#I had to do a relatively minor surgery once | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pochaccoups · 8 months ago

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achilles’ heel — choi seungcheol

pairing — choi seungcheol x fem!reader

summary — after a knee surgery, your boyfriend feels off about his body. you’re determined to show him just how much you love it.

wc — 3.1k

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, established relationship, light angst, fluff, body insecurity, body worship, petnames (baby, pretty girl), oral sex (m receiving), creampie

author’s note — hi i still think about when cheol said in a live that he wears big hoodies bc he’s insecure of his body and im still upset because i need him to know that he makes couprangs (ME) feel insane over his body that’s sooo big and strong ok enjoy

Something is bothering Seungcheol.

You’ve been with your boyfriend long enough to reasonably suspect when there’s something on his mind, and while he’s gotten relatively good at putting on a front to his members, it’s a little harder for him to conceal his thoughts from you. You, who’s ever observant and aware of his habits. You, who, when Seungcheol is sick with something even if non-contagious, somehow coincidentally feel the same symptoms. You, who is practically empathetically connected with him.

It’s not hard to notice that he’s been distant, though. Ever since he’d been able to walk again after his surgery, he’s had a weird edge to him that was never there before, like a rescue dog with trust issues.

By no means had he become neglectful to you. Not once had he stopped treating you like you were his entire world, but it was all in the way his hugs weren’t as tight as usual. He insisted he didn’t need help with things like showering or dressing anymore—which was fair since he could walk now, but when you’d asked if he wanted to join you in the shower, suddenly he was too tired. Once upon a time you couldn’t even finish the question before he was stripped naked and next to you.

You don’t remember the last time you’d been intimate with him. The moment your lips would make their way to his neck after a soft makeout, he’d ease you away from him, gently confessing that he just wasn’t in the mood, that he was just too tired again.

And that’s fine with you—you’d die before disrespecting the boundaries which are so crucial to your relationship. You did miss him though, and deep down, something in your heart had told you that, along with everything else, something was not right.

You’re curled into his side one night when you find the courage to confront him.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Your suspicions are confirmed the moment his chest stiffens under your cheek.

“I know… Why?” he asks, hesitant, as though he’s walking on eggshells.

“I feel like you’ve been acting, I don’t know, off. I’m worried about you, Cheollie,” you admit, poking your finger into his torso.

Three of his breaths, full of contemplation, fill the air before he speaks again.

“It’s my body,” he says. “I don’t like how much bigger I’ve gotten.”

You bolt upright, staring dead into his eyes with daggers in yours.

“That’s why you’ve been so squirmish?”

He nods his head, pouting absentmindedly, then continues. “I’ve just felt… gross.”

It takes everything in you not to smack him across the face. Your hands ball into fists, your face growing hot as rage bubbles and stirs beneath your skin. You climb on top of him, trapping his waist between your thighs as you sit upon him.

“Choi Seungcheol, you’re so stupid.” There’s an air of affection in your words, but you hope they’re stern enough to get through to him.

He groans as he hides his face in the fabric of his hoodie. “This is why I didn’t tell you.”

“Because you knew it was stupid? Cheol, you were in rehab recovering from surgery. You literally couldn’t walk for weeks. Besides, you’re acting like it’s a bad thing that you’ve gotten ‘bigger’,” you say, fingers wrapping around his wrists so you can pull his hands away from his face. “Do you know how feral you’ve been making me feel recently?”

“Feral?!” he says, eyes widening as he fails to stifle an adorable giggle.

“Your shoulders are so broad now and it drives me fucking crazy,” you say, falling into a fit of your own laughter because the sound of your boyfriend’s laugh is more contagious than any sickness.

Lacing your fingers with his, your expression hardens. In the rich brown of his eyes, his insecurity finally rears itself to you—and you’re determined to destroy every last shred of it.

“Love everything about your body, Cheol. Love when you cuddle me and hug me with your big arms, makes me feel so safe,” you confess, your smile radiating warmth. Your fingers squeeze his ones.

“Love how you can carry me around, on your back, in your arms…” You let go of his hands to flatten your palms against his stomach, smoothing up his torso slowly. His own hands, eager to never be empty, find your hips, his fingers pinching softly at you through your leggings.

“Love your thick thighs, love sitting in your lap…” You’ve reached his chest now and Seungcheol is smirking — he’s well aware of your obsession with this part of him.

“Love when you throw me around, manhandle me like a ragdoll, pin me down…” You’re grasping at his shoulders now, leaning forward until there’s hardly an inch between your faces.

“Love when you spank me…”

It’s then that something in Seungcheol shifts. His pants grow tighter, his hips shifting underneath you as you straddle him. He likes to think he’s a man of self-control, even when it comes to your antics. But there are times where he abandons all discipline — right now, his head is cloudy because he hasn’t let you touch him in weeks.

“You’ve been depriving me of cock all this time because you’ve been eating too good?” you say, scoffing as you reach for the hem of Seungcheol’s hoodie to tug at it. You pause, glancing at him for approval. Still with a dash of hesitation he sits up, helping you shrug it over his head, exposing himself to you.

“Don’t get too bratty, I can keep depriving you,” he retorts, but it’s playful.

It’s like your first time with him all over again. All you’d gotten over the past few weeks were glimpses of his bare skin, a peek as he came out of the shower or changed or when his shirt lifted up as he stretched. He’s always been a little modest, but never to this extent.

The sight of his bare form knocks every last breath from your lungs. He’s always been beautiful—strong and dependable, now even more so. His body has always given you the urge to get on your knees and worship and pray to him like the Greeks did, now it feels as though you were born to do just that.

Then there’s a pang of violence, too, because he hasn’t even changed that drastically. He’s a little softer in his tummy, his arms a little thicker, but that’s all, really. It’s definitely not something for him to have been hiding out of disgust. Of course, it’s not all too difficult to deduce why he felt it necessary to do it—he’s an idol. It’s his job to look picturesque and perfect and flawless. His mind is bound to become mean, to turn to cruel lies of not being good enough.

Your lips leave a trail along his skin, from his collarbones, to his chest, and down his abdomen. Your hope is that each kiss will help chase away Seungcheol’s every last insecurity. It’s naive of you, perhaps, because it will take a lot more than just this to unravel what he has convinced himself of. At the very least, it’s a start.

You paw at the band of his sweats, lips hovering below his belly button as you glance up at him.

“Can I take them off?”

A nervous pause. Then, “do it,” he says, sighing softly.

And then you’re pulling them down his legs, down his thick, hard thighs—the ones made for you to sit on.

His boxers come next, but not before you ask for his explicit permission again. More than ever, you’re utterly dedicated to his comfort.

It’s instinct how your hand reaches for his cock, heavy as your fingers wrap around it and so thick that your fingertips don’t even touch. The sight of it which you’ve missed so much, pretty, pink, and veiny, has you drooling already, your teeth baring down on your bottom lip. You’re aching between your legs.

You need him inside you or you might die.

Seungcheol’s eyes sparkle as he watches your lips leave wet kisses along his length, pecking along the veins as you make your way up, then spoiling his tip with sweet smooches and kitten licks in between.

“Missed you, Cheol,” you tell him, breathy and tender.

“I know,” he says, then you take his cock past your lips and he hisses as the warmth of your mouth greets him.

He doesn’t realise how much he’s missed this, missed you, until his tip bumps the back of your throat and you’re choking around him despite not even having half of him in your mouth yet. His hand flies to grab a fistful of your hair, still managing to treat you gently as he pulls you back.

“Easy, pretty girl,” he pleads, the rasp in his voice instilling within you an urge to listen. His effect on you is trance-like, his honeyed voice irresistible.

You blink up at him, batting your tear-brimmed lashes at him, knowing how it makes his heart swell. You take him slowly this time, one hand stroking at his base so that no inch of him is left untouched, and you swallow him little by little.

Seungcheol lets out a low groan, a gorgeous sound that makes the world spin around you. It rushes straight to your core, burning through you, turning you hungrier, greedier.

