#I know they don’t just lose their hands but they’re face too

[rebelfell]

Sooo this started out being all cute and fluffy but veered over the edge into the flangst canyon…my bad. 💌 1.8k

Thinking about bestfriend!eddie who shows up your boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

Unintentionally, of course.

It was never something he planned to do. 

He just happened to be in CVS the night before, blazed out of his mind and wandering aimlessly while the guys argued about what snacks to get. And when he made the mistake of turning onto the designated holiday aisle, he was met with a barrage of pink and red glitter and sparkles and hearts exploding off every shelf—an absolute affrontal assault to his cynical sensibilities. 

But then he picks up this one card that catches his eye. It’s got a watercolor painting of this cute little porcupine who’s holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and there’s a speech bubble at the top that says “I Porcu-PINE for you!”

Eddie absolutely loses it.

He stands there making these stuttering giggling sounds and they’re coming out way louder than he intended, and the pimply and dead-eyed clerk behind the register leans over to give the laziest evil eye Eddie has ever seen. He does his best to stifle himself, but more little snickers still eke out as he picks up the envelope that goes with the card, and starts scanning the shelves for the Valentine’s variation of your favorite candy.

(Because it would be weird just to do the card, right? If he throws in some other stuff too, maybe it’ll be less conspicuous. Yeah? That makes sense, doesn’t it? Yeah, totally it does.)

Before he knows it, he’s collected a whole armload of crap. Two bags of the candies (they’re 2 for $5, that just makes good business sense), a little plushie with giant sparkly eyes (its stare is hypnotizing in an odd way, it kind of reminds him of you), and a small (tiny, honestly) bouquet of daisies wrapped in crinkly cellophane (he knows you like those way more than you like roses.)

He puts it all down on the counter and gets another withering glare from the cashier after he’s rung it all up. Eddie wonders if this guy is judging him; thinks he’s some lazy, loser boyfriend buying a bunch of junk gifts at the last possible minute. But Eddie doesn’t have the mental capability at the moment to explain that he’s not even buying these for a girlfriend—they’re all for his best friend, who he sometimes, occasionally, has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about, which yeah, is kind of inconvenient in a lot of ways, but it’s cool, he’s fine with that—

There’s another huff from the cashier as he repeats the total due, and Eddie realizes this guy doesn’t give a shit that Eddie might be a crappy boyfriend, he’s much more annoyed by the fact that he has yet to take out his wallet. And as he scrambles to do so, the rest of Corroded Coffin comes up to the front, still loudly arguing about the snacks they’re carrying in their hands.

They all give Eddie a funny look when they see what he’s getting, Grant being the first to bluntly ask who it’s for. They fall silent, exchanging wary glances when Eddie mumbles your name under his breath as he hands over a creased and wrinkled bill to pay at long last.

“That’s super weird, man, don’t do that,” Jeff argues immediately. “Just give it to Gareth, and he can give it to Annie instead. Problem solved.”

“Excuse me,” Gareth snaps, “but I’ve gotten my girl her gifts and they’re a hell of a lot better than this crap. Er, uhh…no offense.”

Their drummer winces, and his eyes dart guiltily between Eddie and his purchases.

“No—” Eddie’s face scrunches and he shakes his head defiantly. “They’re not, like, serious gifts. It doesn’t mean anything. And she’s dating that rich asshole, I’m sure he’s gonna bury her in expensive shit. This is barely gonna land on her radar,” he insists, now clutching his bag in his fist.

“So then why bother?” Jeff asks, widening his annoyingly perceptive eyes under arched brows. 

But Eddie doesn’t respond. He just stomps out to the parking lot and waits by the car. All the while thinking about all the things he can never quite manage to say out loud when it comes to you.

The next day, Eddie’s rethinking everything.

Sober now and staring down at the offerings piled up in the van’s passenger seat, he can’t help but think this might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life. And that’s saying something.

