#(actually putting some meaning behind the word rambles in that tag ^^)

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <333

[hanllucination]

keep me. bang chan (18+)

Chan comes back like clockwork, like muscle memory, like something inevitable. But routine doesn’t mean permanence. And you’re starting to wonder if he only ever stays long enough to remember what it feels like to leave.

PAIRING. bang chan / f! reader GENRE. smut, angst, break up fic WORD COUNT. 8.8k WARNINGS. strong language, subtly toxic relationships, explicit sexual content: emotional sex, light d/s dynamics, fingering, oral sex (m! receiving), a little face fucking, unprotected sex (it’s a long established relationship), a little bit of manhandling, use of petnames (baby, love), dirty talk & praise (good girl), shower sex, color system

NOTES. i’m very excited to share this with you all, it’s my smut writing debut and the first i’ve written after a very long time ♡ writing this was an emotional rollercoaster lol let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! happy reading ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

READ ON AO3. / MASTERLIST.

It’s three knocks on your door that finally sink the heartbreak into the pit of your stomach.

Only Chan would do that—knock on your door softly, wait for you to let him in despite being told that the door is unlocked. Despite you leaving it unlocked for him, every time.

I’m free today, he had written in the text. Can I call you? But you had invited him to your apartment instead, and you shouldn’t even have to ask him to come over. Wednesdays were always for you and him.

Silly, you don’t even have to ask, you had told him, a half-empty laugh following after.

You had heard the sound of his breathing for a moment, and with the silence just a hitch away becoming too uncomfortable, too tense, he had said on the other side of the line, right. I know that.

“It’s me,” he knocks on the other side of the door twice more. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the coat hanging on one of the hooks by the door for a moment, feeling a sigh in your chest. You try to hold it in, reaching for the knob instead.

“Of course it’s you,” you tease when the door opens. “Of course you can.”

Chan seems worn out and tired, but he offers you a smile anyway. It’s warm and familiar and… and something else you recognize but can’t begin to think about. He holds his hand up by your ear and tucks your hair behind it.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You nuzzle into his hand, subconsciously stepping forward, further, responding in the same manner, “Hi. I’m cooking dinner for us.”

It’s so easy to fall into step with him. He finds his way into the middle of your apartment, immediately setting down everything in his hands down the old coffee table. You glance at the paper bag (“That’s just some leftover snacks, if you want it!” he says without you needing to ask), crumpled at the top where Chan had held it, his phone beside it. His small pouch rests at the corner of your small couch.

(He sets them down gently, carefully, methodically, in the same way he set down his heart, some years ago, in the middle of the street after a few drinks at a small, snobbish club. I love you. You held onto his arm, seeking warmth. I love you.)

“It smells good,” he sniffs exaggeratedly, walking towards the stove. “What are you cooking?” he asks as he lifts the glass lid, steam wafting through the air and the aroma of the food becoming stronger.

“Just some veggie soup. The temperature’s starting to drop, don’t you think?” you tell him, chuckling to yourself a little. “Are you hungry? It’ll be ready in around ten minutes. Could you wait a little longer? I have some snacks in the fridge, if you want.”

His lips break into a grin, and you think it’s beginning to form a small laugh on his tongue. You rambled again, and years ago you would’ve been embarrassed, covering your mouth in shame. I love the way you talk, he had told you. You don’t have to hold anything back. I hope you can be comfortable with me.

“It’s fine,” he shakes his head, cheeky and teasing. You sigh jokingly, and he puts the lid back onto the pot before turning back to you. “I’m actually less hungry and more—icky? I need to wash up, I mean. S’been a long day.”

“By all means,” you nod, gesturing to the bathroom. It says a lot more than, yes, you can do that. It also says, your clothes have been in the same place they’ve always been. Your toothbrush, the soap you specifically use because your skin is a lot more sensitive than mine, your towels, everything… they’re still here. “Food’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

Chan scratches the back of his head, looking down at his feet before he looks back at you, sheepish. He takes a few steps towards you until his hands reach your shoulders—he does just that, rubbing his thumbs on the exposed skin of your collarbone before tilting his head.

“Help me wash up?”

Your face immediately burns up, lips tensing at the suggestion. He knows you weren’t one to like showering together; it’s cramped, a waste of water, and overall impractical. You’d sometimes join him, sure, but the majority of the time you’d politely decline. Chan respects that. He always does.

There’s something about this suggestion now. Something different, something… greedy. A plea, almost. You think he starts to breathe a little heavier with each passing second of your silence, and his hooded eyes wait for the answer on your face.

You think you need this, too.

You nod at him, quickly closing in the gap and placing a small, brief kiss on his lips. He immediately gets his arms around you, but before he could make anything out of it, you pull away. You don’t know if he realizes it but you feel the way his lips chase yours when you move back. Your chest swells at your realization.

“Ten minutes, Chan,” you tease, placing another kiss on his cheek. “Don’t wanna burn the apartment down.”

“I don’t like the veggies too cooked, though,” he clicks his tongue. “Here.”

He suddenly squats down, pulling you by the back of your thighs before carrying you in his arms. A small squeal leaves you before you could even process a reaction, and you had immediately grabbed onto his shoulders in fear of falling. He buries his nose into the skin of your neck and places his warm lips on it.

“Bang Chan! What the hell,” you scold him, hitting his shoulder with furrowed brows. “Impatient.”

Wriggling your way out of his hold proves no use. He holds onto you so firmly that you could only wrap your arms and legs around him tighter. You slap his back weakly, still startled from him carrying you without warning. He laughs onto your skin and you feel its tickle down your spine, flinching slightly with a laugh of your own. You feel his arms pull you tighter.

“We can do all that we need to do later,” he mumbles. “It can wait.”

There it is again. You hear it. A plea, but only subtle. Smooth in his voice, soft and supple. Like the thumbs that rub the skin on the sides of your thighs. He hikes you higher up his torso, and another breath leaves at the sudden little movement. You’re so tempted to give in.

“No. We eat first, then we wash up,” you insist, words leaving no room for argument. You hear a soft whine so you steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. “Okay?”

He presses his lips on yours in response, deep and heavy. Its plushness moves against yours, and suddenly you’re down in your worn out barstool, back in the kitchen. The metal of the old seat creaks and Chan pulls away from you, breathless.

“Stay there, I’ll take care of this,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know,” Chan starts, as if you just know. “Cooking for me. You didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t turn to you when he says it. The clicks of the stove struggling to reignite its flames resound and deep within your chest you think you also hear the same. Click click click. He grabs the wooden spoon just beside the sink and he stirs the soup, lifting it up once just to let the liquid dribble back down into the pot. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow propped on the countertop.

You stare at his back and wonder how much of its dips and curves you’ve already memorized—how much of it you need to get to know more, the way they move and twitch and tremble under your touch. Beneath his black, slightly tight-fitting shirt, his shoulders visibly loosen up. He grabs two bowls from the cabinets above him and carefully spoons a hearty amount of soup into each.

It doesn’t take long before he sets up your dinner and finds himself on the stool beside yours. Neither of you say a word, tension still warm in the air, comforting—but toeing the line of awkward. The skin of his thigh brushes against yours sometimes, and you’re almost tempted to ask if it’s intentional. If he means it.

Contrary to his earlier impatience, Chan takes his time eating. He smiles when he catches you looking, and you laugh when he hums in satisfaction of a pleasant, albeit simple, dinner. The anticipation is prickling the skin on your shoulders, but you can’t seem to say a word. Chan finishes with a kiss on your cheek and a quiet mumble of another ‘thank you’ before he gathers the dishes to clean up.

It’s awful, thinking about this. You have no idea what’s on his mind right now, and you’re so close to breaking. This won’t do. You have to say something, or he has to say something. What was that all about earlier? What happened? Is he mad? Is he disappointed? What should you—

“Baby,” he calls gently, snapping you out of it—whatever it was. A detachment from the moment, from reality? A fear, maybe. Overthinking.

You barely realize that he’s in front of you again, standing between your knees, dishes forgotten in the sink. He brings a hand to your head and rubs a finger between your brows.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” he clicks his tongue. Then he presses a firm kiss on where his touch lingered. “I’m sorry. We’re fine. You can get in the shower and I’ll be with you in a second, hm?”

No words come out of your mouth. You shudder at the implication, at the tone of his want.

Maybe you’re thinking too much about this. Maybe it’s just another Wednesday of yours, just another time he’s here. A sharing of each other’s company in the quiet routine you’ve fallen into, built over the years. So you nod at him before padding over to your bathroom.

One by one, you strip off your clothes. It doesn’t take long; you’re in your most comfortable, anyway, since your plans were to just stay home. You never needed to impress Chan either. Whenever your fingers brush against your skin, a shiver crawls beneath your bones. There is warmth pooling in your chest—a desire that would burn you if it boils over.

But something feels… different. Like it’s all building to something neither of you is ready to name. The shower opens with a stutter and it’s hot the moment it touches your skin. You don’t mind, though—but Chan will, and you know that. You twist the tap ever so slightly, knowing exactly where it should turn for it to be warm enough to his liking. The temperature should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The way the water thrums against your skin, the tiled floor, the glass door… it’s all too much. It irks you—feeling every drop, reminded of his touch: gentle, deliberate, lingering. Then, you hear your blood pulsating in your ears. You tilt your head back, letting the water cascade over your face. It should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The door creaks open and you feel a slight breeze of chill from behind you, like a wind passing, carrying with it an odd mix of anticipation and vulnerability. It’s not like Chan is trying to be quiet. He knows you’d expect him. He asked for you to be there. There’s a moment of stillness, save for the water pattering around you. Then, the faint rustling of clothes, a slow whistle of fabric sliding down the floor. Your pulse quickens.

It doesn’t take long before you feel him behind you, close enough to stir the air around but not yet touching you. You don’t turn to look at him—your breath catches as if doing so would make the moment too real, too raw, like everything would cease to exist with one wrong move. But you feel him. His warmth is unmistakable, radiating through the steam, undeniable and grounding, a stark contrast to the chill that had briefly brushed your spine. It couldn’t be anything or anyone else. It’s him, always him, cutting through the steam like sunlight through fog.

And maybe that’s how his presence has always been, how he really is: sun, sunlight, sunshine. A warmth you can’t help but lean into, even when it burns.

Chan is the first to break the silence. “Hi,” he simply says before he kisses the skin where your neck and shoulder meet. His hands soon follow, soothing the soreness of your muscles with a gentle massage. You whimper quietly.

“Hi,” you manage to respond moments after.

Chan rests his forehead on the back of your head, stopping you from turning around when you make that first little step. He pulls you closer to his body, your back flush against his chest and you feel it heave in along with his breathing. With every exhale through his nose the air grows heavier.

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Stay there. I’ll wash you.”

“I want to see you, though,” you try to complain, but the words fall weak on your tongue. “Chan?”

“Later.”

You feel him stretch his arm to the side, and your peripheral catches his hand reaching for the bottle of liquid on the small shelf mounted in the corner of the shower, just a bit of an arm away from your head. You lean innocently onto him but his breath hitches, taking you a bit by surprise.

As if that would stop you.

You continue to rub your behind onto him under the guise of needing warmth and seeking softness, and his breathing falters with each minute. He rubs his hands together, soapy and slippery, before rubbing it all along your body in seemingly random but nonetheless tender patterns. He starts with your arms, then he moves to your shoulders, your back, your legs, from back to front—leaning forward to reach further, then to your waist. His hand inches to your center, where you need it most, and you could almost feel the tease in his touch. He reaches for another pump of soap before he brushes his fingers onto the skin of your abdomen. It twitches with the gasp you couldn’t catch before it’s out of your mouth, and you suddenly jolt your hips back towards his, a movement you couldn’t control.

And Chan whimpers. It’s low and hushed, almost too quiet if his lips weren’t all up in your ear. The moment halts and the warmth that pooled in your chest moves down and you like it. So you do it again, pressing back into his body further. And again, wiggling until his cock catches against your lower back. And again, feeling him holding himself back.

Then he grips your arms to steady you. That doesn’t stop his hardness from pushing against the dip of your lower spine. Then you whimper. He still keeps you turned away from him.

“Stop moving,” he grits. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t even try to deny that. How could you, when he moves his right forearm to wrap around your chest, his left hand just below your abdomen. Close, but not enough. He toys with the skin that it frustrates you. It’s so close. You try to stand on your tiptoes, moving yourself closer to where you need his hand to be but he holds you with his arm firmly enough to keep you in place. His hand leaves your abdomen to catch the water from the shower, washing off the soap.

“I said,” he whispers into your ear, tone rough, “stop moving.”

Then he finally, finally touches you. His finger traces your slit lightly, the stroke almost too subtle to feel. Your legs immediately draw close together, and Chan supports you when you almost lose balance. He sighs in your ear, a short, small laugh following the prod of his finger into your core.

In a desperate attempt to stop his teasing, you could only cry out his name. “Chan,” your voice shakes, and you hold onto the arm around your chest in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep yourself together. “Please.”

“Just a little more, my love,” he starts, still moving a single finger—God fucking damn it, only a single one—up and down your folds. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

Your chest quivers with deep, uneven breaths. You hold out as best as you can, keeping your desire from bursting and it burns you. Please. There is only a word in your head, clouded and hazy. Like a mantra, a chant. Please. Please.

“So good,” Chan praises, and you swear you could hear the smile in his voice which only sharpens the greed clawing at your core. Desperate to feel more, to take more.

But between you and him, it’s not your job to take more. That’s Chan’s. That’s him, since the beginning.

So he takes.

He pushes a finger into you and right then and there you feel that you could just give everything you could ever offer for his taking. It feels as if he belongs there, as if you are shaped for nothing but his touch. He pulls his finger out a bit before pushing it back deeper, into a place you’ve never reached for the past month on your own, or the past year, or ever.

Chan finds a steady pace, slow and deliberate strokes exploring your wetness. Still only a single finger, and you are so tempted to curse him out, to demand more—but you know how patience drives pleasure. There is no choice but to wait. He recognizes it and he whispers another praise in your ear, “You are doing so good, baby.”

You feel another finger teasing your sensitive bud, and not long after there are two fingers parting your slick folds with practiced ease. Your knees buckle in surrender to the pleasure. It feels so hot, as if each movement fans the flames in your core and with every touch Chan leaves trails of pleasure. You’re almost gasping, like you’re running out of breath.

It’s not your job to take more, but this is something only Chan could give. He is giving it to you right now. What else are you supposed to do but take it?

You move your hand from his forearm around your chest to the nape of his neck clumsily. He shifts slightly, letting go of your torso and gripping your thigh to hold it up and oh. Your grasp falters and his fingers remain relentless in giving you the rhythm your body demands. He curls them inside you and you almost choke.

Despite still having your back flushed to his chest, you crane your neck to at least feel his lips against your cheeks. Soft moans are hovering at the edge of your mouth, cries on the verge of slipping out. You struggle to find your voice, lost among the steam, but you try nonetheless.

“Chan–ah,” your voice wavers with a moan. “Please, Chan… I– kiss. Please, kiss.”

