little softer before she rests a palm on your shoulder. “Just look.”

You stare at her weirdly, wondering what exactly she was playing at before you stare at yourself. You wince, automatically regretting it when you see a version of yourself that you’ve decided you didn’t like today. She looked a little tired, and you reason it due to the fact that you were tired. You were barely getting any sleep with the upcoming pitch you were working on for a group of potential investors and you needed it to be perfect.

(What was perfect, anyway, if not imperfectness covered? Were you really doing yourself a favour by attaining perfection to only find yourself disappointed in the outcome?)

“Loli,” you say, beginning to feel uncomfortable with how long you were staring at yourself. You seem to catch a little more that you didn’t like, see behind your eyes and into your brain. The irrational thoughts, the mind that didn’t work as innovative as Haerin. Or had the gift of understanding medicine like Yoongi or Jungkook. Or even had the oratory skills to carry out a conversation as seamlessly as Hoseok. “I don’t—”

“Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” Loli only takes this tone with you when she’s serious, or when she’s concerned. Right now, she’s both.

“Whatever it is, can we—?”

“Continue looking in the mirror,” she encourages, standing right behind you as you swallow, eyes fitting back to your reflection. Distorted, but you regardless. “I want you to repeat something for me.”

You feel your ears burn, realising that you were in public and simply just staring at yourself. Did you look self-absorbed? What if you were hogging the space and someone wanted to make a complaint?

“Loli, what are you even—?”

“I’m ____,” she begins to say as your eyes widen. “I’m beautiful. I’m worthy, and I’m capable.”

“Loli, there’s no way in hell I’m saying that in public and in front of a mirror at an exhibition,” you deadpan.

Loli ignores you. “I’m loved; worthy of being loved—”

“Loli …” you frown.

“I’m intelligent, kind and respected. I deserve good, and rest, and love.”

You find yourself reeling back a little, especially with how her words pierce straight through your heart. They’re simple words, you’re sure a kindergartener would know them. But why were they so difficult for you to understand? To repeat? To believe? They were just words that describe people—but not you. Not you, for you to repeat them in front of a reflection that was you, but wasn’t.

“Loli,” you snap, turning to face her as you break out of your trance with your own reflection. “What are we doing?”

Loli looks up at you, eyes gentle in a way so maternal that it has your heart clenching. You feel like a child, young and berated when she grabs a hold of your hand and covers your knuckles with her other palm. There are wrinkles against her skin, skin rough from years of living and experience—and you feel warm. You’re confused, scared—but warm, nevertheless.

“I want you to look at yourself and believe that,” she says softly, “That’s why we’re here.”

“So I can do this weird manifesting shit?” you scoff. “Loli, cut it out. I’m not doing it. Why in public?”

You sound sour, but Loli’s undeterred. She’s more used than anyone to your animosity, the refusal to do things that people told you to do. She knew your stubbornness more intimately than most but learned where it came from, and when it comes.

“You’re unhappy,” she tells you and you gape at her bluntness. “You’re here, but you’re not. Your mind is far away and it’s an unhappy place.”

“Oh, and you know so much to psychoanalyse me, right?” you say bitterly.

You acknowledge you’re being extremely bratty but you couldn’t help it. The entire situation was off-putting as it was because you weren’t used to just...staring at yourself, especially in public. And now that you were here having Loli unravel the pent up apprehension in your chest, you were even more thrown off.

“Your heart hurts,” she says, placing a hand on your chest as you nearly jump back at the impact. “I know you’re hurt, sweetheart.”

You refuse to show her you were, but you feel your lips tremble when she says the words so truthfully as if it was a truth you were condemned to accept. That you were hurt, and unhappy.

Confused.

“So?” you sneer, “Was this out of pity? That Yoongi loves me but ended up with Haerin? I told you this from day one.”

Loli doesn’t even frown, all she does is smile.

“Do you think he chose her?”

No fucking shit, Loli, you wanted to scream. But

But you schooled your face and gave her a pointed expression.

“They were together, Loli,” you say, “Do you know what that means? It means they both consented to it—wanted it to happen. Made that decision for both of them.”

“He chose you that day, didn’t he?” You aren’t sure what Loli is referring to, but something tells you that she knows something—as always, but is refusing to tell it to you point-blank.

“He got me pastries, Loli,” you exasperate frustratedly, “I get Hobi and Jungkook food all the time!”

“It’s not my position to hypothesise or say anything,” she tells you, “But you need to understand that people love very differently. The way we express our platonic love and romantic love is vastly different from what one may typically expect.”

Now, you were even more confused. Was Loli implying that he did that out of love? You nearly scoff. That could never be true. If anything, it was out of obligation.

“So? What is the point of all of this, Loli?” you sigh, “I’m not hurt. I don’t care. It was bound to happen and I was bound to—” you were immediately about to contradict yourself. I was bound to get hurt, you wanted to say. But you catch yourself and purse your lips, but the look on Loli’s face tells you she knows.

“Did you let him love you?”

You pause.

“What?”

“Have you ever stopped, and wondered, if you’ve ever given that man a chance to love you?” Loli repeats, tone still gentle but plagued with a sense of pointedness that you’re realising was firm.

“Why would I—?” you huff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that? I never knew!”

“So, you haven’t?” she says, raising a brow.

“Loli, what?” you exasperate, “No. I didn’t. Can we go now if you’ve got your—?”

“I’m a firm believer that you are more in control over how you feel than you actually think,” she says with a raised brow. “You’ve always loved Yoongi but have you ever taken a step back to let him love you?”

“And what, Loli?” you frown, “Get myself hurt?”

“You’re hurting yourself, ___,” she says seriously as you gape at her. “I don’t know Yoongi the way you do but I’ve never seen that man do anything for you that wasn’t out of love.”

The admission silences you; makes your throat dry. You blink up at her with widened eyes and Loli only looks at you with a softness paired with a rough edge that tells you that she was not joking around.

“Things have been difficult for you,” Loli says quietly, “As someone who was—” she corrects herself before she continues, and your heart clenches for her. “As someone who is a mother, and a grandmother—I cannot fathom how your own parents can treat you the way they do. But despite the well-deserved hatred I have for them, you cannot change people who don’t see a fault in themselves.”

You purse your lips.

“You were unlucky with your parents,” she says softly, “And I understand that. But you can’t spend the rest of your life sabotaging your happiness just because your parents failed to recognise the wonders you’re capable of. I know it’s going to be hard to unlearn this headspace but you are deserving of love; people do love you.”

“It’s not easy, Loli,” you croak, eyes fluttering shut, refusing to see the person in the mirror.

“It’s not,” she agrees, “But it’s necessary. You don’t need to get it right the first time but you need to try.”

“I just—” you sigh, “why wasn’t I enough for him?”

Loli reaches out to hold your hand, and her slightly wrinkly hands squeeze your youthful ones. The world between the two of you was vast, but with Loli, you always felt like you were right next to her.

“You always were,” Loli murmurs, “It’s you who doesn’t believe that. Everyone else sees how he feels about you.”

“Then—then why…” you huff, “God. Loli. This is pointless.”

You’re quick to throw yourself under the bus because things were getting a little too emotional for your liking, especially in a public setting. No one even batted an eye at the pair of you, but you were hyper-aware of the people around you.

Why was the world so loud when no one was looking?

“Seeing your worth isn’t pointless,” she scolds, yanking you by the arm as you huff, blowing your hair out of your face as her tough-love returns. “You can moan and complain about being hurt all you want about how you think Yoongi doesn’t love you but the truth is, he does. He loves you. God, this old lady sees it, your best friend sees it; the man you slept with sees it—if you don’t believe it then it isn’t true for you.”

Loli’s voice echoes in your mind despite her taking a relatively soft tone.

“If Haerin didn’t tell me he loved me then would’ve we spent the rest of our lives not knowing?” you murmur, fingers digging into your sides as Loli offers you a soft, wistful smile.

“There’s no point in discussing the what-ifs,” she tells you, “Why dwell on something that hadn’t happened instead of what did?”

“Because if Yoongi didn’t do it himself then we would’ve—”

“—and you know I’ll never make an excuse for a man but God, baby,” she signs, running her hands through her hair when her maternal tone arises. “Yoongi is stubborn. He needed the push and he got it. He’s there, so why are you holding back?”

“Because what if he realises that what he feels was a mistake?” you exasperate.

Loli’s lips purses. “Why are you worrying about something that never happened?”

You go silent, and you wonder.

Why did you worry about something that never happened?

“Do this for me,” she urges, smiling at you before gesturing to the mirror.

Your jaw ticks, face returning to a scowl. “Loli, we’re in public. I’m gonna look like a fucking maniac mumbling to myself in front of a mirror.”

“If you learn to love yourself in public then loving yourself in private won’t be so difficult,” she murmurs.

“Can we just, I don’t know,” you mutter in embarrassment, “I’ll record it at home and send it to you.”

Your attempt at negotiating is fruitless, especially when Loli barely budges.

You sigh, shifting on your feed before you’re practically glaring at yourself through your reflection.

You open your mouth, wracking your brain in an attempt to recall the exact words Loli wanted you to utter. You may never believe it, but Loli didn’t seem like she was backing down. This was for her.

(Even if you secretly wanted to believe in yourself, too.)

“I’m beautiful. I’m worthy, I’m incapable—”

“Capable,” she corrects with a jostle to your body as you scowl.

“I’m capable,” you huff, staring straight into the mirror and seeing someone almost unrecognisable. She was still you. She had the same hair, same face, same scowling expression; but there was something distinctly different about your reflection and you couldn’t quite point it out.

“Do I really have to do this?” you mutter, tapping your foot against the ground as your eyes dart everywhere. No one was looking but why did you feel watched? As if voyeurs found your weak declaration of self-love interesting enough to glance at.

“I can’t force you,” Loli says seriously, “No one can force you to love yourself, ___. You need to do that yourself. All I’m pushing you to do is to try.”

Loli’s grasp on your arm is featherlight, almost as if she was slowly detaching herself from you to allow yourself to roam free. You look back into the mirror, and it’s almost as if you were watching every bit of your life on replay.

From the moment you were first compared to Haerin; from when you realised your parents’ aloofness was more than being emotionally unavailable but because of the fact that they didn’t love you; from when you first met Yoongi; from when you learnt how to drive; from when you got suspended in high school; from the moment you realised you were in love with Yoongi; from the moment you lost your virginity in a drunken haze because you heard Yoongi kissed someone else; from every. Single. Moment.

You feel yourself grow emotional, though there were no tears. You’re looking at yourself and you recognise why you don’t recognise the person you’re looking at.

The person staring back at you was a hollow shell of who you could’ve been; all the beautiful possibilities that you would have achieved if it weren’t for the person that sabotaged you the most; that stabbed you in the back more times than you could count.

Yourself.

Your throat feels dry, and suddenly, looking in the mirror didn’t feel so debilitating anymore. Loli’s grasp is no longer there and you feel like you’re floating. It’s the most cliche moment of your life but something clicks; maybe it was the exhibition photographer that captured your stupefied expression. But it’s as if all the burrows that made the skeleton of your body were filled with realisation. A moment of calamity turned calm.

Loli’s no longer holding you and it’s just your reflection accompanying your physical body. The reflection is getting closer and closer to you; you realise that you were taking a step forward. Your finger reaches out, it caresses the smooth surface of the mirror. It’s plain. It’s a mirror. But you were behind its reflection. It was you, who touched the tip of your finger on the other side.

There are no words that you can utter at this moment. Silence is all that overcomes you. But it feels...it feels. And for the first time, you look yourself in the eye and you see someone worth taking time for. Someone who was very much human; very much fragmented like the rest of the world was—but alive.

And she’s staring at you.

“Yoongi loves you,” Loli murmurs, and another reflection joins you.

A hand enters first; resting on your shoulder. Then, Loli’s shorter frame comes into your vision. She looks like your family with the way you subconsciously lean into her hold.

This time, you don’t deny her words.

People usually say that things in life happen for a reason, to give you meaning to an already mundane lifestyle or to teach you a lesson that you could reflect on as years pass by.

You didn’t think so. Not absolutely, at least.

Things in life didn’t always happen for a reason. Sometimes things happen without any concern for structure or order and don't have any intrinsic value tied to those moments. Not everything that happens in life is a direct result of a grand scheme that the Gods or entities above set into place to teach humans a lesson.

Sometimes things just were. And you were the person that was in control of the meaning behind happenings and occurrences.

Working on the pitch alongside your team as moral support taught you a few things but you don’t think the act in itself had any value if it weren’t for how you weighed its importance in your own life. You could’ve taken it, prepared a pitch, delivered it and called it a day. It would’ve been another speck in your memory.

But it wasn’t. You spent hours upon hours perfecting every finite detail of your presentation. You engaged with officers and professionals to gain insight on academic knowledge that you didn’t have regarding the systemic issues that you were trying to solve. Or trying to better. You were firm in your stance when certain members were iffy on your rather self-denying clauses, but empathetic enough to consider varying thoughts.

You gave meaning to the work that you did, and you learnt from it.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt as fulfilled in your life as you did when you finalised the final pitch. You thought you were going to cry, to celebrate with a bottle of wine, to call Jungkook or Hoseok or Loli to tell them that you were done.

But you weren’t really done, and it hadn’t truly hit you that you had in fact, completed a huge project.

Until now.

“Hey, superstar.” Hoseok manifests out of nowhere, his suave self navigating his way through a few business associates or investors before he reaches right in front of you. Your mind needs a distraction, and it somehow goes back to the first night you’ve properly talked—or—yeah. “Looking good tonight.”