He talks himself in and out of going through with it about twenty times just in the ten minute drive it takes him to get to your apartment. And even as he climbs the stairs and raises his hand to knock, he has yet to decide if this is a good idea or not.

He came over semi-early, figuring you’d likely be busy later getting ready for some fancy dinner at some restaurant where Eddie probably couldn’t afford to order so much as a glass of water. 

But when you open the door, he can’t help but frown at your appearance. You don’t look like you are getting ready to go out, if anything you look like you’ve retired for the evening before 5pm.

Your face is bare except for a couple spots of zit cream, and you have on an old headband pushing your hair back out of your face. You’re swathed in the kind of baggy, oversized clothes he only sees you in when you’re ass deep in a cold or some other similarly debilitating illness. 

You don’t look sick, though. Just…sad?

How can you be sad on Love’s birthday?

“Hey, uhhh,” he says, forcing a tight smile. His palms start to sweat around the plastic handles he’s clutching behind his back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you reply.

There’s no sharpness to it, yet it still comes out kind of flat. Like you’re trying not to sound upset. But Eddie doesn’t push it as he follows you to the kitchen, sliding into his usual seat at your bar.

“What’s that?” you ask, eyes falling to the bag he plopped down on top of the counter.

“It’s stupid,” Eddie starts, “just some dumb little things I picked up.” For you, he adds in his head.

A small smile finally breaks the thin line your lips had been set in since he arrived and Eddie’s back broke out in a cold sweat under his leather jacket as he bashfully pushed the bag over to you.

He then watches, choking on his own heart, as you start pulling things out one by one.

You grin at the daisies, bringing them to your nose to sniff even though they probably smell more like weed than flowers after spending all night in the trailer. You squeal over the plushie, holding it up next to your face and squishing it. You hum excitedly at the first bag of candies, and laugh when you pull out a second one.

Then you get to the card.

Your eyes roll, but you can’t help smiling when you see Eddie’s nickname for you scrawled on the front of the envelope in his chicken scratch. And you’re still smiling as you slide your finger under the flap to tear through the bright red casing.

Then you read it, and your smile falls.

Your whole face does, in fact. It starts with a minute tremble of your chin that escalates into your brow pinching and your mouth crumpling into a frown. And you seem to clench every single muscle in your face to stop yourself from crying, but you just can’t keep it from happening.

“Hey, hey, wait, no, no, nooooo—”

Eddie doesn’t think, he doesn’t take a second to consider doing anything differently, he just jumps to his feet and comes around the counter to your side. He puts his arms around you automatically, letting you bury your face in his chest as you cling to him and try to settle yourself.

“I’m so-sorry, I’m s-so sorry, I’m sorry,” you babble, blubbering through the words.

“No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I swear, I just thought it was cute, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is cute,” you wail as tears stream down your cheeks, “It’s fucking adorable!”

“Okay, then what’s the problem?” Eddie chuckles, pulling back slightly and ducking his head to look you in the eye, trying to get you to smile back.

You sniffle a few more times before you manage to collect yourself and swipe your fingers under your eyes to smear the wetness of your tears across your cheeks. Eddie’s fists clench at his sides to stop them from reaching up to do it again for you when you miss a stray one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been in such a weird funk all day since Matt, um…”

Your voice wobbled again and Eddie’s expression turned stony, scolding himself inwardly for letting even a tiny bit of excitement rise in his chest at the thought that you might have broken up.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “I mean, did you guys…are you…”

“No, nothing like that,” you inhaled shakily. “He just…he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day. And it feels so stupid to get upset over it. Like it’s just a dumb holiday, and I don’t need, like, presents or a dinner or flowers or anything like that. I just…”

Your arms crossed, as if you were trying to hug yourself. Eddie wished he could do it for you.

“I don’t know, I thought we’d do something,” you finally add quietly.

“He’s not even coming over?” Eddie scoffs. Suddenly the outfit made more sense. “At all?”

Your eyes closed in a pained wince. “Don’t make me feel worse, please,” you beg him somberly.

“No, I—” Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to upset you. Honest.”