You can’t help but slip one of your hands down between your thighs, sliding your fingers between your folds which you find practically dripping. Your fingertips dance over your clit, circling it softly before you dip two of your digits inside to feed the insatiable flame that burns in your core.

“Fuck, baby,” Seungcheol groans, catching sight of the way your fingers pump in and out of your dripping hole. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

He doesn’t need to tell you—his cock twitches in your mouth as he speaks.

The sheer size and thickness of your boyfriend’s length always proves challenging for you, but the heat emanating from deep within your core begs for you to spoil him—because his pleasure is equally yours—and has you burying him all the way down your throat in spite of the tears that spring to your eyes and the clench of your oesophagus around him.

And the thing about Seungcheol is that his mere existence is enough to toss you out of your mind, to make you throw all morals out the window until you’re no better than a cat in heat.

He lets out a noise that’s part-laugh and part-moan as your nose nuzzles against the wiry hairs of his happy trail, never failing to be caught off guard by your eagerness even after years of being your lover. His hand settles on your cheek, at the corner of your lips that are stretched around his girth, his thumb drawing soft strokes on your skin.

“I said go easy,” he says, voice strained, but he chuckles amusedly through his words.

You bob your head back up, popping off of him briefly. Webs of glimmering spit connect your lips with his cock, and Seungcheol thinks you’ve never looked prettier. He can’t help but brush his thumb over your swollen lips while his eyes drink you in with a tender gleam.

“Can’t help myself,” you reply, smiling coyly, then the next moment you’re back on him again, swirling your tongue around his tip.

You pull your fingers from your pussy momentarily to drag your nails along his thighs, so thick and heavy with muscle that you’re certain when you sink them into his skin he feels no more than a soft scratch. It helps when you swallow him whole again, helps keep your tears at bay just a little, helps the muscles of your throat relax so that you can bob your head up and down his length the way both you and him like it.

You don’t go too fast lest he pulls you away for ignoring his pleas, but there’s also no need for you to go too fast. Yes, you’ve missed him, missed having him like this, missed touching him, but right now that’s not what you’re concerned about. All that spurs you on is the want —the need—to make Seungcheol feel as desirable as he is to you.

So you take him steadily, at a pace that’s enough to get him worked up and simultaneously lets your affection drip from every drag of your mouth along his length, lets you taste every inch of him and every drop of his salty precum. Your soft moans muffled by his cock merge with his ones, breathy and whiny, broken up by praises and light mewls of your name.

One of your hands moves between your legs again, squelching as your fingers enter your throbbing cunt once more.

You refuse to break your eyes away from his, as though averting your gaze from him even for a second would mean he would vanish before you. It’s also Seungcheol’s Achilles’ heel—look into his eyes and he doesn’t stand a chance against you.

You could predict the way curses start spilling from his lips and the way his cock starts to throb lightly in your mouth and the way his hips start to buck every time his tip reaches the back of your throat. When it comes to you, he’s weak and he will never hide it.

“Baby, I’m close,” he says, a near whisper.

His confession prompts you to pull your mouth off of him and he whimpers, pouting shamelessly like a kicked puppy. Some alpha leader.

“You’re really teasing me right now?”

“Cheollie… You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and you think I’d just let you cum like that?” you say, but your voice is full of playfulness. You want to make up for the affection you haven’t been able to give him for so long, yet a part of you wants to get back at him a little.

“I’ll remember this,” he grins.

“I know you will,” you tell him as you clamber up his legs until you’re straddling his waist, bending forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth and pouting at him. “What if I want you to finish inside me though?”

“Then let me prep you first,” he insists, giant hands finding your hips and drawing circles with his thumbs. He’s about to flip you over onto your back, but you shake your head and press a hand to his chest to keep him still.

“I’ve already prepped myself, Cheollie, you wanna taste?”

Before he can bicker back, you push your soaked fingers between his lips and into his mouth, and he sucks them subconsciously, lapping up every last drop of your arousal with a moan.

When his mouth is free of your fingers, he smiles.

“I still wanna touch you,” he rasps, resolute.

You lean over him until your mouth is on his again, but this time your lips slide sloppily against one anothers’ from the mess of saliva and cum that drips from them. Your hands travel up his torso, palms smoothing over his bare flesh, but touching him is not enough.

“I wanna take care of you, Seungcheol, so please just let me,” you whisper against his lips, grinding your hips over his cock where it lays against his abdomen.

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, sighing as your lips drop down to his neck and nip at his tender skin there. “But I’m eating you out for at least two hours next time.”

You perk back up to shoot him an unamused look, in spite of the fact that it’s really a win-win situation for you. You just hate that there’s no budging your boyfriend’s stubbornness.

“I love you,” he says, lips curling into a ghost of a smirk.

And here is your Achilles heel, because you’re just a girl, after all. A girl not immune to her breathtaking lover’s sweet words, whose heart sways at his whispers of affection to her—to only her.

Warmth floods your veins. The need to be one with him becomes urgent.

Grasping onto Seungcheol’s broad shoulders, you sink down upon him, inch by inch until he’s bottomed out inside you and your moans of relief are perfectly in sync. He grips your hips so hard they’ll probably bruise, no doubt having become unused to how sweetly your warm walls envelop his cock like a hug. Meanwhile you’ve forgotten how his dick, in all its thickness, is capable of punching the air from your lungs.

Still, there’s no hesitation in the way you start to bounce your hips on him and it’s not long before the burning stretch fizzles into a glowing pleasure in the pit of your stomach.

When you’re above him like this, you’re able to take in the sight of all of him. His biceps, bulky and thick, his shoulders, sturdy and broad. Every inch of him is so perfect that you wonder how he’s all yours. You hate to think about how he could have possibly felt disgusted by himself. If he wasn’t already yours in real life, he would be in your dreams, exactly as he is as he lays beneath you.

It’s overwhelming. Feeling him again after so many weeks, the way his cock drives into you so deliciously, his sculpture-like body—you’re not sure what does it, probably a mixture of everything, but before you know it your pussy is clamping down on him and your entire body quivers with a wave of

“Fuck, I’m cumming too, baby, I’m right with you,” he utters, staring at you as if you descended straight from Heaven.

“No,” you say, and your hips halt their bouncing, yet your fingers are still toying with your clit as you recover from your orgasm.

Seungcheol whines at the cruelty of it.

“Not until you agree this body is sexy,” you say, teasing, grinding your hips painfully slowly along his cock—certainly not enough to keep up any kind of stimulation.

He gives a pained, exasperated laugh, and thinks fuck, he’s in love with you. He’s not sure what he’s done, maybe saved a life or two in a past life, but even that seems like it’s not enough for him to deserve you.

The way your walls squeeze down on his cock makes his head spin. If he doesn’t cum soon he thinks he might die.

“It is, okay? I love this body. Now please, please, keep going,” he blurts out, stroking his hands up and down your thighs sweetly, pouting up at you so irresistibly.

“Say it’s sexy.”

He whines again, painfully desperate. His voice breaks when he repeats your words; “my body is sexy.”

You smile like a little minx when you start to bounce up and down him again, even harder this time. Seungcheol moans, such a gorgeous sound, and before long he’s grasping at your waist and pulling you flush against him as his cock throbs and he fills you up with spurts of his warm seed.

As he comes back down with heavy breaths, you pepper his neck and jawline with saccharine kisses.

“I love you,” you say, relishing in the weight and warmth of his strong arms wrapped around your nude body, in the feeling of his soft yet firm torso that’s one with your own. “You’re perfect to me.”

#svthub #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x you #seungcheol x you #svt smut #seventeen smut #scoups imagines #scoups fanfic #[୨୧] — starring: seungcheol

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pulisicsgirl · 2 years ago

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caring for you - mason mount

summary: following Mason's surgery, Y/N does everything in her power to take care of him and keep him comfortable, and his parents take note

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: brief mentions of surgery and medicine, PDA in front of parents, fluff

requested: yes!! here

notes: I'm back (for now)!! I'm about to start finals week, so hopefully I'll have more time to write once I've made it back home! I received this request a while ago, and I was thinking about writing something about taking care of Mason after his procedure last week, so I figured I'd combine the two! Hope you like it!