You feels Chan’s body tremble behind you, hips bucking that his cock brushes against the curve of your ass. You whimper, and you let it out freely this time.

“Fuck, you’re so…” Chan falters, fingers erratic in your heat. “How sweet you sound, begging like that.” He presses himself against your back, again and again, a desperate attempt to chase his own pleasure too. His breath is hot against your skin, hovering your jaw. The water from the shower does nothing to regulate the temperature of your body. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

Then he kisses you. It’s a little awkward, with your lips not fully slotting or fitting, your necks turned as much as you comfortably can but none of that matters. It’s all teeth and spit and some water gets into your mouth and none of that matters. He kisses you and he curls his fingers in you and you’re almost at your limit. A moan vibrates in your chest, wanton and needy, then Chan pulls away to let you breathe. As if that helps, as if his lips and tongue moving to your jaw doesn’t leave you breathless and writhing in want.

He pulls your thigh closer to him, opening you up further. A guttural sound leaves you and you would be embarrassed at how dirty it sounds but you’re reaching the highest peak of your desire—the roar of the flames in your core now at its full.

“Chan,” you cry out. “Chan, I’m near—ah… please. I’m cumming, please.”

The air is filled with steam and the sound of water, his skin on your skin, his fingers not stopping. Your hips buck against his hand and it drives deeper. He holds it there and you tremble in his arms. You whimper, again and again and again.

“Good,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there, my love. Come on.”

His voice is heavy and rough. He licks the shell of your ear and it sends you over to the edge. His fingers twist inside you and he just takes, drinking up your cries with his lips just hovering yours.

There is a gradual, methodic way in which he slows his fingers, letting you ride out your high until your lungs find a steadier pace, each breath more controlled. He kisses the top of your head before he gently holds your chin—with the very same hand he used to bring you pleasure—turning your face to his.

How filthy, him rubbing your slickness on you. So filthy, and it’s arousing you. It’s surprising because you just got fingered out of your damn mind and you still want more. You’re still willing to give more.

Chan captures your lips in a soft kiss, biting your lower lip lightly before he pulls away just enough to speak, “You did so well.”

He reaches upward to cup water in his hands, using it to wash your chin and your neck. Then again to wash your abdomen and center. You gasp at the touch, and he whispers an apology immediately.

“I know, I’m sorry. Sensitive, hm? Let me just wash you, okay?”

You nod at him, closing your eyes and choosing to rest your forehead on his shoulder as he rubs you clean. When he finishes with a soft pat to your thigh, your eyes open only to be greeted by the sight of his cock, rock hard and almost flushed red. God. Fuck. You pull back, searching his face for something—anything, whatever it is, and he just offers you a lopsided smile.

“Hmm?” he hums in question, curious about the way your brows furrow. “What is it?”

“You,” you simply say. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” He brushes it off like it’s nothing. He has given you pleasure and he has taken your pleasure. You want to do the same to him. He shakes his head, “I swear. It’s fine.”

But he doesn’t stop you when you go down on your knees, facing his cock with a hunger you couldn’t fathom. He caresses your hair, whatever he could reach, but he doesn’t even pull you away. “You don’t have to. We can take this to bed,” he still says.

There’s uncertainty in his voice. A crack, an opening he doesn’t intend. He wants this, too. You know it. Anything you could give, he wants it.

“But I want to.”

And he will take it.

He places a finger under your chin to guide you and raise your head, looking you in the eye. You could almost see yourself in the depths of his gaze, a reflection of something shameless, almost jarring. You couldn’t believe you’re liking this—let alone getting intoxicated in arousal for this. It’s like something changed in him in a blink.

“You do?” Chan laughs, almost mockingly. A shiver runs across the expanse of your shoulders, the sound sending another spark of heat through you. Deeper this time, scorching. “You want my cock that badly, huh? Suck me off ‘til your lips grow tired?”

His finger moves, grazing your skin until it reaches your ear. He tucks your wet hair behind it, just like he did by the apartment door when he arrived earlier. His gaze holds you captive, and that feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, it surges again.

Your breath catches as you nod, unable to form any word. He’s always had that effect on you—making you forget your own control, like you’re just a thing for him to take. In the absence of words, you hold his length with a hand and he inhales sharply at your touch. It doesn’t take much to arouse him; with a few nimble strokes his shaft gets hard again. Perhaps even more so.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, firm but gentle, and pulls you closer.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise, laced with an almost indistinguishable amount of contempt, has you reeling. You lick a bit along his tip, testing the waters. His fingers weave through your hair with a slow sigh. “Show me how much you really want it. Give it to me.”

You press a kiss to the side of his cock, soft at first, as if tasting the moment before plunging in. His body shudders. The saltiness lingers on your tongue as you part your lips wider, slowly taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible, more an exhale than speech. His hand slightly tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. You hollow your cheeks, sliding further forward, and the groan that rumbles in his chest sends a thrill through you.

The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, and you let yourself sink into a languid pace, drawing him in, inch by inch, savoring the way his body reacts. His hips jerk, just a little, involuntarily, and you can’t help the slight moan that leaves your throat. The sound and vibration seem to undo him.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Chan grunts, his voice rough around the edges, raw with need. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you—not forcing, but encouraging—as you take him deeper, working with a mix of tongue, lips, and a shit ton of spit.

Water slides down your cheeks and occasionally finds its way to your mouth. Not that you care. You glance up, catching his gaze. A carnal glint is in his stare, and he smiles. Fuck. The sight of him nearly takes your breath away. His jaw falls slack, his lips part, and his eyes lock on you—heavy-lidded and burning with something primal.

The tension in his thighs grow as you continue, a gradual acceleration in the way you take him in. The soft, wet sounds fill the air, almost louder than the water hitting the walls and floors, mingling with his labored breaths and low groans. His thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting touch that feels oddly tender amidst the heat.

“Just like that,” Chan murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t stop. You’re—perfect.”

You give an experimental hum, letting it thrum in your mouth. Chan whimpers and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to hear. You hum again, louder this time. Your chest heaves at the limited breathing but Chan is slowly losing his sense of control and it rouses you. There is another pool of warmth in your core, and you’re trying your best to rub your thighs together in your position, hoping to relieve a little bit of your need.

“You’re killing me,” Chan laughs to himself, head thrown back, words thorny with lust. His hands move to your shoulders, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. “I won’t last if you keep going like that.” His voice cracks, betraying the thin line of self-control he’s holding onto.

You pull back slightly, just enough to take a breath, and your lips glisten with the evidence of his pleasure. A mischievous smile tugs at your lips and you glance up again, locking eyes with him. The hunger and greed in his gaze sends your mind into a frenzy of heat, something deep and wild, as though you’re caught in the storm of his desire.

“Do you want me to stop then?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, teasing in its softness. There is a scratch in your words.

His lips curl into a grin, but it’s strained, the desperation clear in the way his eyes darken. “Hell no,” he clicks his tongue. “Just–don’t stop. You’re so fucking good at this, baby. You know what to do, right?”

There is no need for words. You nod at him, eager and wanting.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.” His hand finds its way back to your hair, pulling just enough to keep you in place. His cock lingers on your lips, and you open your mouth wide, waiting for him to push it in. “Hold on tight.”

He waits for you to gain a steady grip on the back of his thighs before he thrusts forward. The tension in his body snaps as you give and give and give. The taste of him, the sound of his labored breaths, the way he tenses under your touch—your lips, your tongue, the wetness in your slit. You give and give and give and he takes and takes and takes.

Just like he did earlier, when he indulged you. Your pleasure laid out, vulnerable and he just takes. Or the past 3 years, with your heart out in the open, unguarded and he just takes.

It all becomes a blur, this moment. He fucks your face so lewdly, desperate to reach his own high. One hand of yours moves downward, to your own clit. You rub in frantic patterns, aroused out of your damn mind.

His movements begin to stutter, thrusts sloppier. You hum in pleasure, of yours and of his, as your fingers move faster on your wet skin. Chan doesn’t even try to stop the filthy sounds rolling off his tongue and you’re sure he is nearing his limit.

He thrusts a few more times before he pushes in deep—reaching farther than he ever had for the past ten minutes of his cock being in your mouth. His tip brushes against the back of your throat and he stays there for a moment. You couldn’t help the obscene moan and Chan’s whole body shudders. His cock throbs in your mouth before he pulls you away, letting his cum release all over your chest.

Your mouth remains open, breathless and trembling. The moment falls heavy between you, and Chan takes a second before he brushes his fingers through your hair and guides you to stand up. He doesn’t say a word, immediately beginning to wash his cum on you. He grabs another pump of soap, letting it bubble in his hands before cleaning you with it.

“Chan,” you begin, the silence getting to you.

“Hm?” he hums simply. He doesn’t stop his hands, but he raises his head to look at you, pupils still blown wide. His breathing is slowly coming down. He offers you a gentle smile before leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “You did so well. I’m sorry if I went a bit rough.”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his waist in an almost embrace. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I like it.”

“You like it?”

His hands stop and his attention is now fully on you. He raises an eyebrow at your statement, confused. You feel a bit of shame but you continue. “I like it when you… when you just—take.”

Chan stays silent. He doesn’t react, or say a word. It’s hard to read his expression when it’s almost blank, and he continues washing your body until he just says, “Get on the bed and wait for me. Don’t bother putting anything on.”

Then it dawns on you. Whatever you just told him was dangerous. You’re not quite sure how, and to what extent, but something weighs on your chest when he turns the shower off and waits for you to step out. You don’t even need to be told twice.

You take your time drying yourself off with your towel, lingering for a minute on your slit. Still fucking wet. Heat creeps up your face at the realization and you immediately throw the towel into the basket of dirty clothes. There are extra towels, fortunately, stashed inside the small cabinet by your bathroom sink. You hang it up the shower door for Chan to use, not needing to inform him because you know he knows.

Stepping out of the bathroom bare naked lets you feel the temperature change in full. You realize how warm it was when you were in the bathroom with Chan. You shiver, feeling cold—the loss of a warm body, a presence, the slow decrease of arousal.

You walk your way to your bedroom, making sure to keep your feet light. The shower opens and you hear the water pattering again, then suddenly your arousal comes back in full force. Your bed is cool and unmade and you have half the mind to start toying with your pussy again, to feel at least half of what Chan had made you feel with his fingers. But that’s not what you were told to do.

The sound of the shower persists, steady and hushed, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. You spend the next minutes staring at the ceiling, waiting. It feels excruciatingly slow. Time doesn’t feel real, when the bathroom is right next door and you still hear Chan in there. You bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the ache between your legs or the growing weight in your chest. It feels like he’s taking forever, like the space between you is widening with every drop of water hitting the floor.

Your mind betrays you, replaying the way his hands had felt on you, the way his voice dipped when he whispered praises in your ear. You wonder if he’s thinking about this. Thinking about you. You wonder if he regrets it. Or worse—if he doesn’t.

You close your eyes, willing the thoughts to stop, but they only grow louder. What does this mean? What are you supposed to feel? The heat of desire clashes violently with the icy grip of doubt, and suddenly you’re not sure which will win.

When the water finally stops, you sit up abruptly, heart pounding as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. The sound of the door creaking open makes you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You hear his footsteps, soft but deliberate, and then he’s there, standing by the doorway of your bedroom.

Chan doesn’t say anything first, just looks at you, his gaze unreadable. He’s towel-drying his hair, the damp strands sticking to his forehead, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. You can’t look away, even though every part of you feels like you should.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” he says finally, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in it—something wavering, like he’s waiting for you to tip the balance, unsure if he should pull back or push further.

You manage a weak laugh, though it feels hollow. “Not exactly.”

He steps closer, the tension in the room thickening with every movement. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer now, almost gentle.

The question lingers in the air and for a moment, you think about lying, about brushing it off like you always do. About giving what he wants to take. But the words are stuck in your throat, you feel. You lean back on the pillows, enough to be comfortable but not fully lying down.

“I don’t know,” you admit, palms up on your thighs. The answer comes out frail and delicate.

Something shifts in his expression—concern, maybe, or guilt. He sets the towel aside, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and sits beside you on the bed. His hand hovers for a moment before he places it on your knee, his touch warm and grounding.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you hate how earnest he sounds, how much you want to believe that he cares.

You don’t doubt that he cares a little bit. Not as much as you do about him, though. Not as much as he thinks he does, nor as much as he did before, in the middle of the street. I love you, he said then.

“This isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

Such weight hanging heavy in the air feels suffocating. It feels like you have to grasp for air. For a moment, he looks like he might say something, but he closes his mouth, jaw tightening, and you choke.

It’s unbelievable, really. After all that, he just kisses you. His lips are on yours without warning and you melt into his arms. The kiss is careful at first, tentative, like he’s trying to find the words he can’t say in the press of his lips. But it’s not enough—not for you, not for what’s bubbling up inside you. Your hands grip his shoulders, turning your torso to him for a more comfortable position. You pull him closer, as if proximity could mend this. His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

He guides you to sit on his lap, and you feel his hardness on your bum again. You swallow a sob back and Chan pulls away in surprise.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead pressed to yours. His voice is shaky, not like the teasing confidence from before. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper. “Not without…” Your voice trails off, but he seems to understand.

He presses, though. “Without what?” His tone is urgent yet gentle, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Without losing you.”

Your body betrays you as you feel the heat back in your abdomen. It’s a filthy mix of hunger and misery. It boils down into something you’re all too familiar with: desperation. You roll your hips onto him and he whines. You harshly wipe away your tears with the back of your hands before pushing Chan’s chest down onto the bed. He seems taken aback, hesitant with the way he pulls his hands away. You had to grab it yourself, place it on your hips for him to hold onto.

“Make me feel good, Chan,” you plead. Another roll of your hips has you keening, his tip catching just by your entrance. “Please. Take me. Take everything that I am, I will give it to you.”

His eyes meet yours, searching, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. You lean forward to let your hands touch his back, taking your time to go over every dip and curve. Then he nods, his hands moving to slide under your thighs and pulling you closer before flipping you over. He lays you down on the bed, and his gaze roams every bit of your face before he dips to kiss you again, until there is no more space left between you.

What follows isn’t rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, every touch, every kiss, every movement laden with meaning. It’s like he’s trying to piece together what’s been fractured, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. A hand slips between your bodies until it reaches your pussy once again. He feels your slick, not needing to prod as much as he did earlier.

Then he leans away, stroking his cock a few times, his head thrown back with the contact. It doesn’t take long before he lines it up on your entrance, and he moves down, almost putting his whole weight on you.

It’s raw, it’s tender, it’s everything you’ve been longing for and everything you know will never last. Not anymore. Funny it took you three long years to feel this. Funny it would be the first and last you’ll ever get this from him.

There is no resistance when he thrusts inside you, deep and slow and whole. He stays put for a minute before you tap his back, letting him know you want him to move—you need him to move. He doesn’t deny you of that, so he pulls back until only the tip lingers inside you before pushing in again heavily.