His head dropped guiltily, eyes glued to his sneakers that stood out against the tile in your kitchen. He glanced one last time at all the stupid stuff he bought now strewn across your counter.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you told him firmly. “That was really sweet, Eddie. Seriously, like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Your hand reaches out for the plushie again and you cradle it in your palm as you swoop in to drop a light peck on his cheek. The warmth of it makes Eddie’s whole face hot and he feels his neck tense from how much he wishes he could turn his head to the side and allow for his lips to meet yours. 

But of course he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

He sure would think about it, though.

Eddie was still staring at his feet, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you for long. He glanced back up to see you pushing through all of the extraneous things you were feeling to give him a smile, small as it was. He nodded and opened his arms, welcoming you back into them.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair. Too quiet even for you to hear him.

I thought for a while about whether or not this is them, but I think this might be an entirely different set of idiots.

also is it just me or is v-day particularly oppressive this year?

[fear-is-truth]

CHO SANG-WOO (조상우)

₊‧꒰ warnings ꒱ ‧₊˚ soft dom!sang-woo ۶ৎ age gap ۶ৎ s1 spoilers ۶ৎ nsfw 18+ . . . headcanons ˚₊˙⋆ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊. ˚₊‧꒰ note ꒱ ‧ i was trying to be realistic so…

PRE-GAME

۫ ꣑ৎ he takes you to meet his mother early on—this is huge, considering sang-woo is a private person, and his mother is the only family he has. so if you meet her, it means he sees a future with you. she adores you, treating you like the daughter she never had.

۫ ꣑ৎ your parents simply love him. they can’t believe their child is dating a graduate from seoul national university. it doesn’t even matter that he’s a few years older than you—they brag about him constantly. “he’s a genius,” they tell their friends. “successful, hardworking. polite, too.”

۫ ꣑ৎ if you don’t like him smoking, he promises to cut back. never smokes in your presence, doesn’t lets the scent cling to his clothes when he comes home to you. he’s careful about it, rinsing his mouth before kissing you. if you catch him sneaking a cigarette on a particularly bad day, he sighs and stubs it out before you even have to say anything.

۫ ꣑ৎ sang-woo thrives on intellectual conversations, especially enjoys debating with you, because he finds your mind fascinating.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a perfectionist in every aspect of his life, including your relationship. sang-woo holds himself to an impossibly high standard, and sometimes, that extends to you—he doesn’t mean to be critical, but he has expectations, and when they aren’t met, he gets frustrated. he learns, over time, to be gentler with you, to let go of the idea that everything needs to be perfect.

۫ ꣑ৎ chronic insomniac. but if you’re beside him, if your hand is resting on his chest or your leg is tangled with his, he sleeps a little easier. on nights when sleep won’t come, he watches you instead.

۫ ꣑ৎ occasionally gifts you with expensive jewellery, but nothing gaudy. real gold and diamonds—elegant in their simplicity. he prefers to see you in things with longevity that won’t lose their value. doubles as an investment piece, not just accessories.

۫ ꣑ৎ no matter how busy he is, sang-woo never forgets important dates. your birthday, your anniversary, even the day you first met. he never brings it up in advance, but he always has something special planned.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s disciplined, wakes up at the same time every day, drinks his coffee black, works for hours without rest. but for you, he bends—just a little. if you want to sleep in, he lets you, only sighing fondly when you roll over and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back. “five more minutes,” you moan, and against his better judgment, he stays.

۫ ꣑ৎ not outwardly possessive, but he is a bit controlling. he won’t tell straight up dictact who you can and can’t see, but he will casually criticise them if he thinks they’re a bad influence. he won’t demand your location either, but will insist that you check in with him, just so he “knows you’re safe.”

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s very reliable (until he isn’t) at first, he’s the perfect lover. calls when he says he will, never forgets your birthday or anniversary, handles things efficiently. but as his debts mounts and pressure builds, there’s a certain tightness in his jaw when money is mentioned. he won’t talk about it. he won’t let you in.