Also I feel like this started out really strong and the end is absolute garbage, so I'm very sorry about that

Since the moment the two of you had arrived at home from the hospital, you hadn’t let Mason leave his spot in the corner of the ‘L-shaped’ couch. As soon as you walked through the door, you had (gently) pushed him down onto the soft cushion, tucking a soft blanket over his legs. It was only a few minutes before you had a bottle of water and a couple of snacks by his side in case he needed them.

The surgery had been relatively minor, all things considered. It was an outpatient procedure, scheduled for the early hours of the day. So by the time it reached the late afternoon, the doctor had discharged Mason, instructing him to take it easy for the next couple of weeks to avoid agitating the incisions before easing back into his regular training regimen. The doctor had informed you that everything had gone very well and there should be nothing to be concerned about.

So of course, you were very concerned, just a ball of anxiety, making sure that Mason didn’t lift a finger for the rest of the day.

Mason had been pretty tired once the two of you had arrived home, so you left him to nap on the couch while you tidied up the rest of the house. Mason’s parents were making the drive up from Portsmouth to spend the evening in London. Mason hadn’t been able to see them in a while and took advantage of the free days he would have following his operation to invite them to spend some time with him (and you).

Part of you had been worried that Mason would be too exhausted after the early morning he’d had and the surgery to visit with them. But you also knew that, like you, Debbie would be worried about Mason following the procedure, and just being able to see him would do wonders to calm her nerves.

So as Mason took a well-deserved nap, you moved about the house, sweeping the floors, wiping down the counters, and making sure that everything had been put in its proper place. You washed the dishes that had accumulated in the sink over the last couple of days and put them away. You were sure to pass through the living room every few minutes to make sure Mason was still sleeping peacefully. You felt a warmth spread through your chest each time you checked on him, the blanket tucked up under his chin and a slight pout on his lips as his face was smushed into the pillow.

It came time for Mason to take the next dose of one of the medications the doctor had sent home with him, and he had just begun to stir from his nap as you sat down on the couch by his head. You reach out, threading your fingers through his hair as he began to blink his eyes open, humming at your gentle touch.

“How you feeling?” you spoke softly to him.

“ ‘m good,” he mumbled, a grin on his face as he looked up at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes.

You returned his smile. “Good. Well, it’s time for you to take your medicine.”

He sat up slowly, grunting with the effort, which instantly put you on edge, worried that he was in pain. He must have noticed the look on your face when he looked over at you.

“I’m fine. I promise,” he moved himself up on the couch so that he was sitting next to you. He placed his hand on the back of your neck, gingerly leaning over to kiss you on the forehead. “Stop worrying yourself so much.”

You smiled sheepishly at him, feeling a little silly for how worked up you had been the whole day, but you couldn’t really help it. You would truly do anything for Mason, and the thought of him in pain was something you never wanted to even consider.

“Your parents should be here any minute,” you informed him once he had swallowed the pills. “Dinner is almost ready, so we should be ready to eat as soon as they arrive. Are you feeling hungry?”

“Of course. Especially if it’s your cooking.”

“Oh, shut up, you.” He laughed at your deflection, knowing that you had no clue how to accept a complement. Even so, he delighted in giving them to you often, watching your cheeks flush red and your eyes dart to the ground.

It was only a few minutes before you heard the knock on the front door, knowing it could only be Debbie and Tony. You gave Mason a quick kiss, instructing him not to move from the couch as you walk to the door. You opened it, greeting his parents as they both pulled you into warm hugs. You had met Mason’s family several times before, but your relationship with them was still new enough that you felt nervous any time they came around. You felt as though you needed to somehow prove to them that you were worthy of their son’s love, despite Mason’s constant reassurance that it was unnecessary, insisting that they already loved you. You still tried your best, though, making sure that everything was perfect at the house before they came over.

You led them to the living room so that they could greet their son and told them you’d be in the kitchen, putting the final touches on the food you had prepared. You caught Mason’s eye before you turned away, and he flashed a quick grin at you.

You were dishing the food into bowls when Debbie entered the kitchen, a kind smile on her face as she offered your help. You informed her that you were nearly done, but she could help with carrying the dishes to the boys.

“He seems like he’s doing well,” she said.

You nodded in agreement. “I think so. He hasn’t told me he’s had any pain since we got home, and I just gave him another dose of the pain medicine that the doctor sent home with us before you got here. Though you and I both know that he probably wouldn’t say anything even if he was in pain.”

The two of you shared a laugh over the stubborn boy that was dear to both of your hearts.

“How are you doing?” she asked suddenly.

“M-me?” Her question caught you off-guard as you dished food into the fourth and final bowl, and you looked up at her. Her lips were drawn together in a tight line as she examined your face.

“Yes, you. I know you well enough to know you’ve been running yourself ragged all day to keep him comfortable.”

“Oh,” you breathed, a warm feeling spreading through your chest at her motherly concern. It meant more to you than she realized that she would express that kind of affection for you. “Y-yeah, I’m alright. He’s a pretty good patient, so he makes my job easy.” You pressed a smile to your face despite the emotions you felt welling up inside you.

You handed Debbie the bowls containing food for Tony and herself and let her know you’d be in the living room in a moment. She walked out of the kitchen, and you lingered behind for just a moment, dabbing the tears from the corners of your eyes in an attempt to keep your mascara from running.

Just that simple question from Mason’s mother was so important to you. Knowing that she approved of your relationship with her son and saw how much you wanted to take care of him—it did wonders to calm your nerves surrounding your relationship with her and Tony.

Once you had collected yourself, you picked up the two remaining bowls and met Mason, Tony, and Debbie in the living room. You had decided that it would be best for the four of you to eat on the couch so that Mason could remain comfortable, and you could all continue to visit together.

Plus, you knew Mason and his father really wanted to continue watching the football match that had started a mere 20 minutes ago.

As you approached Mason, he gently swung his legs off of the couch cushion, patting the space where his legs had just been to signal for you to sit down. You did so carefully, still holding both bowls of food and he placed his legs across your lap, draping the blanket back over both of your legs. You were a little taken back by the display of affection in front of his parents but brushed it off as you handed the bowl to him.

He gave you a curious look, brows slightly furrowed, as he noticed the misty look in your eyes. You just replied with a slight shake of your head, a signal that the two of you would talk later.

You eagerly watched Mason and your two guests as they took the first bite of their food. It was one of Debbie’s recipes and you hoped desperately that you hadn’t let them down with the dish. As soon as you knew Mason had a surgery coming up, you had texted Debbie asking for the recipe for his favorite meal of hers, wanting to spoil him after the procedure.

Debbie and Tony both smiled, humming in appreciation as they got their first taste, and Tony remarked how good it was. Mason, ever the dramatic one, let out a groan, dropping his head onto the back of the couch, using words like “incredible” and “scrumptious” as he voiced his gratitude for the meal. He merely grinned at the way you rolled your eyes at him while your cheeks flushed red.

By the time the halftime show was wrapping up, you were collecting everyone’s dishes and carrying them into the kitchen to tidy up. Debbie appeared moments later, pushing you back into the living room and insisting that it was “the least I could do” to clean up your kitchen. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in.

You walked around behind the couch, threading your fingers through Mason’s hair to get his attention, He dropped his head back, eyes gazing up at you lovingly.

“Do you need anything?” you asked as you scratch his scalp lightly with your nails.

“Hmm,” he pretended to think for a moment before tapping his lips with his index finger. “Just a kiss.”

You laughed at him, leaning down as you held your hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get in Mason’s face. You pressed your lips to his gently, expecting to give him a quick peck. But Mason seemed to have other ideas, holding your face to his for a few seconds with a hand that had reached to the back of your head.

He let you pull back after a moment, and you gazed down at his upside-down face, adorning a lovestruck grin. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him today, but something had gotten him in a touchy and lovey mood.