A visceral sound leaves your lips as your jaw slackens. Chan continues his pace, growing faster with each passing minute and he keeps whimpering in your ear that it sends your mind into haywire. You’re not quite sure how to handle the crashing wave of lust your body is being washed over so the best you could do is hold onto him, fingers gripping the flesh of his back tight enough to feel hot. He moans louder.

Whether it takes thirteen minutes or three years doesn’t matter. It all comes down to the warm tears you feel on your jaw, and you’re not even sure if it’s still yours or if it’s already his. Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him back to your lips. This time, the kiss isn’t soft or tentative—it’s consuming. It’s every unsaid word, every broken promise, every ounce of love that lingers between you.

He withdraws, lips finding your ear instead before placing a chaste kiss on it. You’re sure now, his tears dropping onto your skin, burning and heavy. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. It comes quickly. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. He whispers it in your ear, like a prayer. What you once had with him felt sacred, untouchable, and yet here you are, unraveling it thread by thread. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.

A long, drawn out cry sounds in your ear as Chan comes undone. You feel every bit of him inside you, and you body twitches as you finish with him. You hear a choked out sob from the man on top of you, and your chest tightens impossibly. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Not now, not before, and never after he leaves.

He stays inside you, cock tucked in your warmth, twitching a little. His cries continue for an amount of time you can’t even comprehend. Your eyes have long dried out now, but the space between your neck and shoulder remains wet with his tears. Your hands try to comfort him by rubbing his back, drawing circles in patterns you hope he recognizes. Soon, he turns quiet.

You feel his chest heave with yours. He stays on top of you, putting his full weight but careful not to suffocate you. As if this whole thing wasn’t suffocating enough. It takes a moment for him to calm down completely, then he pulls out. He falls back away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed by your legs for a moment before you see him visibly relax.

He stands up to walk outside of the room. You don’t even dare to ask, to look at him and follow his movements. Chan comes back before you could even piece back your head with a towel in his hands. The bed dips where he sits before he leans forward to wipe the slick moisture on your folds. You hiss at the contact, realizing that the fabric is damp. He shushes you gently, continuing his ministrations with utmost care.

When he seems satisfied, he sets the towel away in the same place he did with his earlier. Silence lingers and you almost wish you were still in the shower, where at least the sound of water would fill in the empty air.

Chan returns to the bed, but he remains seated, his back facing you. It feels like a wall—strong, unyielding, and unreachable. You think it’s ridiculous now, realizing that there is a wall. There has always been a wall, hasn’t it? There is no way to climb it, to move past it. Invisible that it might as well not exist, yet it stands, separating you. You bury yourself under the blankets, the chill in the room seeping into your bones. You feel so small and cold and fragile. You could only stare at the ceiling, his presence beside you frustratingly overwhelming, yet so distant.

You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing his back facing you. You’re always behind him, following him along, wherever he goes and whatever he does. Always in front of you, always leading, but never turning to face you unless he’s searching for reassurance. You realize now how much you’ve relied on those fleeting glances back. They were your only proof that he still cared, still saw you. He looks back to take and you give. Sometimes you wonder which part of you is yours anymore.

You stare at his back and wonder how much of its dips and curves you’ve already memorized—how much of it you need to get to know more, the way they move and twitch and tremble under your touch. You stare at his back and wish he would just turn to face you.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he says, very quietly, like almost to himself in realization.

You almost don’t realize he said something. You heard every word, but your mind refuses to process it until a second later. And when it did, the room stills.

His words hang dull in the air, filling the room with a bittersweet ache. It’s like every sweet moment this room witnessed for the past three years disappears and there is only grief and misery in it. You want to reach for him, to cross the divide and tell him something—anything. But his back remains turned, and all you can do is fixate on the outline of his shoulders, tense and unmoving.

You mustered a small, mocking laugh. It’s weaker than you intended, but you’re in utter disbelief regardless. “You just fucked me on this very bed, Chan. I came twice today. Is that the only thing you came here for? A quick fuck?”

There is no use in making sharp remarks, but there is nothing else you could say. You’re grasping at straws and you know that.

“No, I…” Chan starts, then he sighs. He roughly ruffles his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

Then it goes quiet yet again. Your mind is scrambling for words, but then, after a minute, you could only really ask, “Do you mean it? Is that what you really want?”

“No,” he answers almost immediately, shoulders heaving. Then he slackens again, almost like he’s curling into his own body, making himself small. “I don’t know what I would do if I look back and you’re not there.”

His voice is withdrawn, as if he’s confessing something he hadn’t admitted even to himself.

“Then why?”

“You’re always behind me,” he continues, words strained. “You’ve always been the one thing I could count on.” There’s a pause, and it feels like the weight of the moment is crushing him. “But what if you’re gone one day? What if I look back and you’re not there anymore?”

His admission stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. The vulnerability in his tone should comfort you, but instead, it exposes a deep-rooted wound. He only looks back to make sure you’re still following, doesn’t he? Never to meet you halfway, never to let you stand beside him.

And as fucked up as it seems, you’re willing to let that be until you can no longer understand what distance means. You’re willing to do all that, over and over again, just so he could stay.

He takes and takes and takes. And you give.

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You couldn’t help the bite in your words, angry and confused. “If you’re so scared, why leave?”

You want to scream. You want to clench your fists and punch a wall and hurt. Yourself, him. But it doesn’t come. The exhaustion overcomes you, and an ache in your chest swells. You wonder if it’s already too late.

“Because you’re like this!” he raises his voice, now matching your exasperation. “I’m giving you a chance to save yourself from me and you’re not taking it!”

Chan’s words hit like a slap, sharp and final. Your chest tightens in a mix of emotions you’re far too dizzy to comprehend. Hatred? Grief? Love? It’s all warring within you. You sit up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders and exposing your vulnerability as much as his words have exposed his.

“Save myself?” you scoff, incredulous. “I think I am way beyond saving, Chan.”

He stiffens. You don’t even give him a chance to respond before you continue, “And what about you?” you ask, your voice trembling. “When do you save yourself, Chan? When do you stop running from everything? From me?”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I’m not running,” he mutters, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

“You’ve been running this entire time,” you counter, voice threatening to rise again. “From us. From what this could be. Three years. And now you want me to be the one to end it? To carry that burden so you don’t have to?”

His head drops, shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. For a moment, the silence between you stretches unbearably, like the final frayed thread of something you both know is about to snap.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispers, hoarse. “I thought… I thought letting you go would hurt less than holding on and breaking you completely.”

You let out a bitter laugh, louder this time. You meant for him to hear the distaste in it. Tears sting your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Chan. You don’t get to decide how much I’m willing to give.”

His head lifts slightly, and for the first time he turns to face you. His eyes are glassy, full of a pain you’ve rarely seen him allow himself to show. It breaks something inside you, seeing him like this. It breaks you even further, realizing he turns just like he always did: to see if you were still behind him, following.

“Then what do you want me to do?” His voice cracks when he asks.

You pause, your heart hammering. What do you want? The truth is, you don’t know anymore. You want him, but not like this—not as someone who sees you as a safety net, as a fallback. You know that now, regretting the thought of tolerating his bullshit just to keep him with you.

“I want you to want me the way I want you,” you say finally, voice soft but steady. Resolute. “Not as someone to hold you up when you’re falling. Not as someone to look back on when you’re scared. I want to stand beside you, Chan. I want to move forward with you, not be left behind.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, and your resolve almost falters when a tear slips down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he admits.

The words shatter the last bit of hope you were clinging to. You nod slowly, the realization settling over you like a cold, heavy blanket.

“Then maybe you’re right,” you say quietly. “Maybe I do need to save myself.”

And this time, you turn your back on him. You shift in your bed, lying on your side and staring at the clock by your bedside table. It’s hard, trying to pretend your legs aren’t shaking under the covers, trying to hide the quiver of your lips. Chan doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to you, and that, more than anything, feels like the final nail in the coffin.

You pause, thinking of any words to say. For finality, for an end. All you could muster is, “I hope one day you stop running, Chan.”

If he leaves later that night or the next morning, you don’t even know. It’s not like you could feel past the weight of the whole ordeal to even feel anything else.

That’s for you to find out tomorrow.

[parfaitblogs]

risk ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you have the sweetest regular, and it’s probably too soon to tell him you love him!

pairing: spencer reid x barista!reader genre: fluff tags: s1 spencer. who rambles. biblically accurate career!reader sorry if some of the coffee talk makes no sense to you. reader makes all the first moves. y'all kiss (aww). written in timeskip sorta it's not crazy (like maybe a month). not proofread sorryyy (im not). word count: 2.2k a/n: first instalment of my spencer reid eras tour🙂‍↕️ season 1 spencer reid i freaking adore you. he's so cute. gif!! i thought gifs in this series could be cute lol. envisioned 1x10 spencer bc of his nightmares if that means anything. enjoyyy ily im off to work 🏃 

There are many reasons you come to work each morning. The money (an obvious one), your coworkers who usually make each day a little bit more bearable. And Spencer. A regular who had become a little notorious for having an odd coffee order, that most of the store workers hated making. 

Except for you. 

It wasn't especially odd. But in a store that thrived on making the perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it meant remaking it three or four times because the shots didn't pour at the right amount of time, and recalibrating the machine was a hassle you all didn't want to deal with in the middle of the morning rush he usually came during. 

You had taken note of him the first few times he came in — always keeping to himself, flashing the most awkward smile you think you've ever seen on a human being, and ordering his old order (a large latte with as much sugar as you could fit in the cup). It was by the seventh time that had you thinking of him a little more often than just while you were at work. 

He looked a lot more exhausted than usual. His usually tame hair now loose and hanging over his face as he took a weary step towards the counter, fingers brushing strands away and tucking them behind his ears. 

"The latte, right?" you had asked him, and he had frozen, and you stood in fear of this not being the Spencer you thought he was, and you had just asked a total stranger about a coffee they've never ordered. 

But then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Uh, no. Not today. Um—do you guys have a limit on how much coffee I can have?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "No... we don't. I wouldn't recommend any more than like five shots in our largest size, though. It'd probably taste gross. But we can add as much as you need."

"Five's good. Yeah," he nodded his head, fingers wrapped tightly around the leather strap of his messenger bag. 

"Just... a five shot latte?" you clarified, and he froze again, shaking his head once more. 

"Do you recommend anything else? I—uh, I want it to be sweet enough still."

"I can do you a mocha?" you offered. "White chocolate mocha if you're looking for it to be even sweeter."

"I'll try that," he nodded his head, and out came his awkward smile, which had you smiling back just as awkwardly. 

Which was how he got to his current usual. It honestly became a test to ensure your coffee machines were actually running well, considering pulling five well-done espresso shots at once was no easy feat. And, again, most of your coworkers hated making his drink. 

Which was why it was palmed off to you. Every single morning without fail. And maybe in another universe you would join them in the hatred for this man's frustrating drink order. But then, in that universe, you wouldn't get to talk to him every morning (and slowly break him out of whatever shell he had locked himself up in). 

"I never asked," you began, staring at him over the top of the coffee machine while putting white chocolate fudge into the bottom of the cup. "Why did you change your order randomly?"

He parted his lips and his eyebrows creased together for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell you. You were kind of grateful he concluded on trusting you. 

"I wasn't really sleeping. When I asked about changing my order," he explained, hands letting go of the bag strap so he could talk with them. "Then I guess I just liked the taste of it? And it kept me awake. Which is a bonus."

"I can imagine it would," you nodded your head in agreement, flashing him a small smile, which he returned, bashfully. "Why weren't you sleeping?"

He went silent, and you almost cursed yourself for asking. Maybe you had gone too far. It was why, when you had begun to busy yourself with making his drink a little faster, you jumped when he spoke up again.

"I was getting these nightmares," he said, and your head lifted from the milk you were steaming. "Because of what I do for work."

"Law, right?" you asked, and he let out a small laugh, tucking hair behind his ear. 

"Sort of. I'm with the FBI."

"Oh, that's right," you replied, nodding your head in recognition. He had said that to you at some point in the earlier days when he first started coming in, because you had asked where he works so close by to be coming in as often as he did. "Can you tell me what part? Or is that confidential?"

"No, no, I can. I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit," when your face twisted into confusion, he added, "We use psychology to analyse serial killers and catch them. Well, not just serial killers, actually. But that's what we focus on."

"And it works?" you asked, eyebrows rising as you placed a lid atop his coffee, sliding it out on the pick-up section where he was standing by. His face fell slightly, and so you were quick to add, "Not—I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I'm shocked. That psychology is all you really need to catch a serial killer."

"It's not all we need. There's a lot of other elements that go into finding one. But our primary focus is how their brain works and we use behavioural science to figure that out. Actually, we used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created."

He was too busy talking animatedly with his hands for him to have picked up his coffee, and you were too busy watching him with a smile to remind him it was ready. 

When he did reach for it, you could feel the familiar pang of disappointment that had started shooting through you every time he was picking up his coffee and leaving. A weird sensation that left you clawing at the walls of your brain to come up with something to say to keep him there. 

It was probably why you blurted out, "Are you seeing anyone?" Which was followed by stunned silence from him, and regretful silence from yourself. What a question. 

Slowly, he began to shake his head, his lips twitching into a confused frown. "No. I'm—I'm not." 

It shocked you a little. He wasn't jaw dropping, per se. But he was attractive. You had said it a few times to your coworkers whenever they asked why you talked to him so much — there was a running joke that you were already secretly dating him behind their backs. Not funny.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to..." you hesitated. "Go out for dinner? Maybe? I'm so sorry if I'm totally overstepping. In fact, I encourage you to say no, because this is a little weird. I'm so sorry," you rambled when you were met with only silence from him, wondering if you had weirded him out of the ability to talk. 

"With me?" he pushed out, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, and you nodded your head, because maybe he wasn't weirded out. Maybe you had just flustered him. You hoped so, at least.

"Yeah," you said. "Is that weird? Or is it okay? To ask that?"

"It's okay. Yeah. Yes. I would love—like to. I mean, that would be nice. Yeah," he stammered, and you smiled. 

"Here," you held your hand out and gestured for his coffee, taking it back and picking up a Sharpie to write your number atop the lid, before you slid it back to him. "I get off work at one. Call me?"

"I will," he nodded, eyes fixated on the number for a few seconds more, before he returned his eyes to you. "I will. Um—bye!" he took a step back, and you let out a loud laugh when he stumbled into a chair behind him. 

He was sheepish as he waved to you, bidding you another goodbye, the sound of the bell above the door ringing once, and then again when it fell shut. 

And you had, somehow, secured a date with Spencer.

Which turned into two dates. Then three. And then, with some weird stroke of luck and twist of fate, you were spending every evening you could at his apartment, and him at yours. 

But you were yet to kiss. 

Not by any particular reason. Really, nothing either of you did ever really called for a kiss. Which was as frustrating as it was understandable. Frustrating, because you felt like you were simply friends, who sometimes went out for dinner, and had feelings for each other. But he had told you very early on he'd never been with anyone before, let alone ever been on a date. Hence; understandable. 