POST-DEBT

۫ ꣑ৎ not emotionally available, prefers to keep things bottled up. when sang-woo is stressed, he withdraws into himself.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s haunted; the investment failure eats him alive. gradually becomes distant, distracted, and hates when you ask questions about his finances. sang-woo lies—first to you, then to himself—because the truth is unbearable.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s frustrated at himself, but it manifests in other ways—he snaps over small things, withdraws from conversations, goes through more cigarettes per day.

۫ ꣑ৎ still tries to take care of you. he won’t let you pay for things, even if he can’t afford them. he’ll miss meals before letting you notice that money is tight. his pride is too big to let you see how bad things have gotten.

۫ ꣑ৎ he hates that you don’t leave; he wants to tell you to go. you should be with someone who isn’t drowning in debt and in constant fear of the police. but he can’t bring himself to say it. instead, he avoids you, keeps you at arm’s length.

۫ ꣑ৎ if you ever found out about his debt, the man would break down—nobody is supposed to know. not his mother, especially not you. if you find out and don’t leave? he’ll be both relieved and devastated, because you should leave. and yet you don’t.

۫ ꣑ৎ he debates leaving you “for your own good.” he genuinely thinks you’d be better off without him. if you catch onto his self-destructive tendencies and reassure him that you want to be here, he just stares at you like he doesn’t understand why.

NSFW

۫ ꣑ৎ not the type to outright deny you, but when he’s teasing, it’s in an excruciatingly nonchalant manner. he’s busy, he says, without even looking up from his laptop. too much work, too little time—yadda yadda. he makes you wait, makes you impatient, until he finally shuts his laptop and pins you to the mattress as if he hadn’t been ignoring you for the past hour.

۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t experiment much, because he knows what works and doesn’t see a reason to change it. but if you want to try something, he won’t shut it down, either. he’ll simply raise an eyebrow, consider it for a second, and say, “if that’s what you want.”

۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t talk much in bed, but because he doesn’t see the point. he’s focused, too busy paying attention to you to bother with unnecessary words. at most, you’ll get quiet groans, maybe a low, approving hum if you’re particularly responsive.

۫ ꣑ৎ mostly vanilla sex. no elaborate kinks, except for the occasional bondage using ties (but it’s more for effect). he likes routine, and that applies to the bedroom too. sang-woo knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to get the reaction he wants out of you.

۫ ꣑ৎ when he’s stressed though, he gets rough; burying his face in your neck as he fucks you like he’s trying to forget everything else.. not intentional, just a byproduct of the pressure he’s under. afterward, when he realises how rough he was, he’s gentle again—hands smoothing over your skin, lips pressing on your temple as an apology.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a soft dom!!!! and you’re his pillow princess, whether you intended to be or not. he prefers to the one doing the work.

SQUID GAME

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s shocked to see you there. horrified, even. sang-woo was ready to do what it takes to win, but you weren’t supposed to be here.

۫ ꣑ৎ will not let you slow him down. sounds cruel, but sang-woo is in survival mode. he will help you, but only as long as it doesn’t jeopardise him.

۫ ꣑ৎ if it comes down to a split-second decision—you or him—sang-woo doesn’t want to think about what he’ll choose.

۫ ꣑ৎ tells himself he doesn’t afford to love you under the deadly circumstances. but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is you.

pic creds to AESTHCORE_276 on pinterest

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[moyazaika]

PRESQUE VU

♡ ⋮ yandere ‘boyfriend’ x gn reader

cw ☆ it’s going to hurt.

“i don’t blame you, babe.” his fingers are intrusive, but gentle, as he pries your mouth open. his thumb is calloused, and you can feel the rough skin pressing against the soft flesh of your bottom lip and pulling it down with a pinch. “happens to the best of us,” he says, not unkindly. “and besides, i’m here to take care of you, yeah?”

you give him a sorry excuse of a nod, and he smiles at you over his glasses. “i love that, i ever tell you? when you show me you understand me?” he sighs. “i fucking love it.”

you can see your reflection in the glasses. faint, but unbearably noticeable for every last line of desperation. look at you, nodding again; going yes—yes, i understand you.

do you, really?