“Anything else?” you whispered, caught slightly off-guard by his actions. Mason just shook his head, gesturing for you to come back to sit on the couch with him, and you resumed your position under his legs.

As you watched the football game, you did your best to keep up with Mason and Tony as they talked over the strategies of the teams and the technique of the players on the screen. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to you, and you felt your eyes slip closed, your head falling forward just slightly before you jolted awake.

Noticing this, Mason pulled you into his side and intertwined his legs with yours. Your head rested on his shoulder as he leaned back on the cushions, shuffling down slightly so that your neck wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Too tired to protest the PDA in front of his dad, you draped your arm over his stomach and quickly fell back asleep in the comfort of Mason’s arms. He ran the tips of his fingers over the skin of your arm, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head every couple of minutes as he listened to your steady breathing.

A knowing smile took over Debbie’s face as she re-entered the living room after finishing up in the kitchen.

“She’s a keeper, that one,” she pointed to your sleeping form. Your cheek was pressed firmly to Mason’s chest, causing a slight pout to form on your lips.

He looked down at your face, a smile spread across his lips. “She’s just amazing,” he replied earnestly. “She’s so selfless and hardworking, always taking care of me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her today.” He looked back up at his parents, holding you a little tighter. “I’m… really happy with her.”

Debbie and Tony smiled back at him, happy to see their son in a healthy and successful relationship.

“People like her are hard to come by,” Tony remarked. “You better do everything you can to keep her around.”

“Oh definitely,” Mason grinned, looking back to the football match on the TV screen. “At this point, if she leaves me, I’m going with her.”

tag list: @masonspulisic @chelseagirl98 @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #mason mount fics #footballer fics #footballer imagine #footballer imagines #football imagine #football fics #mason mount fluff #mason mount fanfic #mason mount one shot #mason mount angst #mason mount blurb #chelsea fc

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peyton-warren · 2 years ago

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Syverson and 🛎?

You know of all people I can't say no to Sy, ever. Who would. And waiting on him hand and foot... hmmmm. Got a bit angsty but there is potential smut coming in another part in the future.

Three-Jump Cowboy

Characters: Gender Neutral Reader, Captain Syverson Pairings: Reader X Captain Syverson Fandoms: Sandcastle, Henry Cavill characters Word count: 1400 Type: angsty, fluffy. Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. Injury, surgery, hospitals, no blood, vague description of accident, and a teeny tiny mention of spanking Summary: Reader waiting on Sy hand and foot. Author's Note: Blame @ronearoundblindly, I do. She sent me ask from this as game if you would like to play too. Thank you to @adulting-sucks for the beta. And thank you to @sarahdonald87 for the injury idea. Ask Box: Open Masterlist

“Sugar,” Sy exasperatedly stated. If you thought too hard about it , his tone would almost seem like a whine. You just smiled softly at him as you set the tray of food across his lap where he was sitting up in the guest bed. “I coulda come to the table, I told you that.”

“Doc said you are to stay here unless you absolutely have to move. Eating can be done here,” you assured him as he reached for the silverware. “I’ll let you cut your own meat up,” you teased. “Let you keep your masculinity intact.”

You hid your smirk from him as he scowled menacingly at your comment. You knew keeping James Syverson in bed was going to be an issue from the second the doctor told you both that his femur was broken and would require an extended period of time in bed. James wasn’t used to being stationary, and you weren’t used to him being dependent on anyone but himself. This was going to be a trial for both of you and likely your relatively newish relationship.

You had only been together a few months when you got the call from the base that he had been in a training accident. You didn’t even know he had put you down as his emergency contact, but you had quickly headed to his bedside, scared at what you would find there. The nurse on the phone had not been overly loquacious with the details.

The woman at the information desk told you how to find where his room was going to be, that he was in surgery and who you should talk to once you got there. The nurses on the floor were kind but busy, telling you they’d let you know if they heard anything and then gestured to the corner room where you should wait.

You did as you were bade and sat in the uncomfortable chair beside the neatly made institutional looking bed. Your mind whirled at what his injury was, who else you should call. He mentioned his mom somewhere back home, why was she or his brother living in Michigan not on his emergency contact list? How would you get a hold of them if something else happened to him?

Your heart lept at the sound knuckles on the door. Your eyes refocused on the woman dressed in scrubs standing in the open doorway. “Just wanted to let you know he did well, just needs to rest and heal now. He’s in recovery and will be brought down in a bit. I’ll be back once he’s settled and awake to talk to you both about next steps.”

“Thank you,” you barely squeaked out with a nod. It escaped you to ask what his injury was until after she was gone. By then she was probably long gone, moved onto another patient who needed her.

You heard the sound of wheels and a few pairs of feet approaching a little while layer. As predicted, your beast of a boyfriend was rolled into the hospital room, eyes open but glazed, his normal sober face lit up like a child’s as he noticed you. “You came?” Sy asked gleefully, as if you were on a date instead of sitting in his hospital room.

“Of course I did, Sy,” you said softly as he tried to sit up in the gurney. The man at the head of the bed placed a hand on his shoulder. He was almost as big as Sy, his rust colored beard, hair pulled back into an elastic at the back of his head. “You need to stay still, sir, just a few more moments.”

“But-“ Sy tried to protest, gesturing to you.

“We are blocking their escape,” the other orderly joked.

You smiled at them all, and stayed seated as they managed to transfer Sy from one bed to the other. When they pulled back the sheet to move him, you noticed the new cast running from his calf to his hip on his left leg.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, your sight trained on his leg.

“Ain’t nothing,” drugged Sy confessed. “I’ll be up chasing you before you know it,” he said teasingly, reaching a hand to your knee, squeezing, his fingertips pressing harder into your inner thigh, making your legs close right around them.

When the doctor returned a few hours later, Sy and you learned his injury was far from nothing. He had landed wrong on a routine training jump. His ‘chute had fully deployed but something had happened to the rigging, preventing him from decelerating his speed, the brunt of which ran up his left leg upon contact with the ground, breaking his femur. The puckered brow on his face told you he struggled to remember much of it, but the doctors assured you both that it was the pain meds talking.

“Six months??” Sy sternly asked a few moments later. “I have to be in bed for 6 months? Are you-“

You laid your hand on his forearm, sliding your smaller fingers down to curl between his, silencing him. “When can I take him home?” you switched tactics, trying to keep him calm, and focusing on the next few steps.

A few days later, Sy was delivered to his own home in town by ambulance. There was no way he was going to fit in your tiny car nor be able to get into his truck with a full leg cast. By the time the paramedics brought him home, you had worked with a local in-home care service and set up the guest bedroom on the main floor of his home to fit his new needs.

He was grumpy but complicit as he was carried on the gurney into his home. He was agitated, looking exactly like a caged animal, clutching his jaw, eyes flicking around at the EMTs, at his home, at you. They softened just a touch at the sight of you standing off to the side, dressed in one of his beat up old button-ups, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, leggings and old boots you had stashed at his house to help around the yard. You hadn’t really been back to your own apartment since you got the call from the hospital at work 4 days previous. You did a drive by to grab some essentials the first morning after his accident and then had set up in his home (with his consent) to get everything ready and settled for his arrival.

Catching him looking at you as you stood off to the side out of the way of the two paramedics doing their jobs, but yet still hovering like the protective mother hen you suddenly felt like, you gave Sy a soft smile, happy to have him back in his home where maybe he could relax and let himself heal and recover.

It was later that evening when you brought him his dinner on the wooden tray, a steak, mashed potatoes and creamed spinach, one of the meals you made for him when you first started dating. Only thing new was the side of painkillers and post op antibiotics that were waiting for his belly to have some food as a buffer.

As Sy looked at the tray in front of him, he softly, ruefully sighed and you pecked his forehead, rising to leave. “Sugar,” he said quickly, but quietly, his hand wrapping viper fast around your wrist, stopping you, surprising you a bit.

“Yes?” You looked from his hand to his face, seeing the man struggle with the words he was trying to share.