“I’m going to fucking puke,” you say instead of a greeting, ignoring his compliment.

“Medicine,” he smirks, patting his pocket as you let out a sigh of relief before sticking your palm out invitingly.

He laughs, a comforting feeling, before reaching into his pocket to retrieve the key to ease your nerves (or at least you hoped would) and drop them into the palm of your extended hand. Then, he squeezes your shoulders when he realises your eyes remain faraway and glazed.

“You’re gonna do great,” he says softly, rubbing your shoulder as you let out a shaky sigh.

“This is terrifying,” you mumble, eyes drifting to the side when you catch sight of a rather tall man who looked like he had no remorse for anything but business. “Fuck, Hobi. Why did I do this to myself?”

“Because you care,” he answers easily, another hand reaching out to your other shoulder before he’s practically cornering you like a football coach to their players before a big game. You suppose the nerves were similar.

“You didn’t tell me there were gonna be this many people,” you whine.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “And run the risk of you rejecting the idea completely? No way.”

“So you manipulated me,” you gawk.

“I strategised, sweetheart,” he winks, tapping his temple as you scowl at him.

The short banter manages to ease your nerves ever so slightly, but the sense of trepidation returns when an investor walks past the two of you to offer Hoseok and yourself a brief nod of acknowledgement, reminding you why you were here—and your role for the night.

“Girlfriend?” The man laughs in passing.

As he disappears into the bodies, is when Hoseok calls out, equally as amused.

“Can’t a beautiful woman and a beautiful man be friends, Derek?”

A few people laugh and it’s instantaneous the effect that Hoseok has on people. You suppose that’s why he’s so successful, or why he makes anyone around him feel all the more comfortable in a frightening situation.

“I still think I’m going to puke,” you mutter.

Hoseok laughs, loud and jubilant before he’s encasing you into a deep hug that has your face mushed against his chest.

“You have me as support,” he comforts you as you sniff.

“If only you could give the pitch for me,” you mumble.

“I could never serve the pitch its justice,” he points out, ruffling your hair. “It’s all you.”

“And me!”

Another voice enters, and your head tilts up to see Loli skipping over towards the two of you, dressed in a beautiful red dress that made her look more stunning than she already was, and not her age—while Jungkook trails behind her with a small smile.

“Loli!” You throw Hoseok off you in exchange for the old woman’s embrace, already feeling the warmth of a maternal figure in your life when she presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You haven’t even given your pitch yet and you’re out here canoodling with this handsome bachelor?” she taunts.

You roll your eyes. “For the last time, Loli, it’s not going to happen.”

“God forbid you to have taste,” she jibes as you giggle at her faux disgust. “And this—I will say I’m surprised. I thought you’d end up looking like a dumpster truck hit you tonight.”

“Do you have no faith in me?” you pout, glancing down at your attire.

It’s a nice sleeveless jumpsuit that fits snug around your waist and elongates your legs. The white corset-like top forces you to keep your back upright so you don’t run the risk of flashing anyone if you slouched while your tits fell out, and the black length of your pants only tied the look together.

It was a little out there for a pitch presentation session but it did wonders to boost your self-esteem, and that was all you needed right now.

“She has an extra dress in my car just in case,” Jungkook finally speaks up, and it’s a snort when he catches your dropped jaw at Loli’s poor faith in you.

She grimaces. “I love you but you wish you had half the style I have in my left pinky.”

“I do not dress that badly,” you cry.

“Give it up,” Jungkook snickers, right before he raises a fist to give you a fist bump and a fond ruffle to your hair. “Good luck. You got this, champ.”

You scrunch your nose up. “Please don’t call me champ. It makes me sound like a greasy jock in high school.”

“I was a greasy jock in high school,” he pouts.

“Case in point,” you say with a raised brow as he sighs.

Hoseok, Loli and Jungkook are here, looking at you fondly with proudness in their eyes as you feel yourself grow ten times more with the support that they provided you with. It’s moments like these that you’re thankful, and that you feel full. Because you have people you love, and that love you, here—for you.

“Even if you were dressed in a trash bag I’d still be proud of you,” Hoseok butts in as you offer him a meek smile as thanks.

Your eyes search the crowd, and another figure enters your vision, one that you weren’t quite expecting but equally as pleased to see.

“Haerin?”

Haerin has a lot of energy for someone relatively tiny, especially when she practically bulldozes through the crowd to make her way towards your group. A large grin is etched permanently on her face when she finally overcomes the hurdle of people, and she jumps straight into your arm without a care that she nearly knocked Loli over.

“Jesus Christ,” you wheeze when she wraps her arms around your shoulders so tightly that you almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m here! I’m not late, right? It’s not over?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Loli says with an eye roll.

Haerin, still rather oblivious to the slight distaste in Loli’s tone, only beams at the older lady.

“Looking lovely as always, Loli,” she chirps.

“Your dress is tasteless,” she snaps back.

Haerin is undeterred and Jungkook has to elbow his grandmother in the rib in warning, eyes narrowed as the older woman’s expression is snooty while she shrugs.

“You came,” you say dumbly.

“Of course,” Haerin smiles, “It's my sister’s big project!”

She says this with a nudge to your shoulder as you blink down at her.

Sister.

Right, Haerin was your sister. You were sisters.

When the thought settles, you smile back.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

Haerin gets it. She does, somehow. Maybe it was truly her sisterly instincts, the fact that you shared the same blood. Somewhat the same genes. Sister’s just knew, right?

An announcement is made via the PA system, asking for the presenters and guests to take their positions as you feel the cold sweat return.

This was it.

“You got this,” Jungkook says, rubbing a circle onto your shoulder as people start filtering into the auditorium. There’s chatter amongst the guests, curious on what was to be presented tonight at the Jung Corporations investors gala. It’s a highly anticipated event, and you feel even more pressure to uphold its prestige as a presenter, and as someone who Hoseok trusted with his entire heart.

“We’re so proud of you,” Loli smiles softly, her wisdom filtering through the slight wrinkles by her eyes when she grins at you. “Whatever you do, we’re all here to support you. Right?”

Haerin, Hoseok and Jungkook nod their heads, beaming up at you. There’s a man who calls for Hoseok—but all you can see is the trust in their eyes when their gaze rests on you.

“Thank you guys,” you say, feeling your throat clam up as you envelop all of them into a wide hug.

Yet, with all the love and support you feel, there’s still disappointment in your belly when you realise there’s a missing face.

Though, you don’t expect him to appear at all.

You did, in fact, leave. You were—confused. Hurt. Afraid. You were also mortified, knowing that your drunken stupor didn’t leave your sobered state when you woke in his home the next morning. You braced yourself, ready for the tense atmosphere but thankfully (or not), Yoongi was asleep.

You bolted, and you felt like a coward.

“Go get them!” Haerin cheers as she gets dragged by Loli towards the entrance of the auditorium. You smile sheepishly at her as you wave her down.

A frown meets your expression, and Jungkook, who still lingers as if needing to say something, recognises it immediately.

“He’ll be here.”

“He won’t,” you sigh, “We…”

“He said so himself, _____,” he says softly. “No matter how angry you are with him, or he is with you, he’d never not be there for you. Yoongi wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jungkook squeezes your shoulder one last night before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His gaze is enough to somewhat soothe you, and you force a scant smile when he gives you one last thumb up.

You’re left alone, and an usher recognises you before he directs you to the presenters’ room while your thoughts marinate.

You can do this, you tell yourself.

Yet, your eyes look back in search of a familiar face.

“____ ____?” An usher calls your name as your head swings back and away from the cue cards in your palm to greet the voice.

“Here,” you respond.

“You’re up in five,” he nods towards you as you nod back, swallowing while you feel the nerves rise all over again.

What nobody told you about anxiety was how much you relied on it to keep you upright. To keep you going when things were difficult and when life was more debilitating than usual. There is a universal understanding that anxiety takes away your energy that leaves you crumbling before you get to a job; that is actually preventing you from completing tasks due to the fear of not reaching the milestone right before the plateau.

But the nerves reminded you that you were alive and that you had a duty to fulfil. However small, however large, however insignificant, however relevant—that you were alive and breathing, enough for you to take that first step forward before it consumed you whole.

The anxiety fuelled your sleepless nights but also pushed you to slumber; also kept you away from people in the fear of unsaid critical comments while needing their validation. It was a tiring push-and-pull, and you knew that your anxiety was rather superficial than most—but it still roughened up your nerves when it counted—and doesn’t that mean it counts for something?

A few strangers, friendly faces, give you small thumbs up when you unconsciously make your way towards the slit that soon would reveal you to the auditorium of people that were quite literally there to evaluate you and nothing else. Your feet feel featherlight, and it’s a paradoxical feeling to the weight in your stomach, threatening to escape your throat while you tried to focus on your breathing and your planned bullet points for the pitch.

You weren’t a natural speaker like Haerin was, you didn’t possess half the articulation she had when it came to delivering her points across, and for a moment—you wished you were her all over again. Almost makes you feel like you were back to square one where you were thought to resent her, to want to be everything that she was and you weren’t.

But then you reel back as quickly as you left and remembered that it wasn’t Haerin who was delivering this pitch, who tirelessly prepared for it—it was you.

This was your child, your creation, the work that only existed because of your brain and your fingertips working against the keyboard of your laptop along with a few other teammates that offered you support. Haerin didn’t do this—you did.

And you almost laugh because it felt free to realise that.

That Haerin would’ve never been here, and that you were.

“Point is, we’re all driving to our own destination points, and each journey is unique to each person,” he says softly as your breath hitches.

“But I’m no Haerin,” you mumble quietly, finally speaking and finally understanding what Yoongi was getting at.

“You aren’t,” he concedes as you feel your heart drop. But he picks it up immediately with his reassuring grin and the hand that smoothes over your hair comfortingly. “And Haerin isn’t you.”

Somehow, Yoongi’s words ring clearer than ever and you miss him. You missed him because he wasn’t here but you wished he was. You wished you didn’t say the things you did, pushed him away from the way you did.

But you did, and you had to deal with the consequences of your own actions.

You take a deep breath, and you take that first step into the spotlight you never thought you deserved your entire life.

It’s odd to hear claps that were meant for you and you only. There was no one else on stage with you, and it was your presentation pitch that was projected onto the screen that you stood in front of—there was no denying—that this, the recognition, the earnest grins, were for you.

And damn, did it feel good.

“Thank you,” you begin, voice shaky because you still couldn’t believe it but you could try. “Hopefully I’ll be hearing more of that throughout my presentation.”

The crowd laughs, and you keep your smile minimal even if you felt your nerves nearly exploding from the reaction. At least your humour was still intact.

You take another deep breath, press the button on the prompter and direct the laser towards the screen—most eyes following you.

Briefly, just for a split second, time stops in your own world where you try to take in your surroundings to ground yourself back to reality. While you were weightless, you lost some form of control and you needed all the control you could get at this point.

Your eyes fall into the crowd, and it’s like a scene straight out of a movie where they land on Loli.

She beams at you, blows you a kiss through her reddened lips before offering you an expression that you could only think of as motherly. Like a mother cheering her child on.

You’d like to think she was.

Then, next to Loli was Jungkook. Your found family, your brother that wasn’t blood-related but you sure as hell couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He grins that boyish toothy grin of his and offers you a raised fist as if you could reach it. The fist resting by your side sees it, fist bumps it from where you stand.

And then there’s Hoseok. He’s smiling, of course, he is. When didn’t he smile? Even if it wasn’t you on stage, he’d still be smiling and showing support to whoever owned the platform at that very moment. But it was you, and you knew that because it was you his smile looked ten times wider than it usually was.

He shoots you a double-thumbs up, giddy in his seat before he cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a whoop that echoes in the auditorium.

You flush while some of the investors laugh, a man turning his head to the source of the voice and is more than amused to see that their apparent boss was the one that bellowed that loudly.

And of course, you couldn’t help it, but your eyes fall to the empty seat next to Hoseok. And you feel your heart drop even if you’d expected it.

You said so yourself: you didn’t want him here. You told him that at the fair, and that damned night. You did this.

Haerin’s screams echo in your mind again.

But it still hurts. It still confirmed your deepest insecurities and you think you’ve lost Yoongi for good. That he’s out of your life. You were going, and he was gone.

And then, what felt like hours but was an actual split second—the doors to the auditorium open. It’s quiet, and no one catches it except for you because of where you stand and where the spotlight stands.

Yoongi.

Your jaw drops ever so slightly and you lose all train of thought just for that split second because the first person he sees isn’t the usher at the door, or the guest that walks past him to exit, likely to the toilet—but you.

There are flowers in his grasp, a large and bountiful bouquet of gorgeous flowers that nearly cover his face, and you feel your throat clam up while you internally scold yourself to get a grip. But you couldn’t believe it: Yoongi was here.

As if he senses your blanking mind, he raises the flowers ever so slightly—and offers you that God-forsaken smile of his, never too wide to look eager, but gentle enough to be present.

And you feel it. You feel the rush, you feel the anxiety—you feel human. Like you were always meant to be.

You giggle to yourself, head dropping to your feet when you realise how insignificant that empty seat was even if it had your heart dropping when you caught a glimpse of it.

You could look and look and search and scour—but if you were looking only where you wanted, and not where you should—you’d never find what was looking for you.

And finally, Yoongi slips into his seat, offers an amicable nod to Hoseok who looks elated to see the older man—

You take another deep breath, and you begin.