“see? you’re so good to me.” beyond the image of yourself, you glimpse the twinkle of his approval (and consequently; your assured safety—at least for now) in his eyes. he only wears his glasses in the early mornings and evenings, when he hasn’t got his contacts in yet. and he wouldn’t right now, considering the two of you’d just woken up. “sometimes, i almost think i don’t deserve you.”

you think of something to say, almost immediately. think of the words so fast that you end up losing them—slipping somewhere just out of your reach.

ah, come on—!

you know they’re important. these words, they mean a lot. it’s imperative you recall them; if only so they can leave your lips.

“but then i think,” dawn’s sun is gentle, blurry glow soft through the bathroom window; hitting him so nicely, and bathing the best and worst of him in gold. “who better for me than you?” features you’ve memorised down to the last detail, your inclination to observe and remember vacillating between an obedience rooted in fear and a strange, beautiful sense of duty owed to what could only be an even stranger sort of love. “and who better for you than me?”

please come back. what were you going to say? it’s—it’s right there, you know it is and you just—what was it, again?

you need to remember. these are very important words that must be said—!

“and no matter how many times i ask myself these two questions,” his other hand, just as rough and warm, squeezes the rolled up toothpaste onto the wet, bent bristles of his toothbrush. it’s a fresh white with specks of bright blue. “the answer is always the exact same. and isn’t that absolutely beautiful?”

he carefully cradles your face with one hand, the other holding the toothbrush by its hilt—or is it called a handle? a body? these autonomous concepts are far beyond your understanding. you perceive even the most mundane object in the only way you know how which is only the one way you’ve been taught to live by.

(hurt.)

but that’s not what you were looking for. no, you’re losing yourself—going off track. you frown, dig deeper. it’s frustrating and you hate the feeling.

you were going to say something—you had to be careful of what you said; speak up only if you’d thought what you were going to say through very carefully—

and here was something you’d thought to waste your few precious words on; only to forget—!

“don’t get lost in your head, lovely.” you blink. look up to find him watching you expectantly.

you realise with a sinking feeling that you’ve been gone for longer than you’d managed to catch. you don’t let that happen too often, nowadays. and for good reason. you immediately make a mental note beneath his curious gaze not to let it happen again.

“there you are. hi, darling. i really hate when you leave me like that.”

you’ve learnt to be attentive and observant, attuned to his every desire—and truthfully, as he often asks you when his mouth is sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck; are they really that different to yours?

so when you notice that his eyes are focused on your lips, instinctively, you part them with a shuddering breath; stand right on your tippy toes and slide your palms up, up, up his body and right over his shoulders—

“oh,” you’re knocked off kilter when his chest, as warm and strong and unyielding as ever beneath your pliant hands, reverberates with unexpected low laughter. you take a step back, but you can see in the reflection of his glasses that he sees it as a stumble; the falter of shame at him having caught your hand in a metaphorical cookie jar. “oh, poor baby. i wasn’t—”

he straightens. catches his breath to wipe a tear from his eye. “oh, darling. you thought i was going to kiss you?”

you stammer, pathetically, hopelessly; only end up looking like even more of a fool when the uncertain edges of an excuse in the back of your mind fail to solidify into something sharper; something that would cut and sink and stay under his skin.

it’s not your fault. really—! you’re just trying to remember those words you’d lost a second ago—where did they go?

he watches with great, quiet amusement as the words continue to evade you, despite your best efforts. eventually, your jaw falls slack and the cat really has got your tongue and even though you know the cat is right around the corner you can’t—can’t quite reach it to get the words back—when they were only just here one second—

“hey. that’s alright.” he squeezes your cheeks together with one hand, and you forgo any last, sad attempt at trying to talk. “i know, baby. i got you. i get it. you understand me, and i understand you. that’s how this works. you don’t have to explain yourself.”

the words in your head are getting closer. clearer. you can feel it; are acutely aware of the fact that you’re on the brink of a breakthrough. monumental for yourself, to know what to say for today, but worth very little to him.