“Thank you,” he sincerely stated, his crystal eyes clear and possibly sparkling. “For all this.” He gestures around the room, the bed, the dreaded walker, the other equipment, as well as the food in front of him. “You didn’t-“

“I know,” you assured him. “But I wanted to. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

James nodded and smiled a little wider, the dimple you adored making a rare appearance even through all of his beard. “I woulda. After I finished spankin' you for jumpin’ out of a perfectly good plane.”

You both laughed for the first time in almost a week. This was going to be a long journey, but together you were gonna make it to the other side.

General Tag List: @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire @jvanilly HC Tag List: @m07belzen, @used-to-be-bourbonwithice, @hawklin, @geralts-yenn

#captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson fic #captain sy x reader #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #captain sy #captain syverson fluff #captain syverson angst

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ultra-raging-ghost · 10 months ago

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Just saw your post about demon trio GAAAHH they are my Roman Empire. The moment when Mouse approached Bad when he was brain resetting in a little patch of flowers he placed down, how close they shifted to each other, it felt so ALIEN and and and cool and I’m so NORMALLL. And when Tina splashed herself with perfume and when she had that role play moment when (idk if it was canon or a character) she was SO OBSESSED with going to heaven, I think she was born a demon, and SOMEHOW acquired religious trauma along the line probably as a child. Born a demon left at an orphanage door idk and they made all the kids go to church or something and Tina was OBSESSED because it gave order and meaning to her life but she was a demon and-

Ok right questions. Sorry, gah I love demon trio. I need an arc where Mouse and Bad get together and try to help Tina. Love how Bad hides the fact he’s a demon not because he hates himself for it (maybe a little) but because he’s a recognizable wanted fucking criminal. Where was I going with this again?

Do you have any thoughts on them? ;v; (sorry for rambling in the ask D: )

AAAA I LOVE LONG ASKS LIKE THIS

okay i TOTALLY agree with you have so many thoughts, i was literally just thinking the same thing last night!!! The absolute difference in upbringing as far as the demons really shows in how they act and i have sooooo so many thoughts about it!!!

So first off, i dont really know how old mouse is in terms of her lore but as far as BBH is concerned hes fucking weird and is constantly alluding to his existence extended FAR before the universe even existed, hell even time and space, we dont actually know what the fuck his deal in full is actually!!! What we do know is he was summoned to Earth roughly eleven to fourteen thousand years ago!

Mouse gives us not as much age-wise from what ive heard but she has expressed that she considers two thousand year olds to be "baby" not quite baby but like VERY young! (I have a personal HC that bad's summoning let loose a new age of demons, maybe not all at once but very quickly so mouse would probably be over ten thousand years old)

Tina gives us absolutely NOTHING she doesnt like talking about her demon ancestry aside from hiding it (when bagi said mouse taught her how to smell demons tina quickly panicked and doused herself in perfume, etc etc. nothing super explicit from what ive seen but im relatively new to her lore). But i personally have a hc that shes roughly three thousand years old, coming into existence around the Middle Ages in 1000 CE. That might seem extremely young but honestly thats what im going for for her!!! super extremely young!!! and born around the time when Catholicism was popular!

In my mind, they all have very much different reasons for acting the way they do and im soooooo ill about it

As a BBH main i have the most information on him so ill be talking about the lore i know from him first before getting into the other two lovely ladies!! So what we've heard from BBH is that he prefers to "hide" his demonic features and "blend in" with humans as much as possible if he can, obviously he doesnt do very good at this but hes old as shit and very powerful so like who's gonna tell him??? From what we've heard of his lore, Bad is the cause of a LOT of minor and major disasters in history; Mt Vesuvius (who he named after a dead lover) exploding, the plague taking out most of europe (which he was a plague doctor for), and alongside other major things theres some minor events as well! Small wars he's been present in such as the HG war he was in with cellbit very recently, various other wars he eluded to that he recalled "blended together" because there were so many, that time he went to medical school for 15 minutes just to do brain surgery on that president on a boat.... he also knows a lot of major historical figures and hes been EVERYWHERE, we actually have a rough timeline of where he's been and when just based on who he knows. He knew not only the fucking guy who created the study of viruses, HIS ASS KNOWS ISAAC NEWTON..... and i think once he alluded to knowing goddamn adam and eve, maybe even being the snake in the goddamn garden. Considering its cannon to his lore that he was the angel locked beneath the euphrates river i wouldnt be surprised at that point.

All this to say: Bad has been present for and had an active hand in a LOT of major and minor disastrous historical events, and hes repeatedly talked about how people would chase him with torches and pitchforks - even referring to that activity as "therapy" and said thats the reason he doesnt believe in therapy, because it hurts and doesnt do anything for him except get him running.

Bad does not personally feel shame about his demonic features, he's used to hiding them (or at least intending to.... hes doing a bad job at it) for his own personal safety, because his role as >>>>A) a demon and B) the fucking ferryman of death<<<< brings him a LOT of negative attention. Negative attention that he's had to deal with ALONE for a majority of his existence, up until about fourteen thousand years ago.** (**A major event i feel caused a new era of Demons, we will talk about it more through the post)

Moving on to Mouse; i mention bad's role as a demon having an affect on negative things around him because i honestly think that applies to all or most demons. I don't know much about mouse's lore, but i do know shes proud of her heritage to some degree, is unashamed to tell people shes a demon, and will even actively teach people things about her species (Bringing back Bagi again - We know in cannon Demons smell like Sulfur, its been stated pomme and dapper and bad and mouse and tina all smell like it, and we can assume empanada also does or is starting to).

I, to some degree, think the beginning of her existence was much more accepting and inviting, while bad dealt with his negative experiences alone, and tina had her own upbringing we'll get into, Mouse came into existence during a "Dark" age, when bad was summoned to earth there was a wave of the newest generation of demons being spawned into this world(not in a "father of all demons" way but more in a "large expressions of magic often lead to a ripple affect of more magic" way). A lot of shit probably happened, im not insane like badboyhalo im not gonna research what happened but theres probably some kinda major event that happened. Demons born around that era probably had some kind of support system or way of existing that was underground enough for them to not be wiped out, but they had enough freedoms that mouse and others probably felt comfortable enough to express demonic traits.

I like to think this was the era of her life that had the most influence over her existence, that she was created with pride and will ALWAYS have that pride in her species, it may be dampened but it will never go away fully!*

*I like to think shes experienced maybe some shame over her species when it comes to minor historical events that shes contributed to by just being present, but it very rarely lasts longer than the event itself.

Tina, as far as im concerned, is the youngest of the demon trio aside from their kids. I kinda write her akin to Amethyst from SU, her existence was very recent and she was alone with very little or no initial support system, she was brought up thinking she was "wrong" in some way, her teeth and nails were too sharp, and she has horns and sometimes her skin has a purpleish hue to it that make other people think theres something wrong with her. She has a VERY obviously christian/catholic upbringing which was brought to light recently in one of her conversations with foolish. She's always felt shame about her species and she probably would have continued if it wasnt for mouse and bad, but ESPECIALLY if it wasnt for Empanada.

I have my own thoughts on the demon babies that we'll get into later, but after gaining her daughter who is very much going to be a demon (two demon parents, obvious demon child lol) i cant help but wonder how tina's planning on pushing aside her feelings of shame to make Empanada feel welcomed and loved regardless of her species?

Tina's very young, of course shes seen some major events in history but shes never been raised in community, she probably didnt even know thats just something that comes with the horns until very recently! I can imagine bad and mouse joking and giggling about that town that they stayed the night in that caught fire the next day that they got chased out of a couple hundred years ago, and i can imagine tina being confused as to why they found that amusing, is that normal? Tina's always had minor disasters follow her, her home town very likely burned down or got sick following or preceding a major milestone in her life, and thats probably continued to happen over the thousands of years shes been alive! Being a demon brought up in a very anti-demon environment, whos to say she even knew there were other demons out there really? She was a curse from god, she brought nothing but poor luck and sickness to her household (which i agree with you she was probably residing in an orphanage), she brought it everywhere she went. I cant help but ask myself "did she feel relief that it wasnt just her, or even more shame finding out this is a common occurrence for demons?"