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts fic #yoongi fic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #min yoongi fic #min yoongi angst #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi series #yoongi series #slow burn #back-burner

[euphoricsunflowers]

calling you daddy — monsta x

scenario: they ask about your kinks and you ask them to call you daddy

a/n: this is written with a fem reader in mind but is not strictly fem reader as no pronouns or anything is mentioned.

a/n: was this a request? nope tbh this was written for myself bc i’m sick and tired of seeing people call these men daddy so uh pls enjoy

word count: 2k

content: sub!monsta x, dom!reader, daddy kink obviously ajshdhs, minhyuk is kinda bratty? kinda??, lots of teasing and begging, mentions of consent and stuff

—

son hyunwoo/shownu:

he falls silent. he doesn’t know what to say in the slightest. he worries that he might hurt your feelings or say something out of line, but it just stuns him, “you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable with that, bear. your consent is just as important,” you say.

but see that’s half of what’s stunning him. he’s not exactly uncomfortable with that. shownu’s nature is pleasing you, he doesn’t mind filling any role or position for you, this was just a little more intense than that.

“you know what? just forget we had this conversation. i don’t want you to feel pressured, and it’s not a big deal, okay?” you say.

but the idea lingers in his head whether or not you want it to. as the days go by, his mind wanders, and while it may not exactly be what he’d be into, he’s not against doing it for you.

as you manhandle him a little bit, he says it softly, “ah, daddy-,” it’s even more embarrassing than he imagined, and his cheeks and ears are flushed and hot, but when he says it, softly under his breath, just whispering it out to test the waters, he sees your shock and then your small little smirk.

“now that i know what it sounds like to hear you say that, and what that does to me,” you say, sneaking your hands under his shirt and letting them wander, playing with his chest a bit, “i don’t think it’s a good idea to say that if you wanna make it out of this bedroom spotless and in one piece.”

he blushes even more, a little shy and hesitant, but he likes having this kind of effect on you, so that may not be the last time he says it. besides, who says he cares if he makes it out in one piece? and spotless? his neck and chest and thighs were too clean anyway.

lee hoseok/wonho:

it was in the middle of you riding him, his wrists bound above his head with a rope that made his skin look so pretty against it. he’s already cum once, but you’re not stopping until you do, and he’s trying to keep himself together. your hands roughly playing with his chest is overstimulating and he’s overwhelmed. he pleads for mercy aimlessly, almost thoughtlessly.

but then, “if you’re gonna beg, call me daddy,” you murmur. he’s not even sure he hears you right when you say it. he looks at you with wide eyes, and he assumed he did because of the way you act. he knows he could stop you at any time because you’re very clear on consent and it’s not like this was completely out of left field considering how you’re already always in charge in the bedroom. he was just stunned.

and while he’s a little bit stunned, he also won’t deny that it is a little bit hot.

so he does, “please, daddy, it’s so much- i- i can’t handle it.”

he sees your smile, with just a drop of sadism behind the curl of your lip, “just a little more, baby, i’m close. you make daddy feel so good,” he gets so excited by the praise that he attempts to stick it out, forever still the man that just wants to make you happy and please you.

he forgets about himself and his own body for a moment when he feels your body tense up around him and you hold onto his chest as you orgasm, using him to get the most out of it before you slow down to a halt.

your heavy breathes and sweet nothings whispered in his ear are heavenly.

lee minhyuk:

“really? you’re into that? i honestly thought it would be the other way around.”

taken aback, you ask, “really? what gave you that impression?”

“idk, you don’t have this aura of dominance, so i didn’t really assume that was your thing.”

“is that- is that okay with you?”

he gets closer, teasing in the way he wants to make you shy, “you seem pretty bashful for someone who just asked to be called daddy in the bedroom.”

“minhyuk-,”

he rolls his eyes, obviously trying to get a rise out of you, “come on, i don’t even know if you have it in you.”

and something about his careless, taunting tone sets something off inside you, like he was challenging you. but it’s a challenge you take on when you approach him. your touch is softer, lighter than he imagined. he thought you would be lit aflame with a need to prove yourself to him. but you lean in to press a kiss on his neck and your wandering hands settle on his hips.

you’re gentle with him initially, yet he melts a little bit when one hand tightens and another begins to unbutton his shirt, giving your mouth access to his chest.

you push him onto the couch, straddling him and using a hand to hold both of his arms above his head, when you pull back, he looks dazed and needy, all those teasing smirks having faded off his features, “why are you so affected? i thought i didn’t even have it in me,” you say with a smirk this time.

he breathes heavily, “y/n- please-”

“oh please, that’s not my name anymore, min.”

yoo kihyun:

“you want me to what?!” his voice is randomly high pitched, loud, almost like he’s nervous or scared.

despite that anxious feeling you’re feeling too, you try to stay calm, “i understand if you’re uncomfortable by it, but you asked about my kinks, kihyun.”

“yeah i know- i just- i wasn’t expecting that- really? you’re not messing with me? that’s really what you want?” he looks exasperated.

“yes. i really want you to call me daddy.”

he goes silent, trying to comprehend in his head what the hell was going on and what he was going to do and why the more he thinks about it, the less vehemently against it he becomes. and he had spent the entire relationship making it clear that he cared about what you wanted (because he does) and it’s not like… he hates the idea of it, but it’s just so out there to him that he can’t even fathom or imagine it.

he asks for a few days just to think about it, and though the awkwardness lingers in the air, by the fourth day, it seems like you had mostly forgotten about it or at least it didn’t seem to be on your mind. he spends those days really thinking, trying to imagine what it would be like, why you would even want that.

but the next time you’re together alone, your hands and lips are on him and he experimentally says it, “daddy, please.”

the whiny, begging voice, coupled with the word, leave you stunned. you pull back with wide eyes, and he felt so embarrassed and shameful with your eyes on him like that, but then you pulled him back into you and kissed him with a certain kind of feverish desperation that made his knees weak.

chae hyungwon:

his reaction is oddly pretty calm. he asked about what you were into, and you told him. maybe he was expect something a little different, but to be honest, he knew you liked to be in control, and he usually just went along with it. he didn’t mind it especially because you always made sure you both felt good and that was all that matters. that and he kinda likes being told what to do.

so it doesn’t exactly surprise him, especially when you add, “but only in a sexual context! i don’t need you to say it all the time.”

“good because there’s no way in hell i’m calling you daddy in front of my friends,” he can see the thoughts behind your eyes wanting to take up that challenge, but he decides to ignore it, “as far as they’re concerned, i’m daddy.”

“sure, wonnie. sure,” you say dismissively, before looking back at him, “are you actually okay with it though? i know it’s… weird.”

“it wasn’t what i was expecting, but if that’s what you want, then i’ll do it.”

and as soon as you’ve got him under you, with kisses and marks trailing down his neck and chest, leaving him helplessly turned on and horny, he says it so naturally, you wonder if he even thought to do it. but whether or not he’s doing this solely for you, or because he might have found it a little hot, is between him and himself, “ahh, daddy, please- be gentle with me- i have a photoshoot in the morning- oh my god that feels so good please daddy don’t stop-”

lee jooheon:

he likes the idea of it when you mention it, he just gets kinda shy, “do you- do you really want me to call you that?”

you come closer, holding his hand and rubbing your thumb against it in a comforting manner, “yeah, i really like the idea of it. if you’re not completely against it, i’d be really happy if we could try it.”

“it’s not… the worst thing you could have told me you were into,” he laughs as your hand starts to massage his thigh instead, “we can try it. i'll tell you if we need to stop, but i think it’ll be okay.”

“good, i’m glad you’re reacting this way, honey,” you murmur as you kiss him, and he smiles, which, even if it makes the kiss a little awkward, is really cute, “sweetheart,” you whisper as you pull away, “can you say it? i just wanna hear you say it.”

your hands wander his skin nervously, he can tell you’re worried about him being uncomfortable, “ahh, d-daddy, please touch me more,” he whines, and he’s never been more compelling before, but somehow the use of that word really makes you want to give in and give him anything he wants, “please touch me.”

your hand falls a little lower upon his request, and he groans lightly, pulling you a little closer, “you’re perfect, baby, so pretty.”

“ahh, please,” he huffs, clearly growing shy with the praise, but it’s obvious he really likes it, so you touch him more and whisper sweet words into his ear with a kiss, “oh- oh my- daddy- please i-”

“you’re so cute, sweetie pie, especially when you’re feeling good, you look so pretty and content. it’s my favorite sight,” you say adoringly, looking at him with the biggest heart eyes.

“wow, i didn’t expect to like this this much but-“ he whispers, “-i kinda love it.”

im changkyun/i.m:

he doesn’t react much when you say it, making you wonder if he was uncomfortable or not into it, but in any case, you assume it’s going to be forgotten in a few days and there would be nothing to worry about.

until he’s trying to get you to play with him and you’re trying to work. he can’t deny that he gets horny easily and you’re right there! he tries to tease in an way he can think possible, but to no avail. you’re still just sitting there, typing away on your laptop.

“just another thirty minutes, and then im all yours, baby,” you murmur to him, and he pouts subconsciously out of frustration.

he gets an idea, and i’m sure you know what it is.

“alright, you’re busy and i respect that. i guess i’ll just leave you be and go play by myself, daddy,” he giggles when you look over at him for the first time in this encounter and then he walks away.

as he sits on the bed in your bedroom, he awaits the sound of your footsteps, knowing he’s won. the door opens, and you walk in too casually, enough to make him suspicious, until he’s pulled onto your lap with your lips on his shoulder. your hands sneak under his hoodie, and his hands brace himself on your shoulders for stability, “ah- y/n-”

“baby, i did not set aside my work that’s due tomorrow morning to come fuck your brains out just for you to call me that,” he shivers, so incredibly turned on, “try again.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @multidreams-and-desires @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk @domreaderrecs @mochi-ficz and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

#subidolnet #sub idol #sub!idol #sub!kpop #dom reader #dom!reader #monsta x #sub!monsta x #sub monsta x #sub!monsta x smut #monsta x smut #sub!shownu #sub!wonho #sub!minhyuk #sub!kihyun #sub!hyungwon #sub!jooheon #sub!changkyun

[mikyuna]

A/N: Omaigawd, my last post went boom, still tho thank you guys so much!

Obey me boys with a chaotic and energetic s/o

Lucifer

This man is tired

Just give this man a proper break already

Basically, you are part of his brother schemes 24/7

In short, his brothers 2.0

But because you are his s/o, he might make an exception for you

Soft spots for the win

Anyways, he will try to distract you by giving you other important work such as sitting down on his lap and being his comfortable character

He will find all kinds of work to tie you down beside him just so you don't participate in his brother's prank

Well obviously it doesn't end up his way 24/7

In some cases where you end up in their shenanigans, he will of course have to punish everyone who is in it

So while his brothers are being punished the harsh way, you get the softer punishment

Sure he might be the Avatar of Pride, but when it comes to you he goes soft

This man even tried to match your energy during his free days by bringing you shopping so that you can bounce all you want around the area

After all your smile is one of his main motivations in life besides his brothers

Mammon

The 'will get involved but soon realized he f up' type

Mammon loves you and well you often do pranks so he undoubtedly will follow along

But he will try to convince you to do things that might involve getting your hands on Lucifer credit card of sort

Well, you being you, thinks that as long as it is fun and it will flip Lucifer upside down you will gladly do it

The ending results are pretty clear though, the both of you ended up being punished

If you are sad and his way of comforting you is bringing you to do more pranks regardless of the punishment

This man loves you and your smile so much that even if he gets punished for doing pranks, he will do it for the sake of you

Some of your pranks are also ways to cheer him up

He is so used to being made fun of by his brothers that you often think of fun antics to cheer the poor man up

So it's a two ways thing now, a method to make both of you smile happily

(He tried once to drag you into the casino, well you ended up missing)

(Hence, he promised never to bring you to a casino every again)

After all, he's your first and he will also be your last <3

Leviathan

He's panicking, like Lucifer he will try to stop you by distracting you with his games or anime

Sure it might work for a short period but later on it gets harder to stop you from angering any of his brothers with your prank

Mammon is an exception, you can prank him however you want

But at the end of the day, he will be the one planning for a much safer and harmless prank for you

'If you can't stop them, join them' kind of logic

Sometimes he will offer his style kind of prank

Such as cosplaying as Ruri-Chan, or annoying his brothers with Tales of the Seven Lords facts

(Have none of the brothers finds out that it's oddly similar to them, you sometimes wonder)

Your energy is overwhelming at times, but he more or less appreciates someone more energetic to drag him out of his room

A shut-in and a loud human (an alien), what a unique combo

Satan

He's annoyed when you both first met

Like who is this loud and unruly human that is disturbing his reading time

But once you guys become a couple, his attitude changes

He will plan with you how to prank Lucifer, this is the only prank that he will cooperate and allow you to do

Other than that, he will try to divert your attention to something else, such as him reading a romance novel with you

Your energy is always spent, the number of books he gives you each day to read is just well...