“i’m sorry for laughing. you’re just so cute. i promise i’ll give you a kiss after, okay? i’ll give you all of the kisses you want, darling.” you nod again, more desperate this time. you want him to think back on this morning and remember his glowing success at solidifying your obedience rather than your own spectacular failure at defying him. his grip loosens, hands slide down to your chin—a finger tapping against your jaw with expectation. “but only if you can go back to showing me you’re listening. makes sense?”

it’s very important that you show him you’re listening. very important not to lose yourself in your own head.

“alright, darling. be patient, okay? this is going to sting for a bit. might hurt you a little. so hold onto me if you need, but do not,” he smiles softly, “even think about pulling away. alright?”

the last time you’d lost yourself in your head had also been the first.

you remember, still, looking up at him through your lashes the same way you are now. though, then, you’d been crying. you could afford to do that, before—wave the markers of resistance around like a white flag. it should have been easy; you’d surrender physically—but you wouldn’t really be there mentally. thought that would make the violating ordeal easier to bear.

he’d caught on, of course. the minute your eyes glazed over and your jaw went slack. he hadn’t even pushed his fingers (still slick from your arousal) past your lips—he rolled his eyes. muttered something to himself and got up, instead. you chose not to come back just yet; fearing he’d just return any second now and try again.

from somewhere far away, you’d heard the whistle of the kettle; both at once a shrill scream and yet as silent as a whisper, over the sound of his restless pacing in the kitchen, and then the strangely quiet steps down the hall again.

“you want to zone out when i’m speaking to you, baby?” he’d cooed. pulled out your tongue, pinched between his thumb and forefinger—warm skin unbearably uncomfortable against the wet, squirming muscle that he yanked further out of your mouth. you were there, now, physically and mentally—because you’d seen the kettle in his hands.

“darling, if you think i’m going to just let you check out on me,” he flippantly spoke over your screaming and thrashing, his knee on your chest was painfully digging into your ribs. your body was shaking violently. his hands were as steady as his gaze. eyes trained on your mouth, just like now. “then you don’t know me at all, and that’s very disappointing. so i thought,” he said casually, lips curling into something sweet. “maybe i should show you exactly what sort of man i am. just so you know not to ignore me, again. just so you remember to pay attention.”

and when you screamed again, he’d silently tipped the spout of the kettle over, fingers loosely wrapped around the hilt—and down, down, down had the boiling water gone; spilling straight into your mouth and right onto your poor little tongue.

so today, on this slow morning where the sun hasn’t even risen yet and the stars are still out in the sky, you listen very closely to what he says.

he lines the toothbrush up against your teeth. “open your mouth for me, baby. a little wider.”

you obey.

“that’s perfect, love. come just a little closer, will you? tilt your head up.” he kisses your nose. “good job, baby. now stay still.”

he’s looking down at you through his glasses with a quiet intensity, focused entirely on the task at hand. he still looks golden in the light of the rising sun.

the warm hand holding your jaw in place is soft and his movements are careful as he moves the bristles of the brush over your every tooth with a gentle affection.

he is cleaning you, helping you heal when he takes the utmost care not to let the brush he wields touch your tongue for even the barest moment; the muscle is lying uselessly limp, slack and scarred in the cavern of your mouth—heavier now from the burden of an unspoken confession.

because the words that had been just out of reach have come back to you as quick as they’d first disappeared. in a second, you almost stumble beneath the weight of them; the burden of needing to blurt out what you’ve worked so very hard to get back; something you need to say because you looked for it and found it and you need to tell him. you need to speak. let it out—

say it—!

but you can’t.

so because you can’t quite speak again just yet, even though he does his best not to make it hurt for you any more, you look up and smile at him; sweet, eager, and bright.

his lips curl. you glimpse the approval in his gaze. let yourself feel safe, again, in his hold as he presses another kiss to your nose. “i got you, baby. don’t even need to use your words for me to understand you. i know you already. like i said, nobody better, yeah?”

you can’t tell whether he’s referring to you or himself, so you stay very still as he continues brushing your front teeth, positioning your head at different angles as he makes sure to get every tooth. spends extra time on your canines, you notice.