But frustration was more overwhelming than you had thought, because you were on his couch, blanket draped over both of your bodies, as he read you a book — The Chameleon. A short story by Anton Chekhov (an author whom you were only barely familiar with). And yet, all you could think about was kissing him. 

In your defence, he was very kissable, as you stared at his lips while he spoke, your heart stuttering quite uncomfortably in your chest. You weren't sure what it was precisely about him that made him like that. Maybe it was the natural pout of his lips, or how they twitched in humour at the little jokes Chekhov had written into the book that only made sense in Russian, despite him attempting to translate it for you. 

Whatever it was, it was overriding your senses, and in true Spencer fashion, he hadn't noticed you weren't intently listening to his reading until he glanced down to catch a reaction to something he said. You caught as he closed the book and placed it off to the side, jostling you from your haze. 

"You don't like the book, do you?" he asked, and you were quick to shake your head. 

"No, I do," which was true. The parts you were actively listening to you enjoyed. "Sorry, I'm distracted."

"By what?" he shifted on the couch to face you.

You fell silent at that, the answer hanging on the tip of your tongue, unsure whether or not saying it could ruin things. You didn't think it would. "You."

"I'm distracting?" he asked, eyebrows creasing together and a confused frown pulling his lips down. 

Which confused you. "Yes?"

"I don't think I'm meant to be sorry for that," he said. "But I am."

"You shouldn't be," you breathed out with a small laugh. 

"Right," he nodded his head, laughing too, awkwardly. "How am I distracting?"

You studied his face for a few moments, which ended up being a pathetic excuse for a lip study, because you were fixated on them again, and you decided Spencer probably didn't even realise that that was what you were doing. 

"We haven't kissed yet," you told him, instead. 

"No. We haven't," he agreed. 

"Do you just not want to kiss me?" you asked.

He did that thing he does when he's thinking — furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, eyes blinking a few times, before he comes up with his response. 

"I just don't want you to be disappointed. I've never kissed anyone before."

"I concluded that," you answered. "I won't be disappointed."

"You might be," he mumbled, and his gaze averted from your own, which had another smile stretching across your lips. 

"Only one way to find out, right?"

He hesitated before nodding his head, lifting his eyes back up to look at you. It was then that you learned that, like everything else, you might have to make the first move on him. Again.

The thought made you laugh, and though he wanted to, he didn't get a chance to question why you were laughing, because your hands were on his face and you were pulling him into you, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that elicited a surprised squeak from him. 

"You've gotta kiss me back," you murmured against his lips, and his response was a quiet 'oh'. 

But he was a fast learner, because soon after he was. Objectively, it wasn't the best kiss you've ever had in your life. But it got better by the second, and he was doing enough to make your heart stutter in your chest, his hands reaching up to cup your own face, palms and fingers covering the mass of your cheeks. 

His hands there provided him the ability to keep you there, and you had to pry them off your face so you were able to pull back for air, breaths coming out in short pants. Only for a short second, because he was chasing your lips again, and you laughed, before letting him kiss you again. And again. And again. 

Until both of you were out of air, and he was glassy-eyed and pink-lipped. Though, you were probably his mirror image of that.

And he smiled at you, crookedly. And you wondered if it was too soon to say you loved him. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[levis-poison-is-my-medicine]

Tea Lovers

A Levi x reader fanfic (Flufftober 2024)

Crossposted from AO3

Maybe your love for tea is the only thing you have in common. Maybe your biggest talent is annoying the shit out of Levi, and still somehow always getting away with it. But maybe he wouldn't have it any other way.

tags: fluff and humor, silly and sweet, tea-obsessed fem!reader with their head in the clouds (word count: 3.33k)

(Levi x reader Masterlist)

"Please?" you asked Erwin for the umpteenth time, making puppy dog eyes while trying to keep up with him as he walked swiftly back towards his office.

The moment he had seen you making his way towards him, his steps had significantly picked up speed, but you didn't even notice, too busy trying to put as much pathos into your voice as possible. This would be your last chance, so you were dead set on convincing him this time.

"Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?"

But as always, your pleas fell on deaf ears. None of your tactics worked on him. You had been begging Erwin to take you with him for weeks.

The moment you heard he was heading to Mitras for work, you knew you just had to go with him, but for some reason, he said no every time you asked him.

Maybe this was because you had no business being there, only occupying a low rank in the scouts. Maybe it was because you had a habit of talking too much. Either way, he didn't seem too keen on the idea.

Erwin let out an exasperated breath. "As I said before, this is a meeting between the military leaders of the three divisions. You won't be able to attend."

He gave you a stern look, but it was lost on you.

"Besides, I am only there for a day anyway, so what would you even want to do there?" Erwin added in a final desperate attempt to discourage you. Needless to say, it didn't work.

"I'm glad you asked!" you said excitedly, a little out of breath since you had to break into a little jog to keep up with his long strides. This didn't stop you from rambling, though. It never did.

"I promise I will stay out of your hair! In fact, you won't even notice I'm there. Because while you're doing your official commander business, I'll be out on an important mission myself, roaming the streets of the city, looking for the good stuff. The kind they only sell in Mitras, you know? The finest, fanciest first class shit only reserved for royalty and aristocrats. I will get it all! Well maybe not all... But as much as I can afford! I saved all of my wages for the fateful day that I would be allowed to step foot into the capital and–"

"So you're saying it was never your intention to attend the meeting?" Erwin interrupted you.

You blinked at him. "Well...no. I thought that was obvious. Why would someone like me be there?" You were just a common soldier, after all. "I only need a ride there and back again."

Erwin groaned.

"Why didn't you lead with that? I can't believe you pestered me all this time because you wanted to go on a shopping spree..." he muttered, defeated.

You perked up at his words, eyes twinkling with hope.

"Does that mean you'll let me go with you?"

He dragged a hand across his face and sighed. "Fine. If that means you'll finally leave me alo–"

"Yay!" you interrupted him, the biggest goofy grin plastered across your face as you broke into a small victory dance. "I promise you will not regret this!"

"I don't know about that..." Erwin mumbled, having finally reached the safety of his office. He unlocked the door, attempting to shut it before you could enter, but you slipped in right behind him, much to his chagrin.

"Is there something else?" he asked, looking between you and the mountains of paperwork he would still have to finish before leaving for Mitras first thing tomorrow morning.

"I just wanted to say... thank you, commander," you said, still smiling widely.

"I'll be forever in your debt! If you ever need help with something, anything, don't hesitate to ask me! Big or small, be it manual labor or administrative stuff I'll–"

"Actually," he interrupted the exuberant stream of words gushing out from your mouth, his eyes on the documents sitting on his desk. "I might have something you could help me with."

– –

The next morning you practically skipped to the carriage which would take you to the ship, barely able to contain your enthusiasm.

Erwin was walking alongside you, eyeing you incredulously. He knew you couldn't have gotten much sleep last night as you had stayed up with him, working your way through all the paperwork, but it didn't seem to affect you much.

Another surprise to add to the list then, since last night he had already been astonished to discover that despite your seemingly airheaded nature, you were actually quite a serious worker with attention to detail.

Quite frankly, he hadn't expected much when he had enlisted your help yesterday, but your ability to focus on such a mundane task for so long made him reconsider the preconceived notions he had about you. Maybe you weren't so bad, after all.

You were still chattering away in joyous anticipation as you climbed into the carriage, not minding the fact that Erwin didn't say much in return, when suddenly you stopped dead in your tracks.

There was another person inside the coach.

He looked up at the sudden noise, a blank expression on his face, and your eyes widened in recognition.

Sitting there with his legs crossed, book in hand, was none other than Levi Ackerman. You never had the chance to speak with him before, as you were part of a different squad, but of course you knew who he was.

Delighted, you thrust out a hand and introduced yourself. He stared at it with raised eyebrows, not returning the gesture. "I'm Levi–"

"I know," you said happily. "You're Captain Levi. I'm so pleased to finally meet you." You slid into the seat across from him, allowing Erwin to enter behind you. "I had no idea that you were coming with us. Erwin must have forgotten to mention it."

His eyebrows wandered even higher at your familiar way of addressing the commander, and he shot Erwin a glance.

"Don't ask," the man mumbled as he sat down next to Levi. This was just the way you were with people. He had given up trying to correct you.

Levi hummed, turning his attention back to the book in his lap. It was a long ride ahead and he was looking forward to reading in peace.

Clearly you had other plans in mind. "So I take it you will sit in on the meeting with Erwin?" you asked, unperturbed.

Levi scowled, looking back up.

"Yes," he said flatly, then attempted to focus on the book once again.

"Figures. With you being humanity's strongest, and all," you said, nodding.

He tutted irritably, eyes still trained on the pages.

There was a moment of silence which actually allowed him to parse the meaning of the sentence he had been re-reading for the fourth time now. However, it was short-lived.

"There's this one famous shop I'm dying to visit, though," you started.

Levi snapped the book shut. He was now full-on death-glaring at you, but you gave no notice, just happy you had his attention.

"You should go there, too, if you get the chance. It has the rarest, finest–"

"You should try to get some rest. How can you be so full of energy after last night?" Erwin interrupted you, trying to salvage the situation. He had watched Levi's eyes growing narrower and narrower and was honestly fearing for your life at this point.

"Why, it's only the power of black tea! Two pots, to be exact," you replied eagerly.

"Two... pots?" Erwin repeated, dumbfounded.

"Well, usually the two pots are reserved for getting me out of the food coma after lunch, and I only have one in the morning. Can't face the dread of getting up without it. But today called for more, since it's a special occasion." You gave him a warm smile. "Thanks again for letting me tag along."

"You're welcome," Erwin said, still a bit taken aback by the sheer amount of tea you consumed. He glanced at Levi, who was still looking at you, the glare on his face now replaced with his usual deadpan expression, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"If you ever need help with paperwork again, just give me a holler. It was actually kind of fun," you said, still smiling.

"You have a strange definition of fun," Erwin muttered, shaking his head. "But I will." He rubbed his eyes, which were dry from the lack of sleep.

"I'm glad. You look a bit... overworked," you pointed out, taking in the bags under his eyes. They were so pronounced that even you noticed them.

"I'm just tired. I'll try to get in some shut-eye on the way."

"Got it. I'll keep my mouth shut." You grinned.

Fortunately for the two men, you spent the rest of the ride glued to the window, quietly taking in the sights around you.

– –

Your silence lasted until you got to the boat, then you just couldn't keep it in anymore.

"Wow, this view is breathtaking," you said as you leaned against the railing of the ferry, looking out onto the river leading you deeper inside Wall Sina with big eyes, hair fluttering in the stiff breeze.

"Don't you think it's amazing how fast this moves? With this speed, we'll be in Mitras in no time."

"You act like you've never ridden on a ferry before," Levi said dryly.

He and Erwin were standing some distance away from the railing to avoid the sharp winds.

"That's because I haven't."

He shot you a surprised look, watching as you craned your head up towards the steel wires suspended above the river which helped the barge move.

"Did you know that these boat can carry up to 150 tons? That's like 300 cows or something."

"I'm sure cows are heavier than that," Erwin said.

"300 horses, then," you said. "My point remains. These wires are strong as hell."

"They are indeed," Erwin conceded.

"I didn't know farm animals were an accepted unit of weight," Levi deadpanned. "You forgot the pigs."

"Hmm," you went, seriously considering the answer. "Maybe about 750? They are much lighter than horses."

Levi shook his head at your earnest response and watched as you leaned even further over the railing, putting your entire weight on your upper body.

"If she keeps this up, she's gonna end up falling in."

Erwin hummed in agreement. Neither of them made a move to stop you.

"I'm going inside," Levi said, taking out his book again. He hadn't planned on being outside at all, but you had insisted, sputtering nonsense about the beauty of nature and taking in the sights.

As he sat down to read, he couldn't help but to take a last look out the window at the deck, half-expecting you to have fallen into the river already.

But you were still there, arms stretched out at the surface of the water like you were trying to touch it, an expression of pure and utter delight on your face.

"Idiot," he mumbled, and turned his attention back to the book.

This wouldn't be the last time he glanced up to check on you.

– –

After you had reached Mitras, you were quick to run off the boat.

"Let's meet here again for the last ferry of the day!" Erwin called after you, not sure if you even heard him.

He watched you disappear into the crowd of people and sighed.

"What am I going to do with her..."

– –

You made it back just in time before the boat departed, waving at the two men who waited at the dock as you ran towards them.

Out of breath, you skidded to a halt in front of them.

"You're late," Levi said with apparent distaste.

"I'm... sorry," you panted. "Got lost... on my way back. I didn't know the capital was... this damn big."

"It's fine. I'm glad you made it," Erwin said mildly.

You were still wheezing and clutching your sides, a single bag inside your left hand.

"That's it?" Erwin asked, gesturing at the bag as you made your way onto the ferry. "I thought you wanted to go on this grand shopping tour and spend all of your money."

"Oh yeah, I did! I went all out and splurged everything on this!" you said excitedly. "I can't wait to show you."

Levi watched the exchange with raised eyebrows.

"Everything I heard about the capital was true! In fact, it was even better than I imagined! I actually thought I was in heaven. It was so hard to decide which ones to get. There were so many different varieties," you continued enthusiastically, gesticulating wildly for emphasis. "But I decided to go for quality instead of quantity. I mean, that's what money's for, right? It's not every day that you get to be in the capital, perusing the finest shops for the finest goods this world has to offer."

You carefully set your bag down on the table and took a seat in front of Levi and Erwin.

"Sooo... Are you ready to see the precious fruits of my long and laborious quest for the best of the best?"

You didn't even wait for an answer, taking out tin after tin and placing them on the table with dramatic flourish.

"Isn't this amazing?" you asked happily, your face practically glowing with rapture as you took in the sight of your haul spread out in front of you.

Levi nodded, looking actually interested for once.

"Is this all... tea?" Erwin asked in disbelief.

The table was, in fact, filled with tea canisters of all sizes.

"Of course it's all tea. What did you think I was going to buy?" you asked, genuinely puzzled that he could possibly think you would spend your hard-earned money on anything other than tea.

"I just assumed you meant clothing and the like."

"Huh. I could have sworn I told you," you murmured, still unconvinced.

"You did not."

"If you say so."

"I do say so," the commander retorted, a twinge of irritation noticeable in his voice.

"Okay, whatever. Who cares. Let's return our attention back to what's really important," you said, gesturing at the tea in front of you.

Erwin heaved a deep sigh as you giddily started to showcase the tea you had bought.

For each one, you started with its region of origin, then you named its grade, which was of course always the finest, followed by a florid description of its aroma, never forgetting to mention what set it apart from other, lesser ones, until you finally opened the tea tin and made everyone smell it.

"How did you get this?" Levi asked in astonishment, examining the smallest of the tea canisters. "This is from Wall Maria. I thought there was none of it left."

"Ooh, I see you know your stuff. I'm always glad to meet a fellow coinnoisseur." You gave him a cheerful smile.

"I was actually planning on saving the best for last, but oh well, since you're interested..."