I mean at least you are somewhat more controlled when you are with him

In some special cases, where you managed to convince him to let loose and play around

He will sigh, pat you on the head with a fond smile and play tricks or anything that you both feel like doing

Very wholesome moments, and seeing Satan have fun is not an everyday thing so the brothers will more or less forgive the both of you

Asmodeus

Oh dear, no

Sure you can play pranks and all but at least do it after your sessions of playing dress up or after he finishes your skincare routines

Regardless of your gender, you will always be in his room while he applies makeup and dresses you up

And what makes you think that after his beauty sessions you will have any energy to spare

You are hyped up by him with his fashion show and by the time everything wraps up, a few hours already pass by

This man is also hard to convince, try dragging him to do stupid stuff and you will be the one that is dragged to play dress-up instead

Sure you might be on full chaos mode, but it will be with style

No way in cheezus that you are going to do things without proper clothes that makes you go blink blink

Seriously, thanks to this, the brothers can easily stop you before you ended up doing anything stupid

Well, guess Asmo is naturally good at stopping and spending your energy elsewhere

Beelzebub

'Does it includes any food?'

This precious teddy bear will think that the chaotic things you are bound to do are bake cakes randomly or making food

He's excited

How can anyone resist this precious man

So instead, you play around with him happily, acting like two years old kids in a playground

Hey, I mean he's pretty satisfied

Due to this man being physically fit as well, you will power off in no time

Your more chaotic side have somehow been more reserved around Beel

The brothers, mainly Lucifer have never been more glad than this

But even if you do remain chaotic and loud

He will still love you, no doubt

Like you do stupid things and the next moment be prepared to get bear hugs

After your shenanigans, you will end up cuddling him instead and well, it acts as a form of distraction

Not to mention, it's working perfectly fine too

Belphegor

Who? What? Where?

Wasn't you just beside him, a few minutes ago? Where did you run off to?

His source of comfort just went missing and this could be troublesome

'Sweetie, are you pranking Lucifer? You are doing great sweetie!'

Other than that, please come back to him

He needs his sleep

Sure your energy might be contagious

But the only effect that will have on him is him smiling brightly at you while he drags you back to bed

But not only is your energetic personality contagious, his sin is too contagious

One moment you might be hopping from room to room

Next moment you will be back in his arms cuddling and sleeping instead

One word, magnets

Diavolo

Cue laughing

Intrigued man request to join you

Proceeds to get hold back by Barbatos, with a scary smile

The two of you are shivering in fear

Decided to stay in his office to complete his work instead

But under a more serious note, he is the future Demon King, he cannot afford to let his reputation go down in ruins

Sure he will play small pranks with you, but it will only be applied to the brothers

As much as he would love to join you for bigger and more adventurous stuff, he cannot abandon his duties

Not that it changes a thing, he still love you and your daringly loud attitude

Although he might not be able to enjoy the fun that you enjoy and love

But your smile is enough to make him smile and laugh together with you as you speak about your experiences

I mean he loves you a lot, and it's no shock that he will do anything for you, so long as it is something within his power

So if you get upset or something, he will find ways to entertain you as well, such as privately chaotic moments with you

Another man that only goes soft around you

Barbatos

This butler is being seen as an uptight, polite, and professional loyal butler of Diavolo

Plus he's incredibly cunning and smart as well

On several occasions, when the chaotic pranks seem to be harmless and in fact, interesting enough

He will turn a blind eye and let you commit whatever pranks you want, especially on Lucifer

(Poor Lucifer)

He could be either the silent mastermind or the spectator that chuckle when the prank is successful

While the majority of the time, he will contain you

Sweets and tea, how could you resist Barbatos homemade sweets and tea right?

As thanks you often help him out with his duties such as cleaning and sort

Although he always told you he could handle it but truth to be told he appreciates it

Just look at you go, you are so enthusiastic over something as simple as helping him out

How adorable, he coos

Likewise, he has no problems handling both you and your overly energized self

Solomon

Amused

Just amused

You are just straight up daring and cheerful

It's a scary combination

But he loves you regardless

He definitely planned a few of your pranks before and so the two of you are partners in crime

While the two of you might get into trouble, you also enjoy each other's company and have a lot of fun together

Lucifer is officially having a headache

Solomon is also considered quite old since he is immortal and all

Your cheerful and energetic demeanor cheers him up and reminds him that he's lucky to have met you

After all who can resist a bright smile from their s/o right?

In order words, your partner and your supporter

Simeon

How much energy do you have each day?

He wonders while thinking both you are Luke are adorable

It's almost as if Luke got a younger sibling but in this case, you are his s/o

He rarely supports your antics

More than half of the time is him trying to convince you to do safer things

"Simeonie~"

"Ah good day to you, my lamb, Luke have recently tried baking a new cake and have invited you over to try"

Barely giving you a chance to finish your words

He could be strict and scary sometimes

But he will never use it on you unless it's a very bad case

His happiness comes from both Luke and your happy smiles

So, as long as you are happy, he is too

Cheering you up, will definitely include any pranks

He thinks that it's ineffective

Overall a very patient angel when dealing with your chaotic side

Luke

Platonic headcanons

You are so cheerful, why don't you come to stay with him in the Purgatory Hall instead?

He treats you as an older sibling

Sure you might be messy and all at times

But you are still a ball of sunshine as well

With how cheerful you are, he is often worrying for your safety

What if you get bullied by those pesky demons or even those brothers?

(In fact, it's quite the opposite)

But because you never directed your pranks at him before so he worry for you quite a lot

What if the brothers got angry at your pranks and decided to eat you?

This small angel has made quite the decision to act as your guardian angel

Often trying to lecture you that you should be more careful and cautious

Playing these pranks might cost your life

You just smile and pat his head

You TRIED, you really did

You tried to lessen your pranks to make the small angel feel less worried

Well at least the brothers can have a few short moments of peace now even if it's only for a short period of time

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeous #Beelzebub #belphegor #diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon

[kieraelieson]

No Rest for the Deathworlders

Logan had always loved the stars.

Still did, though his love had been dampened by the way in which he was currently seeing them.

He watched out the window, or rather, screen, but it was made to show the outside of the ship, and thinking of it as a window was oddly comforting. A bit of something close to home.

A lump grew in his throat at the thought of home, pressing against the collar. He forced himself back to a neutral, tugging the collar away from the front of his throat as far as it would go. A brief flicker of anger replaced the nostalgia. Anger at the collar, at his own inability to remove it, at the monsters that had forced it onto him, at his own complacency now that it was on.

He didn’t have it as bad as some other humans did, he was well aware. All the collar did was teleport him to the location of the person holding the remote. Granted, it was unpleasant and incredibly disorienting, but nothing like the near-torture he’d heard was the more common method of keeping humans captive.

The captain of the ship was smart in choosing Logan, as far as the welfare of the ship went.

“You’re invested in your own survival,” He’d said through the translators. “If the ship goes down, you’ll go with it. If you sabotage the ship and try to escape on a pod, I can get you back to me immediately, and you’ll meet the same fate as you intended for us. It’s in your best interests to cooperate and to bond with the crew.”

Well, Logan could agree that it was in his best interests to cooperate. But no one could make him get attached to anyone. And no one could stop him from making little problems.

Like ignoring the insistent, “Human, where are you? Human!” that was coming from his communicator.

The window dissolved in front of him, and Logan felt abruptly as if he were on the world’s worst rollercoaster for several seconds. It took him a minute to register the angry captain now in front of him. He was yelling something, but not through the communicator, so Logan couldn’t understand what. And he was far too dizzy and almost nauseous to pay attention even if it was understandable.

He shook his head slowly from side to side and up and down once, hoping to clear the vertigo somewhat.

“You must come when called!” The communicator translated. “Or at least answer!”

Logan stubbornly remained silent, the dizziness gradually clearing.

For an alien that looked more like a slime monster than anything with a real face, the captain still managed to look extremely displeased. Not that Logan cared.

“There are ------ trailing our ship,” the captain said, one of his words not translating properly. “We need to go faster or we’ll get boarded.”

Ok, maybe Logan did care.

“Humans are supposed to be good at making ships go faster, fix it.”

Logan frowned. “I’ve been here three days,” he said into the communicator. “I hardly know how anything in the ship works, much less how to improve any of its functions!”

“I’ve studied humans, I know better than that, fix it.” The captain said shortly.

Logan opened his mouth to protest, but the room around him dissolved, the horrible spinning sensation back. His legs gave out and he dropped onto the floor in a different place.

He swallowed hard, his stomach threatening to upend itself.

“And they call you deathworlders,” someone scoffed. “A transporter has you on your knees.”

Beyond his sick feelings, and the anger at being mocked, he caught onto that plural reference. Was there another human on the ship?

In addition, there were apparently multiple remotes to the teleporter around his throat, which ruined his plan of trying to steal or fight the captain for the one.

He slowly sat up, his head still spinning. He hoped that his body would eventually grow accustomed to the teleportation and the dizziness would stop being so awful.

There was a chittering sound beside him that the translator didn’t attempt to process. He turned to see an alien that would likely be very tall if it wasn’t on all fours. It was very thin, with long arms and legs, which ended in smooth nubs, without hands or feet. The front two, which Logan thought of as arms, though the alien probably would have a different name for them, seemed to be perforated along the last six inches. As Logan watched, one of them was extended towards him slowly, and something softer could be seen on the inside. It was able to be extruded through the holes, and was likely the way in which the alien could grasp things.

He backed away from the limb before it could touch him, and the alien also backed away a step, making a low woody sounding whistle, like air blown over a jug. It’s head looked rather moth-like, with antenna that curled and straightened, and large eyes.

The alien seemed sentient, though Logan was confused that the translator wasn’t picking up on its speech.

Until he saw a very familiar collar, only around their waist. They were also captive then. And possibly, though it disappointed his hopes of meeting another human, they were the other deathworlder, also affected poorly by the teleportation.

The strange attempted touch then, could have potentially been intended as comfort or aid.

“You’ve been sitting long enough, get this ship to move faster,” the other alien in the room grumbled.

Logan glared. “How am I even supposed to do that?” He snapped. “I don’t have training or experience, I don’t know what half this stuff is and I can’t read your labels!”

“You can either fix it now, or we can teleport you between here and the captain until you do.” The alien's tone was disgusting and wet, and Logan was glad he could focus on the robot sound of the translator as his stomach lurched again.

He could try.

If nothing else, he might learn some new things and be able to convince them that he really wasn’t able to just do things he’d never tried before.

The room was smaller than he would’ve expected, presuming he was in a kind of engine room. Around the edges of the room were a number of bins, holding substances ranging from powders to liquids.

In the center of the room was a glass tube that went from floor to ceiling, and seemed to be filled with a glowing crystal stalagmite. From the top of the tube dripped some kind of liquid, and at the bottom it flowed out in small pipes, glowing the same as the crystal and possibly converted into fuel.

He could assume that with all of the powders and liquids that there was a chemical reaction causing the substance to obtain the glowing quality and become fuel. But what that was, and how to know what was safe to change about it, he had no idea.

“Well?” The alien, whom he now assumed to be what served as the ship’s engineer, asked.

He was making so many assumptions, and still was barely anywhere. They could all be wrong.

“Explain to me how it works,” Logan said. “Then I’ll try to ‘fix’ it.”

The alien made an unpleasant sound that the translator interpreted as a sigh. “This is a ——-, the liquid is a mixture of ——, ——, ——-, and ——, but it could be made with any of the ——— family instead of the ———, or you could replace the ———- with ——— for better efficiency at different energy levels. We also have several forms of ———-, which ought to make more potent fuel for higher speeds, but every time we’ve tried the ———- smokes and explodes and there’s residue in the tubing for several rotations which puts us at a standstill.”

Logan grimaced. He had a very small idea of what was being said based on gestures, but he’d much prefer to have names and details. It seemed this was a very large and dangerous version of chemistry experiments, with no textbook, and his only advice coming from someone who hadn’t studied.

Well, there was the other ‘deathworlder’ in the room. He could only hope they knew something about any of this. Though the difficulty in communication might make that knowledge impossible to access.

He turned towards them anyway. “Can you understand me at all?”

They made another low whistling sound, followed by chittering. One arm waved, with… could he call them fingers? gesturing towards Logan.

He hoped desperately that he could consider that to be a yes.

“What would you do in—“

The engineer’s communicator interrupted him. “We thought we’d have a few more rotations but they’re closing in, has the human done anything yet?”

“No,” the engineer said. “It’s just staring at everything.”

“Well get it to hurry!”

The other ‘deathworlder’ made a long series of noises, pointing at one bin in particular and then at a place where it seemed the not-yet-fuel liquid was.

It was a foolish thing. A very foolish thing. But Logan took a scoop from the bin and dumped the powder into the liquid.

It bubbled and fizzed on contact, sending up thick clouds of a dark blue smoke.

An alarm blared.

The ship lurched, knocking them all to the ground.

And then the new ingredient actually hit the crystal, and there was a loud, high pitched ringing.

Logan covered his ears and shut his eyes, feeling like a weight was pressing him to the floor.

Everything was spinning, and loud, and then it was loud in a very different, but no less painful way.

“Protect me!” The captain shrieked.

There was a pained, screeching scream.

Logan was shoved, but he was barely aware of which direction, let alone what he was supposed to do about any of it.

Something grabbed onto his shoulders, and he flailed, hitting and kicking indiscriminately. Something burned on his side, and he kicked into something much more solid, sending a throbbing pain up his leg.

Everything was noise and pain and lights and movement and he didn’t understand any of it!

Logan struck out blindly at anything that came near him.

He thought he’d backed into a wall, but something must’ve been behind him, and it hit him hard over the head. He dropped to the floor, tears swimming in his eyes and blurring everything even further.

Everything dissolved around him and he was falling, spinning, dropping, tossed.

He was grateful more than anything when unconsciousness took him.