“we’re going to have such a beautiful day, darling. i think i’m going to love you very kindly today. want to show you that i can be nice, baby. how’s that sound, hm?”

and even though you can see in the reflection of his glasses that despite his careful efforts, your gums are bleeding from the bent bristles of the toothbrush, the blood having mixed with the toothpaste, now staining your teeth a soft, foamy pink; because you won’t quite be able to say it just now—

it’s all you can do to split your lips into a grin and hope he understands.

[zanarkandss]

the perks of having a teleslate

phainon/reader: 656 words; established relationship; mentions of rough sex; phainon is whipped but also very down to ruin you; gn reader; nsfw (minors dni)

part of the reason i wrote this was bc i kept making jokes about how the hell they were gonna deal w phones in ancient greece. well turns out they did and also gave a guy a gun. so what do i know.

Phainon’s wallpaper is you. You’re pretty sure he had you as his teleslate screen before you got together - ‘It’s what best friends do!’ he’d told you, grin plastered on his face. He even rotates the image out on a weekly basis, wanting to make sure he captures every moment of your life. 

It’s a sweet sentiment, really. You’re just…slightly concerned for his storage space. Surely it’s getting full by now? You’ll ask to go through his phone and he’ll hand you his teleslate no questions asked, and you can’t help but put your head in your hands at how many photos he’s got of you. Some of these, you have no idea when he’s managed to take them, or how he’s managed to convince your friends to send him photos of you when you’re not with him.

(‘What did you bribe them with?’ 

‘Who?’ You glare at him. ‘Ahem. Aglaea gets to go through my wardrobe and sort through it. She said she’d keep what you bought me, though, and said it was a blessing you had—‘ 

‘No more, please. I can't fault her for that.’)

Oh, and Titan’s forbid you try to delete any. He’d swiftly pull the device up and away out of reach, using his height against you. Only when you provide him with the number of kisses he wants (a lot) will he let you go through them again. If you want to delete them, he’ll allow you, though, not without going on about what the photo means to him. Losing to him is an inevitability; you end up way too flustered to let him continue to harp on about how much he loved you in this single moment. That he can do that for each of the photos he has is…a bit too much for your heart.

Well, at least he has the other ones of you hidden. They’re behind another app, something benign that no one would go on. And even then there’s a passcode. He’d whined about wanting to get some photos of the two of you having sex so that he could have something to use while he was away from you. 

You found it hard to say no. After all, he’s so earnest, and a hero to boot. Who else could reward him with something like this? 

Now, whenever he feels it right, he’ll take a photo. Maybe a quick video too, if he’s daring, though he’d much rather tend to you. These photos you don’t really realise he takes at that moment. You tend to be too fucked out, malleable to his whims as he grips your cheeks with one hand to get you to look into the camera, eyes bleary and body covered with bites. There are others as well. Some, where your face is pressed into the pillows and he pushes you down so hard you can see the veins in his arms. Others, where he’s got you laying on his chest, too tired to sit up to ride him properly, make-up streaked down your face. They’re always followed up with pictures where he’ll be stroking your hair, gentle, placating, as if he didn’t put you in this situation in the first place. 

Not that you’ve got room to complain. He tends to you well. Maybe you’re more annoyed at the fact he calls it ‘making love’ like some young pining maiden instead of a man who can fold you in half and ruin you until morning comes, only stopping because he has duties to attend to instead of being left drained of all energy.  

Still, you love him. And he loves you too. You’re the only one he’d ever dream of being with like this, the one he wants to see the future of Amphoreus with. And if anything comes between him and that dream? Well, he’s enough strength to protect your honour. He is not a Chrysos Heir for nothing, after all.