You took a deep breath. "You're right. It's only the last special finest tippy golden flowery orange pekoe from the most distinguished tea growing region in the south of Wall Maria. I basically had to sell a kidney to get this. Remember that famous tea shop I told you about on our ride here? They are known to have the rarest leaves, usually only reserved for royalty. But I got to talking with the owner and used all of my persuasive power to get him to sell it to me, until he finally caved!" You smiled gleefully.

Erwin could imagine exactly how that had gone. He felt sorry for the poor guy. You must have pestered him the same way you had Erwin when you tried to get him to take you to Mitras with him.

"So it's actually legit?" Levi asked, not entirely convinced.

"Go ahead, open it," you told him with a grin. "And see for yourself."

He did, holding it under his nose to take in the aroma.

"It's exquisite, isn't it?" you said excitedly, watching as his eyes grew wide.

"It is," he admitted, sounding impressed.

"You smell it, too, Erwin!" you exclaimed and took the canister from Levi to practically thrust it in Erwin’s face, then proceeded to look at him expectantly.

"It smells the same like the others to me. Rather like tea, as one might say," Erwin said matter-of-factly.

You gasped in horror. "Take that back. How can you even say that? That's sacrilegious."

Erwin shrugged. "It is simply my opinion."

You harrumphed and shook your head in disbelief.

"There is no place for opinions here. This is excellent tea, and that's a fact," Levi said surly.

"Thank you!" you exclaimed. "I'm glad that at least one person here has taste and is distinguished enough to recognize true greatness when they see it."

You glared pointedly at Erwin before giving Levi a sweet smile.

"Since you seem to be an expert judge on the matter of tea, maybe you can help me decide which one to put in this? It's too big for the little I have of the Wall Maria one."

You reached inside your bag to take out one last item. It was a beautiful dark blue tea canister with an ornate, flowery design. "They had so many gorgeous ones, but I ran out of money, so I could only buy this one."

Levi looked at it, brows knitted. "It's yours, decide for yourself."

"Oh come on, please? I really can't make up my mind."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, but then pointed at one of the bigger tea tins.

"That one, then."

"Yay, that's a good choice, thank you so much!" You beamed at Levi.

He averted his gaze and scoffed. "It's not like I put much thought into it," he muttered.

But you didn't even hear him, too busy humming happily as you put the tea back into the bag.

"This was the best day ever!"

– –

"This was the worst day ever," you groaned as you slunk into the room you shared with three other scouts. Two months had passed since that trip to Mitras.

There wasn't a single body part that didn't ache from today's intense training session. To top it all off, you had been in charge of cleaning duty. Now the day was basically over.

"So much for having a good birthday," you grumbled. No one besides Erwin had even remembered it, and he remembered everything, so it didn't count.

Sighing with exhaustion, you let yourself fall onto your bed, only to let out a little cry of pain. "What the hell?" you asked as you rubbed your lower back where it had made contact with something hard lying in your bed.

You rolled over, examining the culprit. It was a beautiful dark red tea canister with blue flowers dotting it, the inverse image to the one sitting on the shelves next to your desk.

"Could this be… a birthday present?" you wondered, a happy smile already spreading across your lips. "But from whom?" You turned it over, looking for a clue, but you found none.

You asked your roommates when they came back, but they sheepishly admitted that they hadn't even known that it was your birthday.

"Hmm," you said. There were only two other people who knew about your prized tea canister: Erwin and Levi.

Erwin, always the fair-minded one, had already told you that he didn't get anyone presents. "If I gave you one, I would have to give one to every scout, and I'm afraid I can't afford that."

So this left you with only one option. It had got to be from Levi.

"That's a fellow tea lover for you," you whispered, touched, as you pressed the present to your chest.

"But which tea should I put in it?"

You knew just who to ask.

Notes: Soo this marks the beginning of The Tea Lovers series, a bunch of short and sweet and mostly just silly fluff pieces I am writing for Flufftober. They're set sometime after the fall of Wall Maria in S1 (before Eren and co. join the scouts) and feature the same reader. You happily live in your own little world where everything revolves around tea, totally oblivious to what you're doing to Levi, lol. I am going to be releasing the next part soon, so stay tuned!

Click here for Part 2

[cookies-after-dark]

FIRSTTT OF ALL, YHANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS SIDE BLOG I'm a big Black Sapphire Fan and it got me giggling that last post,,,,

I'd imagine Black Sapphire is a biter, likely covering the reader with bites, maybe a bit of strangulation, degrading us as he mutters it all by our ear

SSORRY FOR THE RAMBLE, I FINALLY FOUND SUCH A PERFECT BLOG TO TALK ABOUT MY #FREAKY THOUGHTS (one day I'll be brave enough to get off anon)

additional tags: explicit content, yandere, stalking, obsessive behavior, jealousy, unhealthy dynamics, isolation, defamation, masturbation, degradation, strangulation, gender neutral!reader

ships: yandere!black sapphire cookie x reader, yandere!shadow milk cookie x reader

(author's note: I accidentally turned this into a yandere thing. what the fuuuuuck)

One thing that you can expect from cookies that serve under Shadow Milk is that they are all kinds of freaky. Candy Apple Cookie is... herself, but what about Black Sapphire Cookie?

Of course he has to be charming, smooth, and witty. It's much easier to get cookies to listen to all his rumors, but when he's behind closed doors and he sees his master fussing over ANOTHER cookie, he can't help but grit his teeth a little bit.

Master Shadow Milk Cookie's eyes tells him everything he needs to know (his words), and when Shadow Milk's eyes dilate to the size of balloons whenever he interacts with you itches Black Sapphire Cookie more than he'd like to admit.

At the very least, Pure Vanilla Cookie is his master's most hated (😉) nemesis. It was a little wird how Shadow Milk Cookie immediately offered up his bedroom to him, but whatever.

But you? You? You were just... a regular cookie! Some random plucked off the street! Just what the hell was going on, here!?

It's not shocking when Black Sapphire Cookie starts to follow you around. Not even discreetly, he will straight up approach you with an audacity and a swagger in his strut that makes you mentally prepare for what's about to come.

Shadow Milk Cookie just thinks it's soooo amusing. "Looks like you got a little admirer~!" he singsongs at you. Perhaps it's a good thing that he isn't pissed off, but you're not aure if his amusement settles your worries any less.

I think that Black Sapphire Cookie will start to change his viewpoint from 'outrageously jealous and silently sneering at you' to 'dangerously interested' once he sees his microphone's gaze snaps towards you whenever you're in sight. Well... how peculiar is that~? Perhaps there was something to you, after all...

When Shadow Milk Cookie finally allows you to leave- I mean when you finally decide to leave the Spire to visit your friends in the Cookie Kingdom, he tags right along! From afar. Secretly.

He's been watching you for weeks. He's even put on a cute, innocuous little disguise to blend in with the really bland and dull locals. He finds out who your friends are, those that admire you as a special cookie, takes notes the restaurants you frequent and all your interactions. Each day he tails you and leanrs more about you makes him more eager, makes his cock harder just imagining how he's going to ruin it all for you.

Well... uh, ahem. Let's ask Shadow Milk Cookie's permission first. You are, unfortunately for Black Sapphire Cookie, his pet.

"Sheeeesh, kiddo. Finally, I was beginning to think you'd never make the first move. I was getting tired of watching you limp everywhere." Shadow Milk Cookie looked actually very pleased, much to Black Sapphire Cookie's relief. "Yeah, go ahead with your naughty little plan. Just be extra sure our unfortunate little puppet runs straight back here when you're finished."

Currently, Black Sapphire Cookie was inside your home in the kingdom; he found a chance to slip inside right after you left for the day. This wasn't even a part of his plan, he just wanted to blow off a little steam before the grand show.

Black Sapphire Cookie happily plopped into your bed, lazily tossing a knitted doll he'd brought with him. It was adorable, it looked just like you! It was a little worn, but it was necessary to help him control his urges before he could practice on the real thing.

He slipped his hands around the doll's soft neck, and Black Sapphire Cookie didn't bother to stifle his moan. His cock was twitching with excitement; the mere thought of him doing something so perverted in your home behind your back made it hard to hold on for long. Black Sapphire Cookie thought of every friend he would turn against you, every admirer would glare and whisper as you walked past. You'd be vulnerable, alone, and confused, all upset and you would be none the wiser. It was just so incredibly easy to run in circles around you. Shadow Milk Cookie really had to choose the most fluffheaded, oblivious little puppet to manipulate.

Black Sapphire Cookie is hissing and growling in the doll's ear,humping your blankets andnpillow with a fervor that left him breathless. The moment you ran crying and sobbing back into his master's arms, Black Sapphire would be right there at his side, gleefully taking in all of it. Hell, how about he tear his pants off and whip out his cock right then and there for you to watch? He'd get off on it, knowing that you had nowhere else to go.

That last image made Black Sapphire cum; he arched his back and hot, electric shocks of pleasure shot through his entire body as he shot ropes onto his precious doll. He didn't stop gasping and crying your name until every inch of your likeness was covered in his seed. You never looked so beautiful.

Well, what a fun ride! Black Sapphire would use your bathroom to clean hinself up before shifting into his disguise (your bedhseets be damned. You probably wouldn't even notice.)

Time to make his fantasy a reality! It's showtime!

[zigrethsnotebook]

I apologize for writing a new request so quickly, it just popped into my head and seems very good. I hope you like it)Ford and the Reader.Ford is definitely a very passionate person and immersed in his interests, research, etc.? Imagine that in response to some simple question from the Reader he bursts into a whole speech, a lecture, in fact. That Ford goes a little into the wilds, so to speak. At some point he notices that he has been talking for a very long time and feels deflated. He apologizes and says that he probably got too carried away, but that the Reader (a person who is extremely honest and extremely closed, which often makes it look like she is not listening) replies something like:"You almost lost me an hour ago, but you talk so captivatingly about what interests you that I just couldn't stop listening"Very honest people of frequencies look a little rude, but if you get to know them better, you understand that there is simply no double meaning in their words. They say what they think! Which means that the Reader really likes listening to Ford, trying to understand his theories, even if she can't)That's the request. Quite chaotic, but I hope you like it) Thank you for reading!

ohh i can absolutely relate to the just listening to someone ramble bit, i love listening to people haha

An honest review

Ford x Reader

words: 1,189

tags: sfw, fluff, idiots in love

Ford had just made another grand discovery on his latest expedition into the depths of the forest and you eagerly followed him into his lab. He had stormed into the gift shop, barely looking up from his journal as he walked, the pen never leaving the page.

He was such a weird guy and you loved it about him. Down in the lab he immediately pulled out various jars and boxes and stored all the things he collected in them. While he did that you sat down backwards on his chair, letting your head rest on top of your arms on the backrest.

Ford rushed from one side of the room to the other, his tan coat floating behind him as he did so. He hurried around, pulling boxes and crates, putting stuff away, scribbling in his journal and muttering to himself. You smiled lightly as you considered whether or not he had noticed you following him.

After a few minutes of this he was done. He had pulled an amount of things out of his coat pockets which you deemed unlikely, but you were also aware that he had probably put some sort of... pocket dimension in his pockets. For storage. Or something.

Ford turned to you. Or, more accurately, to his chair and found you in it. He halted, raising his eyebrows. So he hadn't noticed. You chuckled a little. "Surprise." You managed to say and let your chuckle turn into a soft smile.

"How long have you been sitting there?" You hummed as if in thought. "I don't know. How long have you been here? I followed you down the stairs." Ford chuckled awkwardly and scratched at the back of his neck. "That long, huh?" You just nodded.

After a moment of Ford trying to be less embarrassed you perked up, lifting your head from your arms again. "What did you find out there anyway? It must have been pretty exciting if you didn’t even notice me here."

Ford blushed a little at being called out like that, but that was quickly overruled by sheer excitement at getting to share his findings with somebody. Somebody who was willing to listen.

He started when he heard the first unusual noise and didn’t spare any detail in either his observations or speculations. Ford had so many ideas and theories about what he had encountered today and since you actually asked him about it he didn’t hold back.

You let your head rest on your arms again as you realized that this was going to be a long one. You loved to hear him ramble. All his observations were a solid mix of fascinating and downright terrifying. You had no idea how he managed to be out there all alone and face some of these creatures.

All of his theories though? You didn’t understand half of them, even if you tried. And you did try. But it wasn't like you could get between his excitement and ask him about it. He was too lost in his story and you loved listening to it.

You watched Ford animatedly gesticulate along with his words and pace through the room. It was like your own private play in a theater and you relished every second of it.

Eventually, when he was about halfway done with his story, you suspected, he locked eyes with you. His eyes darted to the clock just above his desk and then back to your eyes. A little blush of embarrassment crept onto his cheeks.

"I just realized I've been talking non-stop for about 80 minutes. I'm sorry." Ford scratched at the back of his neck. "I know you asked me about this but you probably didn’t want me to give you a full lecture on the topic. So I'm sorry if I'm boring you with this."

Ford let his hand fall back down to his side. "If you want me to stop and you tell me so now, then I promise I won't be upset." He had an awkward and apologetic smile on his lips. He buried his hands in his coat pockets and looked away from you nervously as he waited for your answer.

You thought about it for a moment. "I'll be honest, you almost lost me an hour ago. But I just can't stop listening to you ramble on about your interests... It's just so captivating." You watched Ford blush an even deeper crimson as he met your eyes again.

Honest indeed. He knows full well that you have never lied to him and hearing you compliment him like that. To hear you say that you enjoy him basically lecturing you on the weird things in this town... that's something else. Something he hadn't expected to hear today.

Ford felt a tingly feeling in his stomach. Butterflies. He had to look away from your face or he'd have embarrassed himself further, either by saying something horribly awkward or worse. Kissing you.

You on the other hand watched all this happen, watched the gears slowly turn in his head. You knew he had a crush on you and relished in that feeling. He was just too adorable when he tried to hide his very obvious blush or tried to play it off when he found a reason to touch your arm.

You also had a crush on him, obviously. And you were planning to tell him about it really soon. As soon as you could work yourself up to it. Even though you knew he felt the same way you just couldn't bring yourself to tell him. It was still too scary to admit your own feelings.

A sigh escaped you as you got lost in your own thoughts which caused Ford's head to snap back in your direction. "Don't tell me I'm boring you now." You looked back up at him, huffed and answered him absentmindedly before letting your eyes fall to the floor again. "No, you could never."

It was a good thing that Ford's blush hadn't subsided yet, because it would have come back full force at those words. What did you mean 'he could never'? He wanted to ask for clarification but he didn’t dare. You probably just meant his scientific rambles. Not him personally.

After a moment you shook your head as if to shake off all your distracting thoughts and focused on Ford again. He was still standing in front of you, unable to move and unsure what to say. You smiled as you let your head rest on your arms once more.

"So what else happened?" Ford's eyes lit up with excitement. His heart all but lept out of his chest and into your arms. He gladly continued his story, his rambling, his lecture or whatever you want to call it. And you listened just as happily as he was to tell it to you.

Your gaze was soft and filled with nothing but fondness as you watched Ford take his hands out of his pockets again to gesture around the room with them.