•^*^••

He woke slowly, feeling hazy and heavy. It was quiet, and not too bright, nothing was touching him. So he didn’t bother to open his eyes, just laying still.

He wasn’t dead at least.

Probably the pirates had attacked. Definitely he’d ruined the ship he’d been on.

The question was, was being with pirates any better than living on a ruined ship with aliens that considered him to be some kind of hyper-intelligent slave?

Or perhaps the question was, where was he now?

He forced his eyes open.

He was in a relatively large, empty room. The floor and walls seemed bare, though patched, not all of a single material.

He pushed himself up. There was a loud skittering noise away from him, and he yelped, flinging himself away clumsily.

He turned, and saw the other deathworlder, front legs shaking and making a rattling noise. He wasn’t sure if it was a fear response, a method of communication, or even some kind of threat display.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, backing up a little farther.

The other alien didn’t try to come close again, so he figured it was mostly likely not interested in threatening him. There wasn’t an echo of his words in an alien language though, and he patted his shoulder to discover that the translator had been taken. His hand went to his throat, disappointed to find that they’d left the collar.

It was still there on the other alien also. They were both still prisoners then, wherever they were.

Looking around, it seemed that they were in an empty cargo space, rather than a proper holding cell, so there was a slightly greater possibility of escape.

There was that low whistling sound again. Logan was certain it was meant as a form of communication.

He tried whistling back, as low as he was capable of.

The alien chittered and shook its legs again, but Logan couldn’t tell even if it was a positive or negative reaction.

“I… don’t know how to talk with you,” he said, keeping his tone low and calm. He sat in a comfortable, loose position, hoping to get across the calm in his tone and posture. “But I’d like to try. I’m not sure what anything you’re doing means, and it’s possible you’re in the same situation. I’m hoping that you have more knowledge of humans than I do of your kind, and that you’ll be able to make better inferences than I’m currently capable of.”

The alien cocked its head to the side, watching him as he spoke. It took a tentative step forward on its spindly legs, and then propped itself on three, holding the fourth out to him.

Logan eyed the appendage. The softer inside substance was filling the holes, making it appear to have small bumps, rather than holes. He held out a hand to it, but didn’t try to touch.

The alien bumped the end of its leg into Logan’s palm.

That seemed… good? Perhaps this was a greeting similar to a handshake?

Logan very gently grasped the end of the appendage, the softer inside substance feeling cool to the touch, and almost like a stiff putty, whereas the harder outer shell felt very smooth and rigid, similar to metal, but light.

The alien retracted their arm, and then looked between their arm and his hand. The inner substance reformed, pressing out from several holes into a clear attempt at fingers. It seemed to be fully controlled by the alien, and moveable, albeit much more slowly than Logan could move his own fingers.

“That’s very impressive,” Logan said.

The alien chittered back at him.

Perhaps they could get somewhere through a kind of charades.

•^*^••

“I think that’s all we can carry,” Roman said, looking over the wreckage.

“We can hold more, we aren’t full yet,” Remus protested, still sad that some of the ship’s inhabitants had taken the escape pods. Aside from the power crystal, which was far too unstable to take, they were the best value on the little ship.

“The whole 3rd cargo bay is empty for the two deathworlders, we’re full.” Roman insisted.

“Oh. Forgot about them. Well, if we can hold ‘em, they might be enough to make it worth it.”

“If we can refill,” Roman grumbled. “I was expecting usable power from this ship.”

It had really been a not-very-great raid. They’d lost Aide, and Bill, and Rahgezis, and hadn’t even gotten much of anything good out of it.

And the deathworlders were far too grumpy to join the crew. If they’d had enough room they would’ve separated them, but he just took away the translators and hoped they weren’t already pack-bonded, and wouldn’t become so. Two single deathworlders were bad enough, two together? Their ship would be a wreck from the inside out.

They needed to give them a rotation or two to calm down, try and have a talk, and then drop them off at the nearest Embassy and get away before bad things happened.

Maybe the Embassy would even pay them for handing over deathworlders. Or maybe they’d arrest them for being pirates.

But without Rahgezis, Remus didn’t want to attempt anything on the black market with such a high demand as deathworlders.

And the teleportation bands should make it a little easier on them. They were super old, and no one in their right mind would use them, except as a practical joke, or a way of keeping enemies too off balance to attack. The ones on the two of them had been fused closed, rather than the usual buckle, so he felt more safe trying to hold the deathworlders than he would otherwise.

They’d only found one remote, but Inshes was already working on making a second.

“I’m going to see if the Scraascik is on any registries,” Roman said. “And I’ll check for the Human, but that’s less likely.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll handle getting us moving again. If they’re awake, maybe you could see about dropping some food into the cargo bay.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” Roman sighed.

Remus set a claw on Roman’s back. Roman grumbled, leaning into Remus’s side, and then went off to do his research.

It’d been a hard day for both of them.

•^*^••

They’d managed to exchange names… sort of. The alien’s name was two notes, whistled lower than Logan was capable of, and likewise there was no way of the alien being able to pronounce the word Logan.

But the alien made a deep, almost resonant sound, that was as close as it seemed they could get to anything involving vocal cords. And that was their version of Logan.

Logan considered the two note sound, and came up with a slightly similar-sounding name. Virgil.

Neither of their names for each other were really very similar to their actual names, but they were able to understand each other, and that was what mattered.

As it turned out, Virgil was stronger than he was at pushing things, or hitting, but they couldn’t pull with any strength.

Logan was focusing his attention on the door, and had been so far unsuccessful in prying it open. It was solidly locked, and the lock seemed to only be on the other side of the door. Which likely meant that this room was detachable from the rest of the ship, in case of emergency or danger.

“Virgil.” Logan said, and Virgil turned to look at him from the patch on the wall they’d been inspecting.

Logan hit the door with his palm, his arm straight, in an imitation of the way he’d seen Virgil hit some of the patches, trying to break them. “Hit here.” He pointed at Virgil, and then at a spot where he suspected the lock was.

Virgil made a chittering sound and shambled over.

Logan again mimicked the strike, and then pointed at Virgil.

Virgil got into position. They were able to balance on three legs and rock their whole body weight forward to strike that small point their arm hit with all their strength and weight together.

They tried three times, but the door held firm.

Logan was impressed that they did not seem hurt by the attempt. Their exoskeleton must be very strong indeed. Which was possibly a part of why they were considered a deathworlder.

Logan wondered what their home planet was like.

The door suddenly opened, an alien clearly holding up one of the remotes to the teleporters.

Virgil backed away, turning and running to the other end of the room.

The alien spoke into a small microphone, which translated. “I brought food. Don’t come near me.”

The alien’s body looked almost bear-like, but with longer legs, clearly bipedal. They were only about half the size of a bear though. The fur also was shorter and sparser, and a very reddish kind of brown. The hands looked more useful than a bear’s paws as well. The head though was very unlike a bear’s. Logan didn’t know what to compare it to.

The alien was wearing clothes, which Logan had learned was entirely optional to most aliens, in bright reds and goldish yellows.

Perhaps this meant that this particular alien was more… Logan hesitated to say civilized. He scarcely knew anything about aliens, and could hardly make such judgements about them. Still, he believed he had a bit more chance reasoning with this one.

“Let us out of here,” he said, grateful that the translator picked it up and interpreted it.

“No.”

“We will leave you alone, we will not harm the ship. Let us go,” Logan said calmly but firmly.

The alien again said no, pushing in a tray of what could be food into the room with their foot, already starting to close the door.

“Wait!” Logan said, stepping forward.

The alien jumped, and pushed the button on the remote.

It didn’t seem to affect Logan, but instead Virgil was teleported close to the door. Virgil stumbled, falling against the wall and letting out what could only be described as a scream.

The alien who had delivered food looked even more scared now, and quickly shut the door. Logan pushed through his shock and alarm to try to open the door before it could be locked, but he was too late.

Virgil slumped to the ground, scream fading to a whistling wheeze.

As bad as the teleportation felt to him, Logan was scared that Virgil was being injured by it. Perhaps on the inside, where they were softer. Or perhaps it put too much strain on their rigid exoskeleton.

Was there anything he could do? He didn’t have any idea about what Virgil could need for medical care, and he didn’t want an attempt at comfort to be construed as an attack, especially while Virgil was vulnerable.

He knelt close to Virgil, a bit farther than an arm's length.

“Virgil?”

Virgil’s eyes opened, and from this close Logan could see the differentiation between pupil and iris. Virgil’s eyes were moving back and forth, like Logan had seen before in children who’d been spun in circles. He was likely still extremely disoriented then.

Virgil lifted one arm and waved it around slowly. It knocked into Logan’s shoulder lightly, and Virgil kept tapping it against his shoulders and head. Logan allowed it without complaint, guessing that it was grounding to Virgil, being able to verify that Logan was in one place and not moving, not spinning.

Virgil gradually steadied, taking their arm back.

Logan wished he had a way to ask ‘are you ok?’, but he didn’t. The best he had was, “Virgil?”

The whistle-clack he got in return seemed more positive than negative, though he had no way of accurately judging alien tones.

“Logan.”

Logan nodded, as it seemed the correct response.

Virgil pointed towards the nearly-forgotten tray, and Logan went to get it. Virgil struggled to their feet, looking something like a very large baby deer first trying to stand. If Logan had to guess, Virgil’s kind didn’t frequently sit or lie down.

The tray had a number of small round roll-like things that Logan was now accustomed to seeing. They were similar to banana bread in texture, but the taste was salty and rather bitter. When he’d asked, he’d been told that they were the standard in rations as they kept for a long time, and held an array of nutrients that was sufficient for the basic needs of a majority of species.

He suspected that he would require some greens or fruit if he continued eating these primarily, but he hadn’t seen any anywhere, only these.

Virgil stood over him and leaned down as much as they seemed easily capable of, which still left their head several feet above the ground. Logan was just wondering if they would need assistance to eat when a very long tongue, or perhaps proboscis, unrolled from their mouth and curled around one of the rolls, pulling it up into their mouth.

“What do you eat natively?” Logan wondered aloud. “And do you need water?”

There was a pitcher of water and two small cups. Logan poured one cup full and held it out to Virgil.

Virgil seemed to still be chewing, however, and incapable of drinking while doing so. Or perhaps they didn’t require water. Though, now that Logan was watching, he didn’t believe they were chewing at all. Certainly there was no jaw movement. They could be massaging the food with their tongue, and have particularly effective saliva perhaps.

Logan started eating a roll, setting Virgil’s cup down and filling the other for himself.

A minute later Virgil’s tongue unrolled again and drained the cup, seemingly effective as a massive straw.

“You really are fascinating,” Logan said softly. “Were we not in such a situation I would love to learn more about you.”

Virgil responded with a series of clicks and whistles.

“As it is though, we probably ought to attempt an escape. They haven’t tried to get anything from us, which makes me think they intend on trafficking us further. Most likely they don’t have the power to force us into work like the last ship did, so I think, despite the danger, that this will be our best chance. Of course, the danger is greater for you, the teleportation seems to hurt you much more than it does me.” Logan thought for a while. “I think our best bet would be to try forcing our way out the door the next time it opens. Perhaps one of us could knock the remote away. It is enlightening to know that the remote only works on one of us at a time.”

Logan sighed. “Of course we don’t know when or if they’ll enter again. It’s possible we’ll be held here until we reach wherever we’re going.”

Virgil made a low, soft whistle.

Logan laid on his back. “I can’t even properly ask you for your partnership. It’s infuriating to not be able to succeed at anything I attempt. There’s such a wealth of knowledge that is necessary, and I have no idea of any of it. Nor a way of learning, save through painful experience. I can’t become complacent, I have to effect change, but I never know when my efforts will be simply overturned.”

Virgil nudged his arm with their own.

Logan turned to look at them. Virgil chittered at him, bobbing up and down on their legs.

“What is it?”

“Logan.” Virgil said, still bobbing up and down.

Logan sat up. “I don’t understand.”

Virgil tapped his legs with their arm. “Logan.”

Logan stood up. “Is this what you want? Oh. If you don’t lay down to sleep, you must’ve been concerned when I did. I’ll have to sleep sometime though, and surely you’ve been exposed to aliens that lay down to sleep.”

But rather than relaxing, as Logan would assume Virgil would do if they were concerned, Virgil stepped closer, almost over Logan. Their antenna tilted towards him.

“Oh I see, this would be how you would confirm that I’m healthy, by feeling with your antenna, yes?” Logan remained still, unsurprised when there was a soft touch on his head.

But he was not at all expecting the sudden mental image of himself tackling the alien who’d delivered the food. It was so vivid it was as if he was already doing it, seeing the door open, tackling the alien, smashing the remote, and running forward to climb onto Virgil’s back as Virgil ran them both through the hallway.

Logan jerked back, falling on his butt. “What was that?! You have telepathy??”

Virgil made a movement that could be best described as a shrug.

Logan stood up again, reaching his hand out, battling his speed from excitement in an attempt not to scare Virgil. “Can we do it again?”

Virgil brushed his hand with their antenna, and the same scene flashed before his mind’s eye.

“Yes, yes I’ll do that! Can you understand my answer?”

Virgil made a whistle that Logan was almost certain was affirmative.

Logan paced back and forth excitedly, thinking out loud. “So you can communicate with me even if I can’t communicate with you well. And you very much want my partnership in escaping. We have a plan now. And a form of communication. Virgil, this is amazing!”

Virgil made an almost trilling noise.

•^*^••

“No, it hurt the Scraascik,” Roman said, already changing the ship’s course. “We can’t hold them safely, we have to get to the Embassy.”