Now thats most of what i have regarding the parents but i have a few notes on the demon kids. I think all the eggs have some sort of demonic features, obviously bads a huge influence on all of them and they care about him as their tia so i draw most of the babies with horns and tails of some kind, but i am particularly focusing on Dapper, Pomme and Empanada, the three demon babies whos actual official parents are the demons.

I dont have anything too specific for them, but i do believe they will grow up to have an attitude towards their species akin to how Mouse acts.

Unlike other demons or even their parents growing up, they have a support system and parents to explain to them things that will happen to them as they get older! They'll have someone to come back to, who will explain "Yes, that village got the plague because you walked through it and the sulfur you spread supernaturally brought illness and bad luck. No, its not your fault in particular. No, you shouldn't stop going into towns and villages, its the 21st century and if they cant stop the plague by now then they were gonna die anyway"

When they inevitably get shunned by humans for their species, they have someone to come back to to let them know that that wasnt right, but its a part of what happens to people like us. Maybe some day we wont have to experience that anymore, but right now the most important thing is to not get caught, and come home to your Mama so we can give you bandaids for your knees and treat your wounds.

I'm so very invested in how the demon babies will be brought up by their parents, i hope we get more demon lore in the future </3

This turned into an essay, hope thats alright njkbhjvgchfg i have so many thoughts on them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#qsmp #asks #q!badboyhalo #q!mouse #q!ironmouse #q!tina #qsmp pomme #pomme the egg #qsmp dapper #dapper the egg #qsmp empanada #empanada the egg #demon trio

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coastxlwaters · 3 months ago

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What happened to ur thumb?!

So, this happened yesterday

0. I had a low level of light headedness and a stomach ache but I needed to get out to the barn to exercise autumn

1. Autumn wasn’t ridden for 2 days and was energetic

2. My crop and saddle felt off, I later learn they were used and modified slightly without my permission (I’m not mad at whoever did, just confused on why they did it as well have that stuff at the barn)

3. My crop and set being off, shifted my normal no anxiety routine to a “oh god, do I need to check Autumn’s back and legs for injuries?” Routine.

4. My legs were awkward trying to reposition correctly, and since autumn is used to me being a quiet and relaxed rider and caretaker that probably ticked her off, her ears were pinned back but flopping, no fucking idea what that means but I have seem some horses do it when anxious or stressed, but idk

5. The crop kept hitting the wrong place on the shoulder, I hound be able to tap once and she goes, and since I’m a rated-shows rider I can’t look down as it’s frowned upon, and have to keep my head up until the lesson or atleast course is over. So I wasn’t able to see what the difference was other than the slightly off feeling.

6. Ticked her off more that I continued to try to use the crop. MY fault, I have no fucking idea what I was doing there other than me failing to follow proper barn rules.

7. We start the course and I she goes speed demon and I could tell she was abt to do SMTH, whether it was a buck or rear I honestly don’t know nor want to find out. I just cut off and out of the course halfway through

8. I got called a coward, (JOKINGLY) so I laugh and say “fuck you than, let’s see what shit I can do now that her energy is out” and get back on.

9. Same thing as 7 but this time I don’t cut off the course and the literal next jump she bucks

10. I land HARD on her neck, I really need to check it out but my friend said she looks fine for now.

11. My hand obviously hits her neck first, my thumb taking the most damage

12. I stayed on, THANKFULLY, cause if I fell off I have no fucking idea what would have happened

13. The rest is kinda like, foggy ig, I remeber making my usual “it can’t be to bad, I lived!” And then my thumb started hurting. At first thought it was SMTH I could ride off. I was wrong and for the next 15 mins I was a mess from it, both being my birthday and smth bad happening on my birthday for th 3rd time in a row. I get home, see my finger and go “damn I’m overdramatic as hell, it’s only a minor jam”

14. Just ice it and kept it elevated the entire night

(Today)

14. No sleep last night

15. It looks weird so I prob need to get it checked for possible infection

16. I get to the doctors and expect to be laughed at for coming in with a minor jam

17. I get X-rayed cause they wanted to see if it’s fractured, told I did amazing for being actively hurt and staying still and calm during it

18. I get to the actual office, Hear I shattered the tip of my thumb and it will forever be slightly bent, get banned from horse riding for a month, (sucks for them as I won’t listen to that)

19. I pull the cancer joke on @stormbreaker-290 again while walking to the room I’m supposed to go to, since I’m MEAN-

20. I get measured for a 1 finger cast as the injury is not severe in the sense I would need a full handed cast, but apparently shattering your tip of your thumb is relatively severe, since it doesn’t happen often and will leave me with my thumb being bent slightly forever unless I decide to do an overpriced surgery. Spoiler alert, I’m broke. Doenst hurt like what I expected tho, it’s only in that category I think for a longer healing process (I wasn’t listening but it was MENTIONED) and a permanent difference in my thumb even if it’s barely noticeable.

So, yeah it’s not severe in the sense of pain, it might take a bit to heal, I’m gonna take care of autumn still obvi and completely ignore the no-riding rule. I MEAN, ILL ONLY DO WORKOUTS AND NOTHING TO BIG OR SHOW PRACTICES OK?!

It’s also on my left hand, and I’m a boring right handed person so I’m fine lol. Gonna use it to hopefully get out of school obvi, but like yeah

Preppy cast✨

#coastal’s mumbles #tw injury #tw broken bones

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starwalker42 · 2 years ago

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febuwhump day 9: voice loss

episode: Brand X | tw: medical procedures | general audiences

He wakes up at 3:12pm, while she’s sat by his side.

“Scully.” It’s the most broken, pained sounding way she has ever heard him say her name, quiet and raw in his throat, but it makes her heart swell with relief.

“Hey.” She takes his hand and leans into his field of view. “Don’t try and talk, it’ll hurt too much.”

Mulder nods, agreeing for once without argument. The last time he was awake, he’d been in high spirits, or at least high enough spirits to make jokes to calm her nerves. Now, though, he’s exhausted, despite being unconscious for the best part of the last week. Slowly, his body has been recovering from hypoxia, the tobacco infusions, and the two further rounds of deep suction to rid his lungs of the remaining tobacco beetle larvae.

He’s been asleep for all of it, and this time she hadn’t been able to give him any warning. Before any surgery, she’s his source of information, the only one he trusts to tell him the truth. In the pre-op room, before the first suction procedure, he’d asked her if he’d feel any of it, and how long it would take before he’d wake up. She’d resisted the thoracic surgery partly because she knew he wouldn’t survive it, yes, but also because she knew he’d want to know beforehand. He’d want the chance to say goodbye.

Right now, his eyes find hers, asking questions and seeking answers. Four days ago, he flatlined on the operating table when the doctors first injected him with nicotine, and Scully had wondered what she’d do if she never got to see his eyes again.

“It’s been a rough few days.” Her voice cracks, and she swallows past the lump in her throat. “But you’re okay now.”

He flicks his eyes to the machines around him; she knows what he’s asking. This is their routine, whenever he wakes up in hospital: he asks what everything is, and she gives him a summary of each machine, what they’re all doing to keep him alive.

“You’ve got BP being taken every few hours. Heart rate, temperature and blood oxygen are being monitored round the clock, and you’re being given fluids and nutrients through a feeding tube into your stomach.”

She points to the thick tube running from his neck. “You’re still hooked up to the ECMO, as a precaution, but it’s not been oxygenating you since last night – since your O2 levels are good, they think your lungs are doing okay, so they’ll be disconnecting it in the next few hours.”

Mulder’s forehead creases in concern.

“They’ll put you under sedation for that, but it’s a relatively minor procedure. No risks.” That’s a lie – there’s always risks, no matter how minor the surgery – but she doesn’t want to scare him. He’s pulled through the last few days – she’ll be damned if he doesn’t make it through a simple cannula removal.

“Your throat and lungs are still recovering. They’re damaged, but they’ll heal, you just need to rest your voice for now.”