You would tell him about your feelings eventually. As soon as he stops rambling...

[kaddyssammlung]

I want to share some thoughts with you.

I really like all the new content that is coming in at the moment. But I posted two pics (so far) that I was very hesitant to post (pic 1 and pic 2).

The thing about them is the elephant in the room. It's what you can see in them. His scars....

That catwalk and the new angles and everything and many now seeing what I always could....well...I'm rambling.

Hiding from here on because some topics are not for everyone.

Vessel and self-harm….those words alone can get you blocked other places.

Recently I talked to so many of you about that topic because I received a lot of messages about that topic (here and other places) and that made me think.

I just want to share some thoughts and some links to YouTube channels that deal with topics like these. That's all.

Psych2go has all sorts of videos about mental health. The videos are short and focus on what's important so that you can maybe understand a topic better.

To me this is almost nothing special in a way. I have struggled with this myself for many years. Mostly from when I was 14 into my early 20s. I know many other humans (real life and online) who dealt with the same issues.

What I fail to realize is though: not everyone knows someone who struggled with this or knows something about this topic in general.

That's why so many seem concerned or don't even know what to do with all of this.

I wrote some stuff about it when I analyized the lyrics but that's just me talking about myself rather then about Vessel.

He has suffered but like he says we all have suffered. The whole album “Take Me Back To Eden” symbolizes a journey of regaining inner strength. “We step into my suffering” it's what I do in my energy work session. I step into my suffering and face it in order to heal it and turn it into strength or something else that's positive. Not that important.

We can learn from our suffering…well..this is actually not what I wanted to talk about.

I just wanted to share some online resources that I like.

Another video that I really like “Heartstopper Gets Therapized” (that Netflix show and that guy is a therapist). It deals with that topic, too and explain it really well.

another video that YouTube suggested to me and that I like

Why do people self-harm?

I have no idea why Vessel did what he did but I'm sure that he is much better now. Of course I don't know that but seeing how much fun he has on stage these days....and also his voice. There is so much strength in it. You can't sing with strength when you feel weak. I find his transformation inspiring.

it explains the biology (in the brain) behind it. But it's more about the link between self-harm and BPD. So...it was meant for me because it's what I have.

And also...I keep seeing so much cool stuff that I want to post but I'm not even sure what to post anymore because of how visible they are. Or if I should put a trigger warning in the tags or if I should just not do anything about it. I would not hide my scars on stage btw. I would wear what I want to wear and when they are in pics then I just would not care. I don't care that much about them anymore. They are just here.

I do understand why other places treat this topic like the plague but for me personally that's not how I want to treat this.

If you have questions you can ask btw. that's what I mean with this.

[justmystyles]

He's Not Me

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

*i say it's a plus size reader, but it is not something that i focus on explicitly in my fics, because your size should not define you. it will only come up if it comes into the story organically.*

word count: 1.6k

summary: you introduce Harry to the guy you're seeing, and you see a side of him you've never seen before and are shocked by his reasoning.

a/n: this was a dream i had the other night about frat boy Harry, i have been thinking about it nonstop, so i decided to flesh it out and make it a fic!

tags: @abby8694 @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @likeapplejuicenpeach @lilfreakjez @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“Hey, earth to Y/N?” 

“Oh, sorry,” you looked up from your phone and examined the suit that Harry was modeling for you. Your nose scrunched in disapproval. “I don’t love it.” 

Harry let out an exaggerated sigh and moved back behind the dressing room curtain. “What has you so distracted anyway? I haven’t seen you in a month and a half, and you can’t keep your nose out of your phone.” 

“It’s uh… Jon, that guy I told you about.” You say sheepishly. 

Harry rolled his eyes before peeking his head over the top of the door. “Oh right, your boyfriend.” He said in a teasing tone. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said defensively. “I mean, I don’t think he is. I don’t know.” 

He steps back out from behind the doors, wearing another suit and shaking his head. “You might want to figure that out, love.” He does a quick spin, holding his arms out with a flourish. 

You smile and give him a thumbs up. “That’s the one.” As he returns to the changing area to put his street clothes back on, you call out to him. “He’s actually not far from here. Do you mind if he meets up with us for ice cream?” 

Harry glanced over the door and pouted at you. “But this is our time.” 

You giggle at his dramatics. “Please! I want you to meet him, I think you guys would get along really well.” 

Harry took his time changing, allowing himself a moment to let his emotions pass. While he was on the road, he realized that his constant thoughts of you were much more than just friendly. He had every intention of coming back and asking you out. But those hopes were dashed when you sent him an excited rambling text about finally having your first date. And your first kiss. 

It was bad enough that he was stuck with his feelings while you gushed about him, now you wanted to parade him around. But you were so excited, and happy. All he wanted was for you to be happy, so he agreed to the meeting. 

You stood outside the ice cream shop, talking with Harry when you saw him approaching, the point you were making suddenly lost as you brushed past Harry and into his arms. After an embrace that lasted much longer than Harry wanted it to, you took Jon’s hand in yours and brought him over to meet Harry. 

“Harry, this is Jon. Jon, this is Harry.” You said with a wide smile. 

Jon extended his hand to Harry. “It’s so great to finally meet you. Y/N talks about you all the time.”

“Of course she does, we’re best friends.” You were a little surprised by Harry’s snarky tone as he took Jon’s hand. 

You watched on as the handshake continued for what seemed to be an uncomfortable amount of time, as the two men held eye contact. 

“Okay,” you say loudly, clapping your hands. “Let’s go get some ice cream!” You take Jon’s hand and lead him toward the door. You look over your shoulder, shooting Harry a questioning look and he simply shrugs in response. 

The three of you get in line, looking over the flavors as you wait. 

“Whatever you want, on me babe.” Jon said, snaking his hand around your waist and placing a kiss on your cheek. 

Harry moved to stand in front of both of you. “Not a chance, keep your money Jon. It’s on me today.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Please,” Harry interrupted Jon. “I want to. Besides, it’s not like I don’t have enough money for a couple of ice cream cones. Hell, get a sundae if you want.”

“Harry!” You chastised. You had never seen him like this before, and you didn’t like it. You gave Jon an apologetic smile and stepped out of his arms, pulling Harry to the side. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just trying to make a good impression.” He said innocently.

“Well try harder.” You said before going back to Jon. 

When Harry rejoined you, he stayed pretty quiet, only glancing over at the two of you a couple of times. He wasn’t initiating any conversation, and when he would respond to you or Jon, it was in clipped, one word answers. 

You got your ice cream and took a seat at one of the outside tables. Jon talked about work, and asked Harry a bit about his life on tour. You were seated between the two of them and couldn’t help but feel an air of tension between the three of you. You were sure it had to do with Harry. 

“So Jon,” Harry spoke up after one of the many awkward silences. “Do you have any tattoos?” 

“Oh, not yet. But I have one in mind, I’m just not sure when I’m going to get it.” 

“Cool,” Harry said, practically scoffing at Jon. “I have a bunch.” He put his ice cream down on the table and lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his tattooed torso and arms. He began pointing out each one and telling their stories. 

You sunk lower in your seat, completely embarrassed by the actions of your so-called friend. You had never seen him act like this before.

After Harry’s tattoo tour, Jon stood from his seat. “I should take off.” You could tell by his demeanor that he was uncomfortable, and couldn’t get away fast enough. You all said your goodbyes, and you promised to give Jon a call later. 

Once Jon was out of site, and earshot, you turned around and glared at Harry. “What the hell is wrong with you? I finally found a guy that likes me and treats me well and you’re on his case every chance you get. Friends don’t do stuff like that.” 

“You could do better.” Harry stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh really? I’m a fat eighteen year old virgin–” 

“I hate when you say that about yourself, you’re beautiful.” Harry tried to interject, but you were so upset that his words didn’t register, and you continued on.

“I just had my first kiss like a month ago. Guys aren’t exactly lining up at my door, so how am I supposed to do better?” You finally paused for a breath, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You could be with me.” You stared in shocked silence, never expecting those words to come out of his mouth. “I realized while I was away how much I like you, that I want to be more than friends. I hate that it took so long for me to realize, because now I don’t get to be your first kiss.” 

“What?” 

“I wanted to be your first kiss, but I blew it.” He slid his chair closer, taking a deep breath. “I would settle for being your next kiss. And maybe some of your other firsts.” He smiled shyly at the thought. 

You stared at him, searching his eyes, trying to figure out the joke. There was nothing but sincerity in his gaze. “You’re serious? This isn’t some stupid joke?” 

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” 

You sat looking at each other in complete silence. Harry waiting for you to say something, and you trying to process everything that had just happened. 

“Oh,” was all you managed to say before standing and walking away. Leaving Harry scared and confused. 

An hour later, Harry was sitting in his hotel room, absentmindedly flipping through the channels, not paying much attention to the screen. All he could think about was you, and the possible damage that he had just done to your relationship. 

After you left, he texted and called, but you didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he confessed his feelings, but you walking away without any indication of how you felt about his declaration wasn’t even a consideration. 

There was a knock at the door, but he ignored it, he wanted to be alone. But it didn’t stop, it only got more insistent. He stood with a groan and went to answer the door. His eyes went wide when he saw you on the other side. 

“Okay.” Your voice was quiet, your hands fidgeting out of nerves. 

“What?”

“I’ll be with you… I want to be with you.” You took a deep breath. “I always have, I just figured I never had a shot.” 

His brow furrowed in confusion. “How could you think that? You’re amazing. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Especially me.” He stepped up to you, cupping your cheek in his hand. “But… you left?” 

“I uh… I went to end things with Jon.” You started getting nervous and rambling. “It turns out first breakups aren’t as fun as the other firsts, and I just didn’t…”

Harry chuckled as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft at first, but he quickly ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, you parted them, granting him access. His free hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue explored your mouth. 

You finally pulled apart, resting your foreheads together. 

“Wow,” you sighed. 

“I know it’s no first kiss…”

“It was, though.” He looked at you curiously. “It was the first kiss that mattered.” 

Harry smiled, pressing his lips to yours for one more quick kiss before leading you into his room. “And just so you don’t have any uncertainty this time,” he starts as you take a seat together on the couch. “If we’re doing this, I’m your boyfriend.”

[farmerbebop]

The sun was shining too bright for me to be worrying about my deadline so I guess I'll use this rare occasion to make a pinned post.

When I started blorbo posting it was simply because "If even I, who knows next to nothing about British and American TV series, can see that Patrick McGoohan was criminally underrated, then maybe this blog has a reason to exist."

The only thing I ever learned about blorbo posting is from the Columbo fandom. They have fun, and they love their blorbo. As the kids say: Love and peace on planet earth.

But McGoohan is a challenge and will never stop being one. His public image, both in front and behind of the camera, isn't that of someone who would be pleased with blorbo posting. I don't know how other blorbo bloggers feel, but I just wish I can hold a conversation with my blorbo that doesn't bore him to death or anger him to the point of throwing me out of the room.

Judging someone who talked about his nervous breakdown like it was just a cold isn't something I like to do, especially online. So if I have to talk about McGoohan, I always get quite nervous. I can only say that I regret we didn't get to know him as much as we would like to and I really wish he was still here with us.

I know many of the decisions he made, he made it for future generations. It's my privilege to say that my blorbo's gift to the three-year-old running this blog has been her greatest pride as a blorbo blogger. And her hardest and most honourable task is not to mess it up.

I actually didn't create this blog to please McGoohan (the ladies can testify to that, lol). And I think I make fun of him more than I should. But I hope he knows that life as a blorbo blogger isn't easy when your blorbo is Patrick McGoohan and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be too hard on me.

And just in case anyone is wondering what the hell I'm doing on here, here's a short guide to my blog.

my stupid vid My McGoohan fancams are what I personally consider the funniest part of my blog. But they can be somewhat serious too, I think.

my lousy photoshopping This can mean just about anything. McGoohan as The Little Prince. McGoohan in Ingmar Bergman's films. Anything that I made with photoshop. So I have some more tags to categorize it.

mcgoohan at the museum What I love to do the most in photoshop is putting McGoohan into paintings. I don't know why. Maybe because it easily hides my lousy photoshopping skills. Or maybe because my blorbo is as beautiful as a painting.

mcgoohan album covers What can I say? “But you don't really care for music, do you?”

mcgoohan fashion Let's be honest, don't you love a beautiful blorbo?

mcgoohan posters I sometimes try not to misinterpret McGoohan's works, I don't know if I succeed though.

no context mcgoohan Mostly just McGoohan sitting or standing somewhere. But I love it nonetheless.

mcgoohan for kids and mcgoohan anime Well, it's exactly what you would expect it to be.

mcgoohan arthouse One day I'll retire from blorbo posting and go back to watching arthouse films.

mcgoohan stickers They are not as cute as cat or bunny stickers, but they stick all right.

the prisoner redux or anything redux means my lousy photoshopping for that particular series/movie. But when there are so many McGoohans in one post I get tired of tagging and I just give up.

I think that's enough of my lousy photoshopping.

wild mcgoohan in his natural habitat McGoohan as God intended him. Trying to not give away too much information in interviews.

mcgoohan lore McGoohan in someone else's words, including his daughter's. Needless to say, my words should not be trusted. You'll know them when you see them.

my gif McGoohan gifs, mostly for losing tumblr polls. Also for making this blog popular with the ladies on here.

village poetry If there's one thing that McGoohan might like about this blog, this is probably it.

village soundcloud Blorbos and song lyrics go hand in hand - Tumblr proverb.

mcgoogoo and me Just me rambling about my McGoohan dreams and my hard life as a blorbo blogger.

my lousy shitposting It has something to do with McGoohan I'm afraid. But it's fun.

I know this blog has become quite predictable and it's filled with half of my life's story. But if McGoohan was really who I think he was, that would be the least of his problems with my blog.

And finally, my hiatus is a running joke that I'm getting worse at, I hope.

[thehypnone]

Brilliant Mind

WC: 1,2K

Pairing: Rain/Swiss

Tags: Implied autistic Rain, non-binary they/them Rain, anal sex

Rain goes on a ramble about basses while Swiss fucks them. That's the plot.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

“Where’s your head at?” Swiss asked, seeing the absent look in Rain’s eyes, a different one than the one he knows means the water ghoul is far gone in pleasure. They blink at Swiss’ words, shaking themself out of it.

“Just thinking ‘bout something,” they shrugged, way too casual for being impaled on the multi ghoul’s cock.

“About what, Rainbow?” Swiss asked, grinning and resuming his thrusts. That was his mistake.

“I talked with my tech about- ah, basses for the next tour earlier,” Rain started, only a quiet moan interrupting their words for a second.

“You are thinking about basses while I’m fucking you?” the multi ghoul asked, a bit in disbelief, but also with a nauseating amount of affection for his extremely adorable mate.

“Well, yeah,” Rain shrugged, again, “I won’t use the same ones I used now, you know, the white Jazz, black Jazz and black and white Jaguar.”