“We didn’t even ask them to join us yet!” Remus protested.

“Would you join a strange crew after they hurt you?” Roman retorted, sending a message to the engine room to increase speed.

“Well what about the other one?”

“Remus. It won’t work.” Roman glared at him. “I don’t want to take chances with deathworlders.”

Remus sighed. “Fine. But let me try talking to them before we get there.”

Roman’s face went hard. “You have until we arrive,” he finally conceded.

Remus hurried down to the cargo bay.

He burst the door open, and it slammed shut behind him. Both deathworlders jolted, staring at him.

He then realized that he’d entirely forgotten the remote and the duplicate, and also that he was locked in a room with two deathworlders.

Well, there was a reason people joked he was addicted to adrenaline.

“Hello!” He said, waving. “I’m wondering if you’ll join my crew.”

The human moved first, standing up to a height decently taller than Remus was. And the Scraascik was even larger.

Perhaps he really was in serious danger.

“We just want to leave,” the human said, sounding rather threatening.

Probably telling them about the plan to hand them over to the Embassy then wasn’t a good idea until he was sure that he wasn’t in attack distance anymore. “You can, leave with us. Join our crew and you can adventure with us, raid ships, explore planets!”

“We want to leave alone,” the human said firmly.

“We? So… you bonded then? I guess that rumor is true, deathworlders all really do bond super fast.”

The human bared its teeth at him. “I will not be bonding to your crew based on your desires. I will not remain here, I want to leave. We want to leave.”

The Scraascik agreed in some of the most heavily accented Common Remus had ever heard. No wonder the translators hadn’t picked up any of his yelling when they’d boarded the ship. He’d probably need a translator to touch his antenna, but good luck getting a Scraascik to let anything touch their antenna.

“So you won’t even consider it?” Remus asked, not yet daunted.

“You’ve essentially kidnapped us, and both can and have hurt us! Why would I consider it?”

Yikes, the human sounded angry.

“Well we didn’t mean to hurt you, really, it’s not meant to be that bad. And we only kidnapped you from other kidnappers, and also I can’t hurt you cause I forgot the remote.”

The two deathworlders looked at each other, and Remus knew he really had gone and shoved his whole fist in his mouth. The human shifted position to a much more threatening crouch, as if it was going to pounce on him.

Remus held his arms out, claws at the ready. He might not have a hope of winning against deathworlders, but he could certainly make himself a pain of a target.

“I know I’m a pirate, but this was supposed to be just a talk,” Remus said, wondering if he’d be able to hit the communicator in time and if rescue was possible. Violent deathworlders in an enclosed space was not something he wanted his crew walking into, even for a rescue.

“It’s not much of a talk when we don’t have a say,” the human said, looking more and more threatening every second.

Iaoth , he wanted this human on his crew.

“Of course you have a say!” Remus said. “Name it, what position do you want, what pay, days off, I’ll give you whatever room in the ship you want as your quarters.”

“I fundamentally disagree with joining people that would knowingly traffic other people,” the human growled.

And then it leapt forward.

Remus yelped, swiping at the human and hitting the communicator with his other hand. “Roman!”

He was tackled to the ground, and the Scraascik pinned one arm while the human sat on his middle and held his other arm down.

“Remus?!” Roman’s voice came through the communicator.

“Let us go,” the human growled. “Once we’re out we’ll let them go.”

There was a tremor to the floor that Remus recognized. Roman must have been overloading the engine, they’d arrived and were docking.

“Is Remus ok?” Roman asked, sounding terrified.

“I’m fine, just a little stuck,” Remus said, trying to not sound scared so Roman wouldn’t get even more worried. “Laying under a deathworlder~ not quite as fun as I always imagined.”

Roman made a sound somewhere between a sob and laugh. “I’m coming to let you out. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

Remus was honestly a bit surprised that he was only pinned. The human was leaking blood from its shoulder and across its chest where Remus’s swipe had connected, but it hadn’t retaliated.

“Hurry,” the human said coldly.

The communicator turned off, and Remus had a strong suspicion Roman was calling the Embassy to have guards outside the ship when the cargo hold was opened.

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Remus asked. “I know it won’t look like it from your end, but we don’t traffic, we take from ships we attack, but we’d either let them join us or take them to the authorities, we don’t just continue the traffic. And we could use people like you, you could help us take down so many more ships.”

The Scraascik leaned harder on his arm, and Remus grimaced.

“What would the authorities do?” The human asked.

“Uhhhh… well with the Scraascik, probably drop him back on his own planet, or with a Scraascik colony. Your planet though is still restricted, so they’d probably keep you until it’s opened.”

The human’s face contorted into something that did not look good for Remus.

“We’re on our way there, aren’t we?”

Remus wasn’t sure he dared lie, not when he was pinned to the ground with two very angry-seeming deathworlders over him. “Yeah.”

The human hit the communicator. “Listen.”

“I’m listening,” Roman said warily.

“Don’t open the cargo hold,” the human ordered. “You’re a pirate ship. You have smaller ships for scavenging, yes?”

“…yes.”

“Give us one.”

There was a long pause from Roman.

“Put food and fuel and translators in it,” the human said firmly. “We’re taking this one with us until we’re safely inside.”

This was probably wrecking Roman’s plans. There would be authorities involved and now no deathworlders to give them.

“Alright,” Roman said.

•^*^••

The door to the cargo hold was opened. Logan had the bear-alien in a tight hold, and Virgil was above them, looking like they were ready to strike out at anything that got within range.

They managed to walk along the halls until they reached the smaller ship. Logan had no idea how he was going to fly it, but it was the biggest chance by far that he’d had yet.

He shoved the bear alien away and slammed the door shut.

Virgil went immediately to the pilot’s seat, and Logan was amazed to see that there were places in the ceiling that fit their antenna. Soon there was a fast and loud humming, and the tiny ship lurched into motion.

•^*^••

Patton was being sent, since they didn’t really believe that there could be a Human and a Scraascik on the cobbled-together ship that had docked. So it was just him and Janus.

Janus wrapped his long tail around the back of Patton’s neck for balance as Patton walked back and forth, waiting for the ship to open its cargo bay.

It sure was taking a long time. They’d seemed so rushed when they called, but now they just wouldn’t open.

And then there was an engine powering up.

A teeny little scavenging ship took off from the bigger one, flying off. Patton scanned it, alarmed to see that there was indeed a Scraascik and a Human signature on board.

“Hey! Hey wait!”

He pulled out his radio, quickly setting it to the bigger ship’s frequency. “Let me in and go after them! We can’t let a Human go flying around unattended!”

“If they don’t let us in fast, go take the SC Meteor,” Janus said.

Patton wasn’t too surprised when the ship started undocking without answering him.

“We’ll get them!” He yelled, running for the Meteor.

#Forgot I meant to post this on tumblr and never did 😅 #my own work #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #humans are space orcs

[a-n-conrad]

Rivals to Lovers HCs (Bakugo x Reader)

Request: From my request survey (https://forms.gle/FpFyr84gPioVrW1Z9)

Bakugo makes rivals easier than Deku makes friends.

He’s just so… loud and competitive. It’s easy to want to beat him just so you can rub it in his face. He just… makes it so easy to want to fight him.

So it doesn’t even matter what your goal is at UA. At some point you will develop an urge to beat him at something. Anything. It doesn’t even matter what. You just want to win and rub it in his stupid, cocky face.

It’s thinking about that which makes you realize that maybe his face isn’t that stupid. It might, maybe be (and you say this with extreme reluctance) a little pretty.

You swear to tell no one. You will take that to your grave. (Or so you thought)

Bakugo would have to respect you in some way in order to view you as a rival. He won’t tell you, but he definitely respects you quite a bit (even at the beginning).

But his respect for you only grows as you become more determined to beat him. He will act like it gets on his nerves, but honestly, he kind of appreciates the competition. And he finds it oddly endearing how hard you’re trying to win. At everything. You’re starting to make up competitions to try to beat him at. It’s cute.

And you get so frustrated that you keep losing. You’re so close to winning and you just can’t. And he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t find you cute when you were mad (he definitely lies about that, though. No one needs to know. He will take that to his grave. At least, that’s what he thinks.)

Everything comes to a head after you lose at another competition. You’re practically fuming at this point.

He can’t help but laugh at the (cute) angry face you’re making.

This just makes you more mad, and you start yelling at him. Just a bunch of meaningless insults. He just laughs even more. He can’t help it. You’re so cute and you’re making such a fuss about nothing.

Denki has been watching all of your interactions since you developed this goal of beating Bakugo at something.

He’s also (and this may come as a surprise to some) not a complete idiot.

Bakugo doesn’t laugh like that with just anyone. And he normally wouldn’t put up with the kind of stupid games you keep forcing him into.

And you didn’t get nearly this worked up over just anyone.

He knew. And being the filter-less loudmouth he was, of course he’d say something about it.

“Can you two just kiss already?”

He regrets it the moment he said it. If Bakugo doesn’t kill him, you will.

But both of you are too caught off guard to do anything at that moment.

You just stare at each other for a while. And then you realize that neither of you are saying anything against it. And then you notice the light pink across his cheeks. And maybe there isn’t any reason to take your crush to your grave. Maybe that was a bit dramatic.

You mutter out a quick “fuck it” and pull him into a kiss.

Bakugo is genuinely flustered. He’d normally respond to things that catch him off guard with anger, but you kissing him seems to melt away his ability to get mad at you. He thought that was going to go very differently.

You don’t say anything else. The flustered look on his face is just so satisfying. You can’t help but feel like you won something, finally.

You just walk away with a smug look on your face, leaving him to gather his scattered brain on his own.

Expect him to get back at you. Teasing turns to flirting and your class fucking hates you. You guys are so weird. You flirt like it’s a contest and they really want you to stop. (Denki is proud of himself, though).

Overall, you guys develop a really weird competitive relationship. It’s fine. You guys like it, and you can be a lot softer in private. But you definitely weird everyone out. Good for you, though. Have fun with that.

#mha x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha katsuki bakugou #bakugo #bakugo x reader

[bokettochild]

i've kinda always thought that legend would a beekeeper. he just looks like he'd bee one, if that makes sense. don't know, can't explain it

Honey, you can't expect that this wouldn't join Ketto's Cottagecore Collection :)

There are many things that Ravio likes about Hyrule.

Mr. Hero’s bees are not one of them.

Oh, he loves the life that the bees spread, the flowers they tend, he loves dolloping gobs of honey over his bread while Mr. Hero watches with something that is shock, concern and awe all at once. He enjoys the gentle humming that always drifts in through the windows and sets the mood for a busy day, and he likes watching Mr. Hero putter about the hives with that soft little expression on his face, a tune on his lips that the bees seem to echo in their hums.

(He also likes the silly little dances Mr. Hero will break into while he works when he thinks no one is watching).

But what he doesn’t like are the bees themselves.

Mr. Hero, unfortunately, loves them.

“Does it have to be here?” Rupee green eyes peek out from out from under his hood as he stares across the table. It’s one of those rare moments between darting across Hyrule and Lorule where Mr. Hero will stop and stay at the house for a day or two. Not that his housemate really has a choice, Mr. Hero’s leg is busted horridly, and kingdom to save or no, he can hardly limp around the house, much less tromp all over the kingdom.

“She’s fine.” Mr. Hero’s voice is softer than normal, smooth as honey as a soft expression plays over his usually scowling face, watching the bee that crawls over his hand with a fond expression as the tiny thing attends to a droplet of honey from their mid-day meal. Three or four others buzz around the hero’s head, his ears twitching ever so slightly as he tracks their motions. But still, Mr. Hero is as calm as could be as he munches some bread, violet fixed on yellow and black stripes.

Ravio himself is half a buzz away from jumping up from the table and hiding in the bed-room. “They’re bees!”

“Hush!” Mr. Hero’s face twists into a scowl, scolding but harsh. “Don’t be so loud, you’ll scare them.”

“I’ll scare them?” Seriously? Does Mr. Hero have no care for his feelings? “Mr. Hero, I don’t mind if dear come to trim your front yard. I don’t mind if birds fly in through your windows to wake you up. I don’t mind if rabbits help you work in the garden or kangaroos appear in the living room, or even if there’s a bear restocking the woodpile. But bees?” He has to fight not to raise his voice as Mr. Hero stares at him. “Why?”

“They’re harmless. And they’re just helping out.”

“They sting!” Ravio whimpers, drawing his arms close to his chest as a particularly inquisitive insect buzzes over to investigate the green eye patches of his bunny robe.

“Only monsters.” Mr. Hero’s smile is sickly sweet and utterly terrifying, and Ravio finds himself shivering at the sight of the dark clouds that flash through his doppelganger's eyes.

“Yes, well. I’m not exactly Hylian.”

Mr. Hero only snorts at that, but from that point on, Mr. Hero stopped setting out a little dish of honey on the countertop while they ate.

It is annoying that he chose to put it on the porch though.

“What are the little bumbly things?” Tune asks, staring at him with his face twisted up in confusion. “And why is everyone else scared of them?”

Ravio’s head shoots up from his bag, eyes flitting around nervously as he searches for the “bumbly things” in question, only to have the kid point out a whole nest of them perched in a tree not far from their camp, a few soldiers standing about and pointing, their idiot selves likely considering the pros and cons of raiding it.

“Bees.” He clips back, voice strained as he tries to force a smile for the youngster. “They make honey and wax and things.”