He nods again. She isn’t used to him being this acquiescent – it unnerves her.

“Mulder?”

The hand that’s not in hers moves into an okay signal, and he moves his wrist in an up-and-down motion. He wants to write.

“I’ll get you a pen.”

A few minutes later, she holds a notebook as he moves his hand slowly along the page. He hums to tell her he’s finished, and she glances down.

There, black ink spells out I love you. He looks up at her, still exhausted, but eyes shining with life and love, and Scully presses a kiss to his lips as she finally lets herself cry.

@today-in-fic

#xf fanfic #txf fic #msr #my writing #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday9 #medical tw

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project1939 · 5 months ago

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200 Films of 1952

Film number 188: Breakdown

Release date: July 16th, 1952

Studio: Pegasus Productions, Realart Pictures Inc.

Genre: sports noir

Director: Edmond Aneglo

Producer: Edmond Angelo

Actors: Ann Richards, William Bishop, Anne Gywnne, Wally Cassell, Sheldon Leonard

Plot Summary: Terry Williams was framed and sent to prison, but he gets an early release to become a prizefighter. Managed by Pete and his brother Nick, he gains notoriety for consecutive and swift K.Os. Seeing this, powerful people want him to fight the current Heavyweight Champion in a massive charity event. Pete knows he’s not ready, though, and is terrified it will put his life in danger.

My Rating (out of five stars): ***

Hey ladies, do you ever think dating a boxer would be kind of fun? Well you sure won’t if you watch this movie! Actually, this was an entertaining boxing flick with some interesting colorful characters and a good deal of suspense. It came with punches, but it also had a sensitive underbelly. (minor spoilers)

The Good:

Wally Cassell as Pete, Terry’s disabled manager. He played the character with such sensitivity and pathos, he broke your heart whether he was feeling joy, sadness, or fear.

Sheldon Leonard as Nick, Terry’s tough guy brother. He was so good in this! He was perfectly cast.

Anne Gywnne as Nick’s wife and Punchy’s former girlfriend. Sometimes she succumbed too much to the melodrama and overacted, but despite that, there was something I really liked about her. She had an interesting look and wasn’t just a stereotypical sweet and fragile wife. There was a strength underneath her brokenness.

The bond between the brothers was extremely moving. Seeing the thuggish Nick respond to Pete the way he did made me a little teary more than once.

There were lots of colorful characters that were relatively well fleshed out. I think this was due to a mixture of the writing, the casting, and the acting.

The story was quite suspenseful. I knew something big was coming at the end, and waiting for it to unfold made me feel the right kind of apprehension and unease.

There was one twist I didn’t see coming near the end.

The final fight scene was pretty epic. For a low budget film, it was very impressive and almost traumatic to watch.

The Bad:

In my opinion, the biggest flaw the film had was its tendency to cross over the line into histrionic melodrama. In the more theatrical moments, the writing and the acting went way over the top, to the point of distraction.

The music was also a big part of the above issue. It was waay too much- you'd almost think the score was for a tragic opera! It was another distracting thing when the story got dramatic.

I liked William Bishop as Terry, but I didn’t buy him as a lower-class parolee. He had a refined air about him that worked against his believability.

The whole romance plot between Terry and June was... something. It was too sappy and soapy, and it seemed fanciful that a high society millionaire would marry an amateur boxer who just got out of jail.

Oh my god was there a monumentally awful “falling in love montage!” We got the usual vignettes like the two of them eating a romantic dinner, slow dancing, walking hand in hand, frolicking outdoors... but everything was connected by daily calendar pages flipping over! It was montage cliche after montage cliche.

The plot with Punchy was often too much. At first I liked him as an ominous character, but then it became the most breathless sweeping melodramatic stuff you could imagine. We also never got any news at the end about a possible surgery he could have, which was sad.

Some of the sets had really low ceilings that made me feel claustrophobic, which was disturbing. I know the budget was miniscule, though.

#1952 movies #100 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 film 188

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azeler · 1 year ago

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idk if you have any ocs but. free space if you do tell us about them go

Okay so I have a lot of OCs mainly because one of my prime hobbies is making D&D character sheets for characters I'm never gonna play + I used to (sometimes still do but not as often) imagine stories in my head to get myself to sleep. But I'm gonna stay on the most recent characters and universes so I can stay coherent. Anyway :

First D&D characters :

Hawthorn - Half-elf, Light Cleric 11/Revenge Paladin 3, he's a vampire hunter who's been cursed by a vampire who bit his tongue when he was young, which made it black and sickly. For this reason, a nickname he got is 'Black Tongue'. He's absolutely, brutally angry towards any vampire he crosses, and will try to kill them at any cost. Terrifyingly powerful, he can do like, 130 damage per turn in optimal conditions (without using spell slots every turn).

His personal arc would be to go against a Dark Lord vampire, Strahd-style, only to be revealed that the lord is a Scourge, a lich type from Pointy Hat that resurrects into the body of their most hated enemy whenever they die. After killing it once, it'd come back to life by using their mentor/friend/etc., and would have to try to kill the vampire once and for all, knowing he's the next on the list if he fails.

Phull - Half-orc/Hexblood, Archfey Warlock 3. He's an orc who was kidnapped by a hag in his early childhood, and raised to become a hag, but he escaped eventually and found his way to the Court of Summer, where a kind fey found him and kept him under their wing, and where he lived for most of his teenage years. He then entered a contract with Titania, archfey of the Court of Summer, in exchange for service (and also top surgery). He then went on to travel the world. He's not really accepted by either orcs or hags, because he's visibly too much hag or not enough, and people don't like either of those too much in general, so even if he tries to be nice and agreeable, he often gets the blame if something goes badly. He tries to stay optimistic, though. (Huge trans vibes, yeah)

Raphael d'Argazzo - Human, Swashbuckler Rogue 3. Your stereotypical prettyboy mercenary/duelist, he comes from a relatively minor noble family, so he's a baronet, but that's one of those titles you can just buy if you're well-off, like his grandparents were. He's one of many siblings and cousins, and while things are going well with his family, it's clear he's not the one they brag about or stuff, just... a good kid, who spreads their name sometimes when does cool stuff, but nothing more.

His arc would involve him in the underworld to find a too-soon dead lover of his (and he had many, so that's saying something). To gain access and stay in the underworld, however, he'd need to pay a price, a price made of his memories. He'd be given a deck of cards, and each card would be a part of his memories (friends, lovers, family, glories, losses, etc.). A twist would be that he already had given up the memory of his love's death, but that also removed all his memories of her. The whole theme would be "you have to remember your mistakes. It will hurt, it won't be worth it, it will feel horrible, for the rest of your life, but that's the only way you'll be able to go forward".

Next is Kasneon the Great (Kas for short), statistically Brass Dragonborn, Draconic sorcerer 5, but in reality, he's a very young (120) Brass dragon (he kinda looks like tiny Rak from Tower of God, if you got the ref). He's very full of himself, as most dragons are, but it's very funny cause his physique does not match that heightened view at all. He also curses a lot (except when his mom's listening), so when someone finds him cute, he answers "I'm 120, motherfucker!"

Achleïs, human, Shadow Sorcerer 3. One of, if not the most wet cat sad backstory characters I've made. He comes from a bloodline cursed by an evil goddess who has to give up their firstborn to her, and it happened to be him :D Since he was like 7, he was forced out of his home and left to fend for himself, under the ever watchful eye of the goddess. He's extremely frail and weak, with dark eyebags, because of constant malnourishment and sleeping in the cold (literally 8 in both Strength and Constitution). He's a very good spellcaster, however, and can scare the shit out of most normal people (a good example would be using shadow sorcerer Darkness (which he can see through), Deafness then Inflict Wounds from a distance with Distant spell).