Swiss just stared down at his partner with wide eyes, absolutely not believing that Rain will go on a rant about basses with a cock up their ass. They didn’t tell him to stop, though, and he did love hearing them talk, so the multi ghoul continued to slowly thrust into them.

“Leaving Jazz, I think, I don't like Precision too much and Jaguar is just… meh. About the colours, I think I’ll stay with the black Jazz for the songs we’ve got in drop C, you know, because it’s fine and it’s a signature by now. But for the rest, I don’t know, the white one was a good balance, because Aether has black Fantomen and Dew black and white. But now Dew will have a whole white Stratocaster, so maybe if I had a black and white bass it would be better? What do you think?”

“I- uh, I think so too, every guitar slash bass in different colours, yeah,” Swiss breathed, not expecting Rain would ask him about anything. “By the way, can we switch positions, wanna ride me, Rainbow?”

“Sure,” the water ghoul agreed, again, way too casually considering the circumstances, and Swiss got to move them. When Rain was settled on the top, they started moving. 

And talking.

“I’m wondering about the fretboards too, what would look the best. Maple is great, but I feel like it’s too light, but there’s something with rosewood that makes me hate it, so I think I’d want ebony. But I don’t know if ebony would fit the black ad white bass, so maybe maple after all? But not the yellowish lacquered one, the softer one. I’ll probably have to try to put all the options together and choose, you know?”

“Y- yeah,” Swiss managed out, barely holding himself together at the display of Rain riding his cock in earnest while still rambling. It was hot, actually, their brain amazed the multi ghoul.

“I was thinking if still tucking my picks behind the pickguard is a good idea, or if taping them to the side like Dew does isn’t better, but that’ll work out later, I guess.” Rain threw their head back then, finally showing some signs of being affected by the cock in their ass. The water ghoul leaned back on their hands, switching their bouncing to a precise grind. “There’s also the strings, I was testing out some flat wounds and half round wounds the last few weeks, and I do like the half ones, the flat’s are too, hm, slippery, but I think I should use the same type of strings they did for the recording, right? So it sounds the same. But they also used Precision, and I won’t do that, so will the strings make such an awful difference if it's a different bass? I mean, the pickups are the same, so the bass itself doesn't make that much difference, plus I can switch the necks, I just don't like the Precision’s body, or more like the pickguard shape, so I still can get really close with the sound.”

Swiss was out of his mind, the drag of Rain’s walls over his cock maddening, his mate’s brain even more. He was so close he was sure if they said one more smart word he totally didn’t understand he’d burst.

“Maybe a higher gauge of the half round wound strings would make up for the lower gauge or fully round wound? I use 45’s to 100’s now, but I could go up to 50’s or even 55’s. I’ll have to test it, do you think Dew would help me? I like my tech but he just doesn’t keep up with what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, I- I wonder why, Rainbow. You’re so smart, it’s so hot, fuck,” Swiss moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“But do you think Dew would help me?” Rain asked, seemingly oblivious to the delicious agony their mate was currently enduring.

“S- sure, he would.”

“Great, I’ll ask him later,” they leaned forward again then, bracing their arms on Swiss’ chest, returning to urgent bounces, making the multi ghoul nearly pass out. 

“Hngh,” was all he could muster.

“You close?” Rain asked, so casually it hurt. Swiss nodded, whining. Loud.

“P- please, Rainbow,” he pleaded, shaky hands holding onto the water ghoul’s hips.

“What do you need, love?”

“Talk,” he moaned, “a- and move, l- like that.”

Rain giggled, but obliged, “I could use thicker picks too, they’d give me a rougher sound, more concrete. Combining all that, mixing the elements, I could get so many different tones, there’s just so many possibilities. Add effect pedals to it, and they’re basically unlimited. If I could play fingerstyle, too, that’d make a difference. Maybe I could convince Papa to let me play the new songs like that, or some of the softer basslines of the older ones, like Absolution or Deus. It depends on what stays on the setlist too, but you know how good I am with my fingers.”

Oh, and that made Swiss break. He moaned, long and high pitched, whole body spasming as he came, filling Rain with his cum. 

He did know, very well, how good they were with their fingers, thank you very much.

The water ghoul finally let themself go too, though Swiss doubted they did hold themself back from anything, as their mouth dropped in a silent moan, clenching on Swiss’ cock and painting his belly white. They panted, arms giving out as they plopped down onto the multi ghoul’s chest, nuzzling their face into the crook of his neck.

“Your brain is so hot, Rainbow,” Swiss breathed, slowly coming back into his own body. Rain only purred in response, curling themself tighter around their mate, not caring about the mess.

They both did get up, though, to clean up, getting back to cuddle after. Rain fell asleep before Swiss even fully settled. He took out his phone and was met with a message from Mountain, cringing at it.

M: Had fun?

S: I wasn’t that loud, come on.

M: You absolutely were. Plus we share a wall, so… What did Rain do to you this time?

S: They started rambling about basses [*]

M: Ha, they didn’t stop, tho, did they?

S: Nope, and it was fucking hot.

M: Be grateful they chose basses and not weird deep sea tentacle creatures.

S: U speaking from experience?

M: Yes. Don’t ask more questions.

That’s where their conversation cut off, leaving Swiss grinning, absolutely planning how to find out about Mountain’s own experience. For now, though, he dropped the phone and curled tighter around Rain, kissing their forehead. He’d kiss their brilliant mind too, if he could.

[the-travelling-witch]

Hi hi holly! Hehe Can we hear more about Carmilla? (and if you’ve decided on who her potential partner is 👀)

hi tato!! omg ofc you can!! where do i even start though… probably by saying this is going to be messy ^^; i may have a lot of thoughts but that doesn’t mean that any of them are connected or possible to translate into words jshshs

first of all, i put a little thought into her name that i think sums up her vibe pretty well. carmilla sounds a lot like camilla (harmless little plant, also good for calming down) but it’s actually taken from the vampire carmilla (dangerous, seductive, draining people’s energy yk like her unique magic). her last name comes from the hawthorn tree (but with an e tagged on for aesthetics), which are also called fairy trees and i think the magical, whimsical and mischievous vibe of fairies is exactly what i want her to be ^^

she wasn’t actually twisted from a disney character at first but i’ve went and kinda assigned her the will-o-wisps from brave, which would also fit the fairy/fox fires i’ve described floating around her before; i haven’t settled on a definitive incantation for her unique magic yet but it’ll be sth along the lines of “I’m your light in the darkness, you’ll follow me blindly. If you take, you must give. Share the Love.” or at least that’s my last draft of a spell jshhsh

since she’s not a beastman but a fae, i was thinking that she gains an additional tail with every 100 years she’s lived like a kitsune (though she would always just show one anyway). i was thinking that she’s close to 200, kinda like malleus, and would get a third tail “soon”.

as for the partner i’ve picked for her, he has not changed since the last time we spoke (or well, i rambled). he shares her partially teal colour palette, he schemes and plots, he is… jade leech!!

dramatics is what they would want

my reasoning is still pretty much the same as it has been when i first thought of it. for one, jade is one of my faves, so putting him in more hcs is always a win in my books. but also, he’s mature and confident enough to handle a relationship with an idol who flirts her way into many hearts (that unique magic has to be fuelled somehow) without taking it personally. sure he might activate the fake pout for sympathy afterwards but both of them know he’s just being funny. also i just want to see what these two would get up to (sorry azul, sorry nrc)

i’ve already rambled about how i can see carmilla visiting mostro lounge after a concert. it’s already past closing time and jade is the only one still there, wiping down the counter and the glasses behind the bar. she’d slip onto one of the bar stools, watching with a smile as he’s already making her favourite drink, asking if everything went well (he can already tell by the way she’s basically glowing with her unique magic). they continue their small talk until they go to bed… how fortunate that jade always happens to be the one closing up when carmilla has a performance~

(yes floyd is used to it but if azul or jamil ask about where carmilla has been, neither of three know anything about it)

also, as an idol, carmilla is quite used to being involved in rumours and fortunately jade seems to find them amusing instead of getting bothered by them

i can see them chilling in bed, watching a movie or being on their phones after spending the day together as she happens across a headline trying to pin her in a dating scandal

carmilla, on her phone, snuggled up against jade: hey did you know i was spotted in a restaurant i’ve never been to with a male idol this evening?

jade, fake gasping: to think that you would cheat on the mostro lounge like this, dear, i’m very hurt

carmilla, wiping a fake tear: i’m so sorry, i just can’t help myself

your honour, i just think they’d be fun together. also going hiking with jade would be great for her to clear her head and get away from it all while still exercising <3

(+ she was born in a briar valley forest, she probably knows some whacky mushrooms and plants she can tell him about)

[somerandomcryptid]

ah no no sorry i confused the words bc i was asking of You wanted to talk more about the cpunz and cquackity and c!cryptid stuff related to your recent art post but i got confused if it was part of You previous au or a new one and got confused, sorry 😓

-cleo

Ah yeah that makes more sense. No problem! actually kinda good you got confused cause I think I may have cooked something kinda fire so before I absolutely lore dump on you have some sketches of an au where Punz is a big doggo I just did

Man’s best friend :)

Anyway onto such less wholsome stuff because yeah those sketches were for Dreaming of death

also tw for implied child abuse and one mention of a child being hit (not contiunasly just twice with different people behind it each time), and one other mention of a child being harmed in a relatively minor way

I really should have clarified this is almost directly after the other Cryptid and Quackity in formal wear arts I’ve done. which I don’t think I’ve ever really explained? because honest i haven’t decided all the details. i just know that a fancy event is held at las nevadas and afterwards the las nevadas crew kinda like, goes around the server? like bar hopping but without the bars? they’re still all deunk though. it’s very chaotic.

They just so happen to run into staged duo (not directly but staged duo can see them, if they actually had awareness they’d probably be able to see them too)

and uhhhhhhh welll Cryptid and Q aren’t exactly.. obeying quaritoine rules?/platonic this pisses both Dream and Punz off. amd wellll Punz is kinda the more confrotational of the two?(he feels like he should fight dream’s battles because he wasn’t there for him in prison)

so he uhhh yoinks his child cryptid. They do not appreiate this. Q also, does not appreiate this. but Punz kept Quackity in his basement for 2 weeks and experiemented on him, safe to say he has the intimadation points. and the height advantage.

Anyway yeah that’s all the context I SHOULD have given. But brain was wprking a mile a minute because dod!Punz is walking contrictions if they were good at pvp. and I love him for it.

to elaborate on that. the guy is one, trying to gaslight himself imto thinking he doesnt want to make out with Dream, two trying to gaslight himself into think he doesn’t care about Cryptid.

which like…. wrong but also he does truly hate Cryptid a bit and is hella jealous of them. He also has tucked them into bed and condsidered for a brief second staying with them when they request him to.

And that’s not even touching how Cryptid feels about him. because he is the reason for aproximately a 4th of their issues. and also their idol a bit.

and they just hate each other but also care about each other in such an interesting mix.

Punz genuinely thinks they are a brat and that they are incredibly dramatic about how bad their lofe is because they have it ”good” in his eyes. but he also genuinely would never want to see them hurt and seeing them with Quackity makes him seeth because their risking their safety and also that their wasting their potential which he begrudgingly admits they have.

But also. he is the only person on the server to have scarred Cryptid(physically I mean), when they first met properly he held a dagger to their throat. they were fine, it’s just a little scar but it was still signifagant. He is also one of the only people to have hit them, the only other person being Quackity, was only once. still happened though.

Sorry this kinda just spiralled to me rambling about dod!punz with no real end point but he’s one of my favorites for just how convoluted he is. i would ramble more. but also it’s 6:30 am and I should go to bed lol.

(Since I’m main tagging I’m going to put the big ol’ Dreaming of death is an au of the fic penpal by @calamari-minecraft-corner :3)

[nobodylikety]

Snake hybrid! Rei🐍

I was thinking a lot about Snake hybrid! Rei or Panda hybrid! Rei so I'll made both versions, and you can decide which one you like the most! 💚

tags: snake hybrid! rei x fem! reader, hybrid AU, fluff.

Snake hybrid! Rei, like all snakes, has the ability to smell with her tongue. So don't get mad if you see her sticking out her tongue, it's not personal! she's just smelling you <3

+ Snakes have a forked tongue and multiple receptors capable of picking up different amounts of chemical signals, and even though you read about it to learn how to take care of Rei, for a month you were scared to death of that aspect of snakes! and what was Rei doing? sticking her forked tongue out all day just for the sake of it 💚

When you first met Snake hybrid! Rei, you spent most of the day wondering why you could never find her…until you discovered that she goes to lie on the lawn in the garden, when the sun is at its highest, sunbathing and warming herself up ^_^

→ that's why she HATES when someone say she's a 'cold-blooded critter', she puts on the world's most dramatic expression of offence, before giving the explanation that she is 'actually an ectothermic blood animal', meaning that her body temperature is variable and is regulated by external sources, and that's why she sunbathes! ☀️

Snake hybrid! Rei inside Hybrid! IVE is the most calm and quiet! She is a gentle, kind and somewhat silent soul, but that aspect allows her to observe the emotions of others more closely, so she always knows when someone needs some comfort <3 although she is not always good with words, she likes to sit in silence with you (or the girls) and listen to you venting

Snake hybrid! Rei and Cat! Liz are the best friends in the world! they are somehow obsessed with each other, Liz talks and rambles for hours and hours if you let her, and no matter what topic she is talking about (or how dumb it may seem), Rei just sits and is happy to listen

Snake hybrid! Rei hugs VERY HARD (a trait of constrictor snakes) and she does it especially when she gets excited, so sometimes she's afraid to hug too much for fear of hurting you or the girls </3

+ HOWEVER, Cat! Liz doesn't mind that, she thinks Rei's super cozy and warm, and Rei makes her feel safe. So as nap buddies they are inseparable: Liz loves napping with Rei because she is soft and the best cuddler, and Rei loves napping with Liz because she is always gentle with her 🩷

Snake hybrid! Rei is the perfect balance between 'looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you' and 'looks like they could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll', because even if she is very gentle and kind, she will not hesitate to show her fangs if necessary

Snake hybrid! Rei is described by Bunny! Wonyoung as overprotective but in a nice way, because although she is gentle and basically love, puppies and sugar, a single look from her (as she silently appears behind you, that inherently snake-like habit of hers) is enough to: 1) protect you, 2) mark territory and 3) make her potential rivals pack their bags and go back the way they came.

[ Snake squeeze 🐍 ] 

Every morning, Rei practically glides (because she is light on her feet) around the living room, as she greets the rest of her mates one by one with a soft, comforting hiss. Wonyoung hops around her excitedly, making her floppy ears rise and fall in rhythm with each hop, while Yujin —who is certainly calmer than the energetic bunny— greets her with a gentle tail wag.

"Good morning, Rei!" exclaims Wonyoung cheerfully.

"Ss... good morning, Wonyo," replies Rei, with a gentle smile. The morning light causes a slight flash of light, as it makes contact with her snake fangs.

And plopping down on the deck chair in the courtyard, Rei enjoys the morning by lying still to let the warm rays of sunshine warm her up a little. Whenever you look for where Rei has gone, you don't hesitate to go to the sunniest places in the house. Because where there is sun, there is Rei.