Tune frowns, silver-teal eyes flickering in thought. “I’ve never heard of bees before. I don’t think we have them on the great Sea.”

“Don’t have what on the Great Sea, kid?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir questions, and Ravio jumps in surprise when he sees the man leaning over him to look at the sailor.

“Mr. Captain Hero Sir!”

“Ravio.” The leader’s face melts into a lovely smile, bright and honest in a way it isn’t most of the time anymore. “What are you two talking about?”

“Bees.” Wind points again to the nest in the tree, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s face melts into a tired frown that only becomes a scowl as he spies Mask already halfway up the backside of the tree where the soldiers can’t see him.

“Bees.” Comes the tired sigh.

“Mr. Hero keeps bees.” Ravio muses. It’s been forever since he’d seen his dear friend, and it makes him worry. Is Mr. Hero eating enough? Who’s making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the floor? Who’s keeping the house clean so he can tend the orchard? Is someone there to make sure that there’s food in the house? That trips are made to the market?

Oh heavens! Worry gnaws away in his chest. What if the soldiers have caught Mr. Hero again? What if he’s been hurt and there’s no one there to help him clean and dress the wounds?

The animals that flit over the house like something out of a fairy tale can only do so much, and blood will only scare them away, just as sure as Ravio’s startled squeaks and whimpers would.

“Hey.” A warm hand settles on his shoulder and he finds himself looking up into rich royal eyes as Mr. Captain Hero Sir stares down at him with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m worried.” He murmurs in return, fingers fiddling with the edges of his scarf. “But there’s nothing that can be done about it, not yet.” He tries for a smile, but he knows based off of his friend’s reaction that either it can’t be seen beneath his hood or that it’s not convincing. “Go get Mask, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, before he gets himself stung.”

There’s a sharp cry or three and the angry buzzing of bees and the three of them wince collectively. “Or not.” The tired captain sighs, patting his shoulder gently before darting over to the campfire and grabbing one of the discarded torches.

“What-”

“Smoke calms bees down.” Ravio answers before Tune can finish asking the question. “Mr. Hero uses it when they get really fussy.”

Tune stares at him oddly, but doesn't ask.

That evening, Ravio finds himself with an armload of Mask while the kid sulks and pouts, grumbling and swearing under his breath as the merchant and captain work together to free him from his bee inflicted torture.

“Thank the goddesses you’re not allergic.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir scolds, waving his tweezers in Mask’s face while Ravio tries his hardest to focus on a stinger lodges between the kid’s fingers, fighting winces and whimpers of his own while Mask sits through the scolding and treatment with only the occasional hiss and glare.

“I’ve dealt with bees before.” Their youngest huffs petulantly.

“Wild bees?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir cocks a brow, disbelieving.

“Forest bees.” The kid rolls his eyes.

“Well then you should know by now not to mess with them.” The captain sounds, and acts, so much like a tired father that it makes Ravio smile softly.

How would Mr. Captain Hero Sir deal with Mr. Hero’s snark and sass, he wonders.

How would the captain handle yet another self-sacrificing teenager who really needs an adult, he muses that night, as two sticky pre-teens curl against the captain’s sides, the three wrapped in the man’s scarf while Mr. Captain Hero Sir strokes their blonde heads. Mask is drooling and Tune keeps twitching and snoring loudly, but the man who holds them couldn’t look more at peace.

Bright blue eyes meet his own over the campfire’s flames. “There’s room for one more.”

The snort pushes itself from him before he has a chance to stop it. “Where?”

The man smiles, shifting and pulling Mask into his lap, the kid nestles against his chest, tucking his thumb in his mouth slowly in a motion that has Ravio cooing softly while the captain laughs. “Such a grown up.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir teases softly, knowing full well the target can’t hear him, before patting the ground next to him. “Here.”

Ravio doesn’t say no. Mr. Captain Hero’s arms aren’t as warm and safe and home-like as Mr. Hero’s, but they’re nice, and it’s closer to home than he is on the opposite side of the fire. As he settles down, the captain smiles at him, face cheeky as he motions to the bowl still sitting at his knee. “Honey?”

After that night, he successfully impressed two heroes of courage with how much honey he could eat, and when the light had faded fully, Mr. Captain Hero Sir found himself with three snoring boys I his arms, each full to bursting with sweet golden honey, and each nursing more than a few stings.

When Impa made her rounds, whispering a teasing comment about going soft, the captain only shot her a grin and a playfully rude gesture, making the woman laugh.

“Bees!” Tune- no, Wind- chuckles, pointing out the hives behind the house as if he’s never seen the creatures before.

Captain hero Sir Jr. Winces, pulling away from the field as his father- brother? Snorts out knowing laughter behind them.

“Yeah.” Mr. Hero shrugs. “They help keep the orchard healthy and provide us with honey and wax. We practically need six colonies with how much honey Ravio eats.” The jab is playful but the easy smile on Mr. Hero’s face fades when he sees the uneasy way that all of the others are staring at the hives, Captain Hero Sir Jr. backing away and shaking his head slowly, soft murmurs of ‘no, no, no’ sounding as he and Wind exchange looks.

Mr. Hero crosses his arms. “You’re not all afraid of bees, are you?”

Guilty glances are exchanged between the heroes.

“To be fair,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. raises one hand, looking every inch the over-grown child that he is. “They sting.”

The simple statement has Mr. Hero blinking slowly in disbelief as the others all nod along, murmurs of agreement humming along with the bees as the vet stares in shock. “You’re all scared of bees?” A nervous shuffle spreads through the group, worsening as several of the fuzzy insects in question begin to make their way over. “Unbelievable.” Mr. Hero breathes, throwing his hands up.

“They- they sting.” Ravio reminds him, shivering as several of the creatures in question begin to land on Mr. Hero’s arms and hands, tiny les crawling along as the insects look for their favored snack in the hero’s grasp.

Mr. Hero raises a hand. “Look,” He almost sounds pleading. “Sky, pities sakes, it’s like a hummingbird!”

That seems to work on Mr. Chosen Hero, who peers forwards carefully, but none of the others are convinced.

It’s nervous glances that are thrown around the house by the heroes.

The bees followed Mr. Hero inside and even by his own admission he can’t force them back out without upsetting them, so instead he lets them hover around his ears and crawl over his fingers, an odd little expression on his face as they do so.

Ravio and the heroes give him a wide berth.

“Okay.” Mr. Traveler Hero frowns. “Is Legend being weird, or is that just me?”

“He’s always like this.” Ravio sighs, clutching his scarf in both hands and worrying the fringe he’d sewn onto this one. “You should see the lawnmowers.”

The heroes share a look. “Lawnmowers?”

“Deer.” He replies, an easy smile pulling at previously tensed features. “All sorts of forest animals really. It’s a nice help, but I can’t stand the bees.”

“Ah.”

A giggle breaks their focus, and shocked faces whip around to where Mr. Hero is curled up in his chair, cheeks pink as bees swarm over him, buzzing happily while the vet giggles and chortles softly, muffled complaints sounding from behind his hands. “Ladies, please! I’m-” Another laugh breaks the silence, violet eyes glittering in the fading light of the kitchen as Legend reaches up to gently remove a bee from where it’s crawling over the tip of his ear.

“The vet’s ticklish.” Mr. Rancher breathes, mischief lighting a dangerous fire in his eyes as he watches Legend plead with his insect friends to leave him alone.

“Oh yes!” The mischief is echoed in Mr. Chosen Hero’s crystal blue gaze as he winks. “Very.”

Soft titters and gentle laughs sound and the rest are drawn close as the vet playfully bats away the bees, begging and pleading between laughs as buzzes that could almost be laughter sound.

One of the tiny things settles on Mr. Smithy’s nose, humming lightly as the smithy stares at t in horror before buzzing off again harmlessly.

The next morning at the breakfast table, Mr. Hero makes extra certain to close the window while Ravio sets out fresh tea and biscuits, accompanied by warmed honey.

Mr. Hero isn’t safe however, and Mr. Chosen Hero makes a point of proving how ticklish the vet can be when he gently rubs his fingers over the tips of Mr. Hero’s ears. The honey wand drizzles sweet syrup everywhere as a startled and breathy laugh sounds, his friend batting off a grinning Mr. Cosen Hero and begging for him to stop.

“Sky! Sky please! Oh golly! Dad! Stop!”

When at last the caped hero releases Mr. Hero it’s with a beaming flush over his face while the vet groans against the hardwood table, honey absolutely everywhere.

“Quite buzzy there, honeybee.” Ravio chuckles, grin spreading wider at the half-hearted scowl sent his way.

#bees #ketto writes cottagecore #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu legend #lu wild #lu sky #lu warriors #lu wind #lu time #ravio's funky names for everyone #fluffics

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

I’m going through a rough time atm and I was wondering if you’re okay if I request some characters with a s/o who is just tired a lot, can’t concentrate and don’t really have energy to do stuff.

I wish I knew what characters were your comfort characters, so I could make this even better for you! I hope you feel better and the little quick drabbles help you a bit. I went with my 3 most requested, as they tend to be more often than not comfort characters. I hope that’s alright with you! Feel free to drop another request for a character that I didn’t include here.

For hard times |Dazai, Chuuya, Atsushi x Reader|

Warnings: implied depression, symptoms of depression.

Genre: comfort-

Total words- 1504

Dazai:

417 words

From the start of this, he had suspicions you were feeling a little down. Watching you sit alone and look less cheery with the passing hours, days, maybe it had been a few weeks. He wanted to make you feel better, but he didn’t know how to. He was after all in your position most of the time. Unmotivated and too tired to do anything, let alone want to move about. He wanted to know what was pushing your mood down. This need grew stronger the longer he watched your tired expression. There was nothing this man wanted more than to make you feel better. Even if he didn’t understand what it was, that was pulling you under.

With careful steps, he walked over to you with a soft blanket, woven with soft strands of silky yarn. He set it over your shoulders, wrapping it around you. Watching your half-lidded eyes look over to him from the unexpected gesture he simply shook his head. Pressing his hand to your cheek, he softly smiled. The slight lift to his lips was only ever revealed to you. This kind, gentle, serious expression was his vulnerability. He hoped you would open up your woes to him. Let you rant and pour whatever feelings were bottling up and slowly dragging you down. He didn’t care what it was, a co-worker, a friend, a relationship of some kind, an ex, your family life, he just needed to help you. So as he watched you with honest worry, he pulled you close, so your head rested on his chest. “When you're ready, I’ll be here for you to drop your pain.” His voice was softer, lacking his signature playful teasing. There was nothing but an oddly comforting smoothness to his voice. Low and slightly choked as he held you. He was unsure if this little reassurance; this little contact comforted you. 

He’d hold you until you could no longer cry, or until you were peacefully asleep. Even then, he’d keep your body close to his. If he were to fall asleep, he would not let you go. He would never let you go, not until you felt safe and slightly better. Even if it was only half a percent of a change, he would be happy to have helped your mood lift. He’s never going to push you to tell him what’s bothering you. He won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. Well, except eat, he can’t have you starving. 

Chuuya:

474 words

He’d be too caught up with work to notice it immediately, the changes in your mood and behavior. That doesn't mean he never does though. Out of everybody in the mafia, you were the most important to him. He was willing to take any risk to keep you safe. If he finds out because you don’t show up and refuse to drag yourself from bed, he shakes his head, refuse wouldn’t be the right word here. It’s more like he understands you can’t. Something is crushing you like a weight, and he becomes determined to fix that issue. He hardly ever talks softly, but around your tired, nearly life-less form he’s soft. His steps aren't loud stomps, but instead a soft pattern of clicks. The heels of his shoes provide you a perfect rhythm. He’ll buy you chocolate because of the serotonin that they’re proven to induce. He never asks for details, he knows you would tell him if you needed to. However, just in case you are staying silent about the weight that’s causing this pain, due to the fear he’ll think you are weak. He hints that he would never see you in such a dull fashion. “Hey, you know you can always tell me if something is wrong, right? You know I keep my word, I won't judge or tell anybody else.” There was more he wanted to say. Part of that was an expression of how much he cared about you. He stayed silent in fear he would be selfish in doing so. If those words are the trigger for you to slip from holding it all in, he wraps you in his arms and lets you do what you need to. 

He doesn't care if you shout, pound your fists against his chest, cry, or do a mix of all of that. He wants you to get it all out until that weight can start to loosen, and you can start to feel free from the troubles holding down your smile. He’ll hold you after your meltdown. He will not let anybody else see you. They will not get a chance to lay a finger on you. If a specific person was the cause, like an ex, a bully, a sibling, he’ll wait till you're peacefully asleep, then have a… talk with them. He warns them that if you’re ever hurt again, they won’t get off with simply being terrified for their life. He’s insanely protective of the people close to him. You get the front of that protective nature, you’re the one he cares for the most. Whether you return such feelings or not, it won’t change anything. He hates seeing your tears, so he’ll always be there for you to cling to in such times. You are never alone, he will always be there to support you.

Atsushi:

613 words

When he first noticed you were down, he was working; doing the work Dazai had shoved at him. He liked to think you were a hard worker, so seeing you so… tired was a slight abnormality to him. He noticed how you were struggling to stay concentrated. Every so often he’d look over and find you blankly staring off, eyes glossed over. When everybody else was gone, he walked to your desk whilst fidgeting with the hem of his gloves. Taking deep breaths, he was upfront about what he’d noticed. “Are you feeling alright?” "I-I could uh take you somewhere if you want.” If you tell him you're fine, he’ll hang his head before gathering the courage to confront the lie. Even your tone was different; it sounded almost as if you had given up on everything. He knew that low, depressed tone. He used to have such a pitch to his own voice before he found his place here. He remembered how much pain he had gone through. The mental baggage of the past, the fear of what he found out was his own ability. He didn’t want that to be the pain rising in your mind. He’d pull over a chair and swipe away the pile of unfinished requests. “You’re not though. I-I don’t want to intrude, but maybe… maybe you should take some time? You seem tired, I could get you some sweets and other things if you want.” He would mutter the words under his breath until you shrugged.