I also have something that is more a persistent idea than finished OCs, but I have a cast of characters that are all black activist figures :

It would consist of a Bard of Eloquence (for the obvious MLK parallel), an Oath of Justice (custom subclass) paladin (for the people in frontlines in protest and direct action), an Celestial Warlock grandma, who uses her faith to conjure miracles (because I fucking love gospel music and a singing grandma conjuring an angel is fucking dope), and finally, the only one that has a name and an arc is Aaron, a Rogue-or-Fighter/Sorcerer, with fire magic, who beats up cops and brings his friends out of jail, and over the course of the story learns to be more 'heroic' (he helps out, protect people he doesn't know, and learn that beating up cops is cool but also community building and communal action is necessary).

That's all my recent D&D characters, the next characters are from a comic I wanna make called Harpy Story, a fantasy coming-of-age story at the edge between a magical forest and a village. I want the supernatural elements in there to be a bit about queerness but mainly about disability-

Evne, the protagonist, is a half-harpy, cast off from his people at a young age and left to die in the forest. He's rescued and adopted by a hag (the hag mother), and he lives under her wing all of his childhood. He has big wings (like, they go down to his feet) that he uses to fly- He's very nimble, energetic and gets attached quickly, but also prone to be judgemental or hold grudges.

Isaac, a human in the village nearby, is his love interest, and is the son of a priest that deals with the forest's supernatural inhabitants. Most people think that means chasing or banishing, but he simply talks with them and makes deals to keep his village safe. When Isaac gets older however, something happens (that I don't wanna get into detail because maybe some time I'll pull myself together and draw this).

I also have a custom D&D setting and a realistic world that I'm worldbuilding currently, but they're still pretty new and disparate, so I won't post them in there (maybe in another post, who knows).

#az talks #worldbuilding #d&d #az answers

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owedfavors · 2 years ago

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ON DECEIVING STARFLEET ;

GENETICS.

it takes both genetic alterations and surgery to adapt her body and appearance to fully reflect human features. the surgeries remove a handful of additional bones, ones that do not belong in a human skeleton. fortunately, they’re little more than extra support, and the loss of them costs her little by the time genetic modifications have strengthened their counterparts. the surgeries also remove two internal organs that, while useful upon her home planet, would distinguish her as inhuman, and rearrange the internal map of her organs to reflect human physiology. she has the work done on a relatively obscure planet, on an outpost not known for its upper classes and upstanding legal system, but by someone very very good at their job.

but these, physical changes alone will not suffice, and she had apprenticed herself to a geneticist during her schooling on illyria. through his tutelage and through her own, independent study, she learns enough to make preparations to alter her own genetic code on a permanent basis in collaboration with another illyrian geneticist. she leaves in place her augmentations ( she will need her advanced healing and her resistance to disease, if she does not want accidental injury or illness to provoke an examination that will betray her secret ), but she makes adjustments to ensure that her body accommodates — and maintains — the surgical alterations, to adjust her physical appearance to be fully human, and to make minor adjustments to the functioning, and design, of internal organs. most importantly, her biosigns register as human.

on the whole, it is an immensely painful process. the genetic alterations take almost a year to both complete ( she cannot make all the alterations at once without killing herself ) and to settle in place. she must wait while her body regrows and shifts itself, while it accepts this new form and function as its own. it’s during this period of waiting that she works to prepare both her application and her falsified personal records ( see below ).

despite these changes, her dna is not human, and were a doctor to actually examine it, they’d find it distinctly alien — distinctly, at its core, illyrian. una, accordingly, cannot afford to find herself in a situation necessitating genetic tests. it also bears the signs of genetic alterations, of spliced genes and rewritten code. she told the geneticist little of her goals, fearing raise possibilities that she might later be betrayed to starfleet, and so did much of the work herself ( she would have done it all herself had she not needed access to a lab and equipment and someone to monitor her after treatments ). it’s not expertly done, and she does suffer some ramifications ( I will elaborate later ). but, it’s served its purpose.

PERSONAL RECORDS

starfleet rules are clear: only someone from a federation world, or sponsored by a starfleet officer, may apply to join. una lacks both federation, much less starfleet, contacts and federation origin. however, according to una’s official starfleet file, she was born and raised in pau'van city on pau'uri, a federation planet. it’s a large city, large enough that if anyone went asking questions, no one would be expected to know her personally, and home to a motley assortment of species, including enough humans not to strike anyone as unusual. she fabricated birth records, school records, medical records, housing records for her family, an identification card, letters of recommendation. she falsified pictures, with family, with friends. she inserted herself into school yearbooks, and if you contact her supposed former school, they’ll say that yes, they have a student named una evers on file, even if no one recalls her being there. contact the city she lived in, and, yes, she and her family are on file as citizens, though the everses left and, no, they have no record of where they moved to.

in short, she has an entire ( and entirely false ) paper trail and alternate identity.

#⤷ file / characterization.

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robitherat · 2 years ago

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favorite marble hornets headcanon or theories Go!!

- Brian is good at cooking on accident. That post abt the persons mom who spun their spice rack around, chose spices at random, and never kept track of anything but shit came out tasting bomb anyways? That's Brian. Man doesn't know what he's doing but fuck if he's doing it well

-jay, Brian, and Alex all have asthma. Jay's is pretty mild, but Alex has it BAD in college

-sarah is super outdoorsy. Loves camping, fishing, hiking- if it means a day out at the lake shes in 10000%

-gang has movie nights. That's it.

-i always jumped between Brian being raised catholic and Brian being Jewish so here's my compromise hc: Brian's dad was Roman catholic but his mom was Jewish. She kinda half-converted to make it easier for the kids, but they still tried to stay connected to Jewish heritage nd stuff. In college Brian gets way more into learning about it, even knows some hebrew/ Yiddish !! He struggles with some identity stuff from it and is afraid he can't properly connect with either side of his family, but in the end both his parents are very happy and proud of him for being so interested in every aspect of his cultural heritage <3

-i actually have a lot of mh families hcs so here's some more: Tim's mom got pregnant at 17 and was essentially kicked out by her parents. Tim's dad stuck around for a little bit but once Tim started having issues he dipped and Tim doesn't remember anything about him. His mom tried really hard and did love Tim but obviously shit was really difficult and so she took him to the hospital. They don't talk a whole lot, and their relationship is pretty rocky, but Tim doesn't blame her for anything. Eventually she gets remarried and Tim has some younger half-siblings he doesn't know a lot about but loves.

-jays mom also got pregnant pretty young and she and Jay's dad had a shotgun wedding because of it. Jay's dad was quite a bit older and ended up leaving her for someone else. Jay has an older sister who is his forever best friend. Their mom gets remarried when Jay's in middle school and now he has 2 older step brothers too!! Baby Jay merrick ftw that man is a youngest sibling if I've ever seen one (and I am one so.)

- Brian LOVES kids a lot and always enjoyed babysitting like, cousins and nieces and nephews and stuff. He had a big family so it worked out well for him. It's bc he's a kid at heart <3<3

- tim likes kids and is also very scared of them. Kids love tim also and love scaring him. Tim's blood pressure does not like kids

-jay is kid-neutral but they usually end up liking him for his autistic swag.

-alex is awful with kids and they all hate him. Babies stare at him in elevators and if he looks at them they cry. He doesn't know what it is but they Don't Like Him

- jay is a bug lover. His special interest when he was younger was insects and he could probably correctly identify any beetle you show him and also name at least five of its most common relatives. He thought about entomology as a major but settled on film with a minor in biology :^)

-amy and Jessica are childhood bestfriends!!!best friends!!!! They were like. Playground dating in elementary school nd helped her find a good surgeon when she decided she wanted top surgery. Gfs

-Sarah, Seth, and Tim all talked MAD FUCKING SHIT on Alex during filming. They were the Alex kralie hate club.

#marble hornets #robi answers #i love them all so much #i have so many random little like. nonsense hcs for them #like not even normal shit like what kind of music theyd listen to but like #wheyher they know how to sharpen knives or not #or somrthinf #alex kralie #jay merrick #tim wright #brian thomas #seth wilson #sarah reid #amy walters #jessica locke #yahh

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

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Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

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cower-before-power · 3 years ago

Text

Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles. “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey @chaotic-nick @manjiroarchiviste

#meet cute collab #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader

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