Leeseo and Wonyoung start playing chase each other in the yard, running around like a big ball of brindle fur and the other a little ball of fluffy, snow-white fur. You smile as you watch them interact, and as you move your gaze a little, there is Rei: lying on her deck chair, the sun beating down on her usually cool body, watching her mates play in the distance. Her eyes are serene, and her smile exudes love.

For despite her quiet nature, Rei gets along well with all the pets. They are her mates, and she loves them. That's why they often find comfort in her comforting embrace, and although she sometimes tends to squeeze a little tighter than necessary, she always does it with love.

Sometimes, while doing chores around the house or just hanging out, you see Liz joining Rei, quietly sharing her company. The girls know (and you know too) that although they are all quite close to each other, Liz and Rei are a level beyond. Like soul mates, you think.

And when it gets dark, during the quiet nights, when home is quiet and you're quietly walking to your bed to rest, you see out of the corner of your eye a scene that happens quite often: Liz looking for a warm place to snuggle, finding comfort in Rei's arms.

"Thank you, Rei," you hear Liz purr as she closes her eyes.

"Ss... always here for you, Liz," Rei murmurs tenderly.

It's those moments when you feel most connected to them, when their gentleness and reassurance fill your heart with peace.

And so you can quietly close the door of their room, letting them sleep curled up in Liz's little cat bed (Rei assumes Liz's bed as her own), and head to yours to rest as well.

They'll be just fine.

Together.

[valenshawke]

Ramblings… or Word Vomit, whichever.

I think it’s been since January that I’ve been on Tumblr regularly. Unlike the July 2020 start to my extended break, this isn’t quite due to health issues and I’m actively trying to post a bit here and there since I do need to scream into the void. I’ve blamed my job a lot given whom my employer is. This isn’t to say it isn’t deserved, it 100% is. But it’s not the full picture.

And I haven’t really talked about the reasons with people. I actually just finally started speaking about one of the big reasons with my therapist today and I guess we will explore more going forward. But it was a couple of days ago that I realized how Arcane season 2 played out in November and into December had a deep negative effect on my desire to engage (how little I do) with fandom. Any fandom really.

I can quantify how important Arcane is to me. It’s easy, just look at my blog. I started this blog because of Claymore and wanting to find fans of it. And up until the fall of 2024, the single most used fandom tag on my blog was #Claymore. For 10 solid years, the only thing that came close was Fullmetal Alchemist/Brotherhood and even that was a couple of thousand posts behind.

Then I watched Arcane. And in about 2 years, that show did what nothing else could do: It became my most used fandom tag. And the hype machine for season two meant disappointment was greater than pure satisfaction. What we got? To me, a good yet deeply flawed ending. By all reason, I should have been ecstatic. The two characters I shipped were both alive by the end and were unequivocally together. My ship sailed. I should have been over the moon.

But I had some real problems with the sociopolitical themes and solutions. But no media is perfect and under this capitalist society, a piece of media advocating for a revolution was never going to be made under these conditions.

And that was okay.

Critical analysis is okay. And to be critical of something does not mean you hate it. It means you’ve put more thought into it than most people have. I love the Dune Chronicles, but I can sit here and tell you the problems of Frank Herbert’s storytelling, some of his ideology, and the entirety of book 4 (AND I REALLY ENJOYED BOOK 4). Anyone that knows me will not doubt my love and reverence of the original canon. But it’s far from perfect and critique is necessary and blindly following something is dangerous… As Frank Herbert pointed out repeatedly.

But the vociferous reaction by parts of the fandom made this an either/or proposition. You either loved it and thought it the greatest thing since the Epic of Gilgamesh or you thought it was complete trash/unapologetic waste. Does this represent the majority of the fandom? Absolutely not. But it did describe, what I felt, the loudest parts of the fandom. Interesting how fandom behaviors can be reflections of society, eh? Almost like a microcosm.

And that really dampened how I felt about interacting with fandom again. But, if things had a modicum of normality anywhere, I’d get over, things would calm down, and we’d move on. Enter the transition to the current political regime (which has a direct impact on my job) and it makes wanting to engage with fandom even harder. But I would try.

Then Christian Linke opened his fucking mouth. I have a folder in my computer named, “Christian Linke Being a Fucking Dumbass.” It’s just screenshots I took of the stupid shit he was saying on Xitter (since I wanted to show some other people). He is the first creator since Christ fucking Carter to incur such hatred and contempt from me. CHRIS CARTER. THE TROPE MAKER OF “TROLL CREATORS.” Several of the things Linke said left a deep and negative impact on how I felt about the series. And I have to say, that really sucks. Because this show fucking consumed me in a way I didn’t expect. All I knew it as was an animated show based on a video game I played all of two minutes for sometime in 2011.

I know I’ll be back to fandom activities and I’ll be back to reblogging normally. And getting the fandom blog I do actually run up to speed. But it’s just hard between work and the disappointment I still feel about how everything played out when Arcane finished.

But that isn’t the only reason I needed to vomit words today. It was also the harsh reminder that friendships can (and often are) fleeting even if they last a long time. One friendship, I bitched and moaned a lot about from about 2015 to 2023 still hurts on the way it just ended with an immediate thud still bothers me. No growing apart, no drifting. Just saying something at the wrong time (I was watching Soul Eater so subjecting said friend to running commentary) and it was over the next second. The other, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about at length here. I’m not sure I can even call it a friendship. The time spent actually talking to each other was was maybe less than a year cumulatively. But when we did have to talk, it was… heavy. And I tried to be a supportive friend. And I think I was. But then, the other person drifted away. And I made a few attempts to try to at least keep in contact. My hunch is that I am part of that period of life this person would rather forget and that’s understandable. But I am just… hurt… I guess that my only purpose was to be a therapist (which is fucking laughable). And I got that reminder today on how much that former friend has moved on. I like to think I have but when you have all these negative emotions and an alienated feeling towards your current friends… old memories get dredged up.

And now I am faced with the fleeting and ephemeral nature of friendship again. And the ending of that friendship is nearer, it has definable features now. Maybe even a timetable if I think really hard enough. To be honest, I’m not even sure the other person is aware that the clock is now ticking. And it’s pretty likely that it’ll end when one day of no messaging leads to two, then three, then a month has passed. But alas, I know this is my fault because of whom I choose as friends. Maybe my parents weren’t all wrong when they had their opinions on the nature of friendships and relationships.

And I have another friend who is dying. As much I try not to think about it, I am always left with the phone call in mid-February when I asked, “Well, when are you going home.”

“I’m not going back home, [Val].”

Nothing else needed to be said. Cause I really did not want to hear her say what I knew. I’m always left wondering why she put any value into my life when I wouldn’t (or couldn’t cause of the whole undiagnosed clinical depression thing). But it’s enough to say, I wouldn’t be alive with her. So, there’s that. And knowing the end is near for her is just… a lot.

It isn’t all bad, though. What little focus I have these days goes into my “Homelab.” Which is what people call a home server. I have projects! Right now, I’m trying to setup a selfhosted Google Drive replacement as part of my whole de-Big Teching thing. Moving away from Google (stopped using Gmail entirely, stopped using Google search except as a last resort, trying to find a decent Workspace solution, stopped using Chromium-based browsers a few years ago), Microsoft (we are powered by Linux now babey), nVidia (yeah, joined #Team Red… again… kinda). It’s been fun and frustrating. The frustration goes back to my lack of mental stamina that I had in 2023 since 2024 was a waste (cause I was wasted through a third of it). Took me three weeks to realize why something wasn’t working.

So, that’s where life’s been with me.

Anyways, if you’re reading this: I hope you’re doing well. Or surviving at the very least. We have to survive this current moment in time. If for no other reason, than out of pure spite.

[awlimagines]

Day Ten - Rock

“Whoa, what’s all this?” Rock laughed. 

His jovial smile slipped at the sight of the alligators basking in the winter sun from the confines of their enclosure. Where on earth had you brought him? Rock quickly replaced his apprehension with his usual smile when he saw worry flit across your face. 

“You said you wanted to see Santa. I thought this would be the best place,” you explained, shuffling your feet. 

What had he gotten himself into? The outdoor store was a hellscape in his mind. Camouflage decked the racks, and an actual fish tank was proudly in the center of the store. Rock struggled to ignore the fish casually swimming as he followed you to the line for Santa. They were much better when they were submerged out of sight in the river or ocean. 

The sight of Santa raised his spirits. The man was dressed all in red with a natural beard and a twinkle in his eye. He was already a million times better than Santa of his youth. The lumbering Santa that used to visit the inn when he was a child always looked like Van with a fake beard. He grasped your hand as he eagerly bounced on his feet, drawing nearer to the front of the line. 

“After seeing Santa, I thought we could pick you out some fishing gear.” 

“Oh,” Rock realized. “This is where I went wrong.”

He watched as you whispered something in Santa’s ear before sharing a laugh with the jolly man. Rock would have been jealous if he wasn’t so stressed trying to figure out how to escape the fishing section (which looked like a solid third of the store). How could he tell you he hated fish and only tagged along to spend time with you? 

“And what would you like for Starry Night, young man?” Santa asked. 

“Santa! I have a huuuuuge request,” Rock loudly proclaimed as he sat in the big, red man’s lap, arms twining around his neck. “Please don’t put me on the naughty list! I know lying is wrong, but I wanted to spend time with Y/N, so I said I like fishing when I really, really hate fish. I’d like to get a Blue Feather from Y/N for Starry Night instead of a fishing pole.” 

The blonde couldn’t fight his massive grin as he hopped off the flustered Santa’s lap over to you. Your face was beet red after his antics. He loved seeing you like this because Rock knew your thoughts were focused only on him. Didn’t they say any attention was good attention after all? Rock certainly thought so as you grabbed his hand and pulled him from the store. He idly tagged along behind you, gazing at brightly colored shops. Rock wondered where you could be headed next. He was getting hungry, so maybe you were taking him to a restaurant? 

You dragged him from the sidewalk into one of the city’s many little pocket parks. Rock followed, preparing more jokes to ramble off until you laughed. The blonde flinched back as you whirled on him. He recognized the look on your face well from years of seeing the same one on his parent’s faces: exasperation.  This was it. He had finally messed up the one relationship he managed to snag. Where did he mess up, though? 

“I wish you had said something before that,” you frowned, still fighting the public embarrassment. 

“What?” the confused man blurted out. 

“T-that spectacle back there! How could you publicly say stuff like that?” 

Rock’s heart dropped. Were you mad? You sounded mad, mad enough not to fall for his devilish charms. Goddess, how could he salvage this? Rock tried the trick he knew best: play dumb and that it was a joke. 

“Haha, oh man! I wasn’t serious about all the blue feather stuff. I mean, unless-” Rock desperately scrambled to salvage the situation with a half-hearted chuckle. 

You sighed, annoyance gone from your face as it creased with worry instead, “That’s not the problem. Do you like fishing?” 

“No- I mean, yes! I-” Rock fumbled for words as his brain absorbed the question. He thought you were focused on the fiasco of him very publicly asking Santa for a proposal from you. This was about the fish? Relieved, Rock babbled out an explanation, “No, I don’t like fishing. They’re slimy and gross and freak me out. I dealt with it because I wanted to spend time with you.” 

“I didn’t know you hated fish and took you to a place like that. I have to replan everything for Starry Night now,” you groaned. Rock watched you closely as you fretted over new plans. He couldn’t understand making plans in advance, but you seemed fond of doing so. Honestly, Rock enjoyed seeing you take the time to plan things with him. It made him feel wanted. 

“So, does this mean you’re going propose to me?” he asked eagerly, breaking your concentration. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” you blushed at the blonde’s devious grin. 

Rock’s heart jumped with joy at the implication. You were going to propose to him? When? A sly smile crossed his face as he whispered in your ear, “You know, as long as we’re getting ahead. I liked that Santa. We should bring our kids here.”

[mezz-merizing]

hi everyone, i'm mezz!

so!! now that we're about a week into you all deciding that my aimless rambles about hypno things i like are worth a follow, i figure it's probably about time for a belated introduction, and also a pinned post!

i'm Mezzmer, and you can call me Mezz! i'm sure you've caught the general drift by now: i'm an extremely hypnokinky nineteen-year-old enby with a passion for long-winded infodumping about things that interest me, and this blog is my new and shiny place to do that about something that interests me a lot- the infinite art form of hypnosis!

we have to do all the things a pinned post does, so let's get that out of the way! all that below the cut :3

so! first things first, who don't we want around here? to put it concisely, please don't interact with me iiiif:

you're generally cringe (bigot, terf, nazi, et cetera. you know you're not wanted here, don't make me waste my time blocking you)

you're under the age of 18, for my safety as much as yours

you're a completely blank blog (it's nothing personal! i'm just gonna assume you're a bot if you've got absolutely nothing on your blog- as long as you've got something in your name, or a pfp, a description, whatever, you're cool with me! i don't care if you don't post, i was a lurker too, last week xP)

and that's it!! i'm pretty lenient with all this stuff- don't be Literally The Worst, and don't cross my boundaries, and we're chill :3

some personal stuff i think you should know: i'm canadian, i'm not a man but i prefer masculine pet names (good boy, pretty boy, etc), i'm autistic, and i will not tell you what's between my legs! i've got a decent amount of experience with hypnosis but i'm always learning and always exploring, and i'm almost always on the subby side. almost.

generally i appreciate hypnotism for the actual hypnosis involved- triggers and suggestions are good and fun, but expect to see a lotttt more from me about inductions, about the experience of trance, that kind of thing! i'm also a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of trance, and i don't often find myself needy for actual sex to spice it up, so don't come expecting a ton of that either

my dms and my askbox are always open to cool people!! if you don't want to literally kill me, i probably want to talk to you!! please come and say hello, i promise it'll be nothing but a good time for me <3

and with all that out of the way, all that's left is my special little tags! there aren't a lot right now, but i'll edit this to add more as i need them

taglist:

#not hypno - believe it or not, i think about other things sometimes! if you'd rather keep your mezz-merizing experience as pure as possible, or if you're seeking out my opinions on stuff that isn't, um, hypno, this is for you >:3

#mezz personals - sometimes i talk about myself on purpose! and sometimes the things that i post reveal interesting things about me! when i think that's happened, i'll tag it with this, and you can peruse it to get a better feel for the boything behind the pretty words

#the box with asks in it - posts where i answer asks sent to me!! :3 i always love getting asks and i do my best to answer all of them, so don't be shy! all asks are answered publicly unless you specifically request otherwise

#🖤🦋🖤 - unfortunately i have been through a significant amount of trauma, and sometimes i process that trauma through kink. this tends to get dark quickly! if that's something that's not for you, well, that's why this tag exists

#serious shit - exactly what it sounds like! if this tag is on a post i'm not fucking around. there is no character and there is no horny stuff. i mean to use this as little as possible, so! let's see how low we can keep that count

that's all! thank you for reading! i'll be back to rambling before you know it <3