When he returned, he found you on the agency sofa doing nothing but holding yourself; too exhausted to attempt to do anything. You couldn’t, not with how you felt. The thoughts racing in your head were too much to hold on to on your own. You wondered how people got this far with such a mindset. So trapped in your thoughts, you never noticed Atsushi take a seat at the other end. Sliding down bags of candy and flavored sweet drinks. He knew sugar induced serotonin, but wasn’t sure if that worked with everybody. The next thing he decided to do was look to the side and speak to you again. “If you’re going through something, I'm… we’re all here for you. The entire agency, you know, we're kind of like our own family? If you're hurting or holding something all on your own, you can tell us.” Turning back to you, he inched closer and reached for your hand. With a slow movement, he rubbed the back of your hand. “I… really am here. I’ve felt like this before… I know how hard it can be to tell others what’s bothering you, but please… can you promise me you’ll fight?” When he noticed your confused face, he decided to say it. “You’re important to every single one of us. So please, if it gets too much and you want to take it to an extreme, please… please come to one of us.” His eyes sparkled with a plea. He wouldn’t know what to do if you did something to yourself out of this pain. 

If those words cause you to rush in for a hug, he’ll return the embrace. Running his hand over your back in an attempt to comfort you. He’s not the best at comfort, but he does whatever he can to help. Whether you want to hear more reassurance or just have somebody to cling to while you're unmotivated. 

These things will eventually get better, with the right people, the right comfort, the right hobbies. These moments pass and light will shine. He hopes you’ll be able to see the light peek from the clouds soon.

#comfort post #comfort request #bsd comfort #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x reader comfort #bsd drabble #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs drabble #dazai #dazai comfort #dazai x reader #dazai x reader comfort #dazai drabble #chuuya #chuya #chuuya comfort #chuya comfort #chuuya x reader #chuya x reader #chuuya x reader comfort #chuya x reader comfort #chuuya x reader drabble #dazai comfort drabble #atsushi #atsushi comfort #atsushi x reader #atsushi drabble #atsushi x reader drabble

[jaskierswolf]

lovely wolfie, Geraskier thigh dagger, please? <3

I was vibing with this one tonight. So here we go! 🗡

CW: implied weapon kink? (very lightly though), a little bit horny, Geralt is still coming to terms with being allowed to wear a dress, so know that.

____________

Geralt stared at his outfit on the bed. It wasn’t something he’d ever worn before but the rules of the party were clear. He had to wear a dress. Yennefer had smirked at his obvious discomfort when he’d asked her for help, but enchanted one of her gowns so it would fit him. She’d even offered to help Jaskier dress for the occasion but the bard had waved his hand and assured her he would be fine. Geralt sighed and pulled on the silk black dress. It had a split up one side that looked stunning on Yennefer but Geralt wasn’t really sure it was for him. He grumbled, muttering to a non-existent Roach as he fiddled with his stockings and garters, thankful for the practice he’d had over the years at undoing them, although attaching them was a whole new challenge. Lastly, and most importantly, he strapped a holster to each of his thighs.

They were attending the party for a reason.

Geralt preferred his swords but silver daggers were less conspicuous. The rumours were that the Countess was a werewolf and she’d been terrorising the villagers on her land every full moon. It was a tricky contract and Geralt was hoping it would end peacefully. As far as the Countess was aware Geralt was here as a companion to Jaskier who had been enlisted to attend the affair as a lutist.

“Geralt?”

Geralt smirked. Jaskier always knew when Geralt was thinking about him. It was strange how often the bard appeared just as Geralt’s mind drifted. He grunted loud enough for Jaskier to hear him. Jaskier’s head popped around the door, blue eyes lined with dark black smudges, red paint staining his lips. Geralt’s mouth went dry as he took in the sight before him. It was easy to forget just how muscular Jaskier’s arms were, hidden under puffy sleeves but now, in his white silk sleeveless dress… all Geralt could think about were Jaskier’s arms.

His tongue felt heavy, words stuck in his throat.

He tore his gaze away only to be distracted by the plunging neckline that revealed the dark chest hair underneath. It was incredible, Geralt thought, he’d expected to feel less masculine wearing Yen’s clothes, but seeing Jaskier in his dress, no one could deny the raw masculinity exuding from Jaskier. It made him wonder why he’d been so worried. It wasn’t his clothes that defined him as a witcher, not even his medallion. It was his skill and his heart.

And the silk did feel nice against his skin, much softer than his armour.

Jaskier’s eyes darkened as they roamed Geralt’s body. Geralt felt his cheeks heat up, feeling oddly exposed in front of his bard who had seen him in far more vulnerable positions over the years.

“Gods… you look…” Jaskier trailed off with a lick of his lips, as he moved slowly into the room, never breaking eye contact.

Geralt swallowed, Jaskier didn’t need to finish his sentence, Geralt knew how it ended. Looking at Jaskier, the soft silk flowing around his legs… Geralt knew.

Jaskier’s hand slid under Geralt’s skirt, fingers tracing up his thigh. Geralt’s breath hitched as Jaskier’s fingers caught the leather holster. “Ready for tonight, love?”

Geralt nodded, Jaskier’s breath was tickling on his lips but he didn’t move.

Jaskier’s lips ghosted over his, and the bard winked as he pulled back, pulling up his own skirts to reveal the jewelled dagger that Geralt had gifted him last summer. It was strapped above a lacy white garter that Geralt wanted to rip from Jaskier’s body with his teeth. He groaned and closed his eyes as Jaskier dropped his skirt. “Just in case, darling.”

“Fuck, Jask.”

Jaskier’s face was a picture of innocence, except the slight twinkle in his eyes. “Shall we go then?”

Geralt growled, stalking from the room, the long skirt of his dress billowing out behind him. The quicker they could get this over with, the quicker he could get Jaskier out of that dress and into his bed. ________ Tag list (Geraskier): @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @geralt-of-riviass @frances-the-red @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @llamasdumpsterfire @skai6 @actionnerdgamerlove @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #let geralt wear a dress! #it's what he deserves #nice soft silk things #wolfie's witcher writing #elliestormfound

[polishksiezniczka]

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Smut ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Some smut for our favorite priest ❤

As I was writing this, I couldn’t help but think that our favorite ~il camerlengo~ shares the trifecta of smut with Obi-Wan Kenobi: religious devotion, dramatic robes and pure, raw sexual energy. 🔥

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Patrick is oh so attentive and considerate. He strokes your body softly, listening as your heartbeats gradually slow and fall in sync together. He’ll softly whisper declarations of love to you in his luscious accent, making you flush even more.

Bonus: When you’re in each other’s arms bathing in the afterglow, he adores it when you carefully play with his crucifix necklace (you better believe he wears it during sex after you *accidentally* let slip how turned on you get when he wears it).

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Patrick loves to hold you using his upper body strength—his arms are deliciously strong and toned, but not in an overly-muscular way. He can’t help but groan and roll his head back when you cling to them for dear life during the throes of passion, your nails lightly digging into his skin.  

It’s difficult for him to choose—you’re too perfect to pick just one element. If he had to, he’d choose your hair, your neck, or your breasts.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Because he was brought up in the Church, he doesn’t really do that sort of thing. Not to mention he views the practice as somewhat degrading to you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs).

Obviously, you. He’s a priest and supposed to be “married” to the Church!

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Patrick is somewhat experienced. While serving in the army he had a few exploits, but he’s still relatively inexperienced. Not that you could ever tell though—he’s the best lover you’ve ever had.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

Missionary! (HAHAHA…I’m going to hell for this.)

Patrick loves any sort of position where he’s able to see you fully. He treats sex as if it were a sacred rite: he wants to be able to watch the desire cloud your eyes, thoroughly kiss your soft lips, devour the creamy flesh of your torso, and do nothing less than worship you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

It depends on the situation. Patrick will usually take things pretty seriously—intensely pleasuring you, maintaining fervent eye contact, going slow and sensual—but sometimes you find yourselves in a giddy mood, especially after something good has happened to one of you. Then his playful side will come out: little nips at your ears and neck, gentle tickling of your sides, low chuckles, and a lot more teasing than normal. You delight in rendezvous like these, batting your eyes and telling him how much you want him.  

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

OH GOD. You know how well Patrick takes care of himself. His hair is impeccable, always neatly combed and styled. You adore running your fingers through it and lightly scratching his scalp, though you’re careful not to muss it up too much.

The sight of his bare chest makes your heart flutter every time you see it. You love to card your fingers through the lovely patch of curly ginger hair which grows there, a huge turn-on for Patrick. The same hair starts again just below his navel, creeping down his stomach and past his waistband. It’s another part of him that never fails to make you swoon and unconsciously lick your lips.  

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Patrick is so romantic. He constantly whispers you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, and how he can never be without you. Despite the unimaginable pleasure he provides you, his words sometimes make you teary-eyed during the moment—something you find extremely embarrassing but he adores.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Patrick suffers from SERIOUS Catholic guiltiness when it comes to masturbation. He’s done it before (when he was younger especially) but would never admit so to you. He only resorts to pleasuring himself when you’re apart for extended periods of time and always feels the need to confess to his sins of “taking his flesh” afterward.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise: Patrick’s need to praise you is insatiable and he does it constantly when you’re together. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how perfect you are, how sweet you smell, or how well you respond to him as he leans close to your ear, kissing and sucking. Although he can be reticent to accept compliments himself, you can tell how much it affects him when you whisper how only he can bring you this amount of love, pleasure, and satisfaction.

Priest: Patrick goes mad when you play into your priest kink and loves it when you call him “Father,” especially because you don’t often do so. As gentle as he is, this drives him wild, animalistic almost.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

On the bed or couch, especially with your hair splayed out across a pillow. You recently introduced him to shower sex, something he enjoys far more than he expected to. And of course, always somewhere private.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your soft, innocent touches that lead to lingering thoughts and desires. When you run your hands across his chest and through his hair. Whispering how much you love and want him.

Oddly enough, your modesty also makes him hot under the collar (literally). The idea that you conceal your beautiful figure to others and only allow him to see and adore it awakens a deep and primal lust in Patrick.  

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t swear that often and never uses the Lord’s name in vain. He also would never do anything that could hurt you or in some way degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He strongly prefers to give. He loves to huskily tell you how much you taste like sin when he’s between your thighs and caressing you with his mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual—it’s called lovemaking for a reason.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You and Patrick don’t really engage in these because of the nature of your relationship—there are few moments when you can spend time together during the day. Patrick doesn’t like the idea either, as he can’t properly worship your body as much as he believes you deserve and derives so much pleasure from taking his time with you. He is never one to complain about stolen kisses, though.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Again, due to his position and all the publicity, Patrick prefers to keep risks to a minimum. He never would demand anything of you, but he requests that your liaisons be kept private out of concern for you and your relationship.

Once, however, you admitted a shameful desire of yours, and he gave in. So, late one night you made love in a confessional. Although he felt like he would be cursed with eternal damnation, he couldn’t help but admit how arousing it was.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Patrick’s stamina is intense; he never seems to tire, even after the care and attention he puts into each and every round. You teasingly attribute this voraciousness to all his pent-up lust while in seminary. But when you’re exhausted, he completely respects this and would never push you beyond your physical limits.  

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No; why would he defile perfection by using anything other than his body?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This side of Patrick really comes out when he’s feeling frisky or playful. He relishes that he can turn you into a puddle of goo with just one look—your eyes glaze over, your breath hitches, and you suddenly have difficulty maintaining eye contact. He’ll then begin to touch and kiss you slowly, almost chastely, until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Volume-wise Patrick tends to be on the softer side, though he can surprise you. What he sometimes lacks in volume he makes up for in quality. Patrick makes the most delicious and sinful sounds you can imagine: gasps at your expert ministrations, moans when you kiss him deeply. Your personal favorite? The sound of him purring into your ear as he showers you with praise and words of affection.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The man’s scent alone makes you goddamn feral. It’s clean and masculine, with just a hint of spice. You love to bury your face in his neck and chest, inhaling him as you litter his skin with reminders of your devotion.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Patrick is incredibly well-endowed. In fact the first few times you were together, you were in slight pain (much to Patrick’s agony) and felt sore for days afterward. Oh but Patrick made it all better: drawing you warm baths, scooping you up, and tenderly massaging every inch of your body with his large hands. 😏

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

On the higher end, but it’s completely attached to you.  

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

When you’re in each other’s arms, he feels completely relaxed and can usually fall asleep within a few minutes, but he likes to wait for you drift off to sleep and then silently watch you in your most peaceful state. Your breathing steadies, your brow relaxes, and your hair softly falls about your face, still glowing from physical exertion. As sleep begins to take hold of him, he whispers that you look just like an angel.

Taglist: @seraferna @lemairepstuff

#ewan mcgregor #smut #patrick mckenna #camerlengo #angels and demons #patrick mckenna imagine #forgive me father for i have sinned #obi wan kenobi #ewanfuckinmcgregor #carlo ventresca #obi wan smut