© 2025 zanarkandss; do not plagirise, translate, or repost my works elsewhere.

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 4

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Gone.

The only word that ran through your mind as you lay in bed staring into space.

He was gone again and you thought the last time was bad. Now you’re here in his bed, his house, but he won’t be coming home.

You weren’t his wife let alone his girlfriend, but he designated you his beneficiary. All of his belongings, his money, but you would give it all just to have him back.

The Hunter’s Association had placed you on bereavement leave but you didn't want to stay in your cold, lonely house. At least here in his home, you could be close to him in some way.

You felt a small flutter in your stomach, placing a hand on it, you pressed back. You were 16 weeks now, the baby had just started moving to the pint that you could feel it just a bit.

It felt like a bubble expanding inside before popping. All that was left of Caleb in this world for you now.

When you had first learned that you were pregnant, it had been a happy surprise. But now it felt like the universe had given you this child knowing what would happen down the line.

You didn’t want a consolation prize, you wanted Caleb.

He deserved to be here. Feeling these first movements, oo and aahing over your burgeoning belly, fattening you up with good food.

Picking out furniture for the nursery, buying tiny baby socks, holding your hand as you groaned over round ligament pain.

You turned onto your back, dead eyes watching dust motes float across the ceiling.

Hunger was a stranger to you this past week. You set up a basket next to the bed full of crackers, dried fruit, protein bars and a bottle of electrolyte water.

You didn’t care much for yourself but this baby, Caleb’s baby deserved the world.

This baby deserved their daddy!

You thumped your fist into the duvet beside you. Tears leaked a bit from the sides of your eyes.

Emotions spilling over, gasping a bit, you had to get this out! Grabbing your phone, you opened your camera.

Caleb would never see these but you had to talk to him somehow.

Even with the camera on, all you could do was sob.

“Caleb…… Caleb….. why did you have to leave me again?”

Saying his name like a prayer, like it would bring him home if you said it enough.

“Losing you once was hard enough but now I know what you feel like. How it feels to be wrapped in you all night. Losing you again is like I’m half a person now.”

Your chest feels wet from all the fallen tears and wiping your face does nothing to staunch the flow.

“The only reason I feel like I’m going on now is because of this little bean.”

Placing your hand on your stomach, you feel a resounding flutter. Which makes you smile pathetically.

“They’re moving now. I can feel them and it’s the only thing that excites me now. I was so scared that I might lose them too actually.”

Your heart clenches at the thought of losing the last piece of Caleb that you have.

“I have your house, your clothes, everything you left behind. I wanted you but I still have this.”

You rub your hand over your stomach, showing your stomach to the camera

“Look,” you sniffle as you know he never will now “I’m finally popping out a bit. A real pregnancy belly.”

Turning the camera, you show off your basket of emergency baby food.

“Don’t come down from heaven, wait, if you can please do that. But don’t worry, I’m still eating as well as I can under the circumstances and drinking water.”

Shakily breathing, you look into the camera as if Caleb is on the other side.

“I miss you. I love you.”

Shutting the camera off, emotionally spent. You curled back up in Caleb’s duvet, it still had a little bit of his scent left behind but that would soon fade.

Just like he did.

Your phone buzzes, a text coming through. Grabbing it to see, you notice the missed calls and texts from Jenna, Tara, Xavier asking about you. You couldn’t deal with them right now.

The new text was a text reminder from your OB about your appointment in a few days. They only want to see you every four weeks at this point.

You had let them know about your circumstances and they let you know what to watch out for in case something did happen.

Well in case, you didn’t want to even think about it, but in case you started losing the baby.

“Please be safe little one.” Brushing over them with a gentle hand, they were all you had left to love in this world.

The morning of your OB appointment, you head back to Linkon to visit Akso Hospital.

It was a quiet but dreary morning. The middle of winter was upon the world so you were bundled up. Your small bump more pronounced under the winter coat.

Waiting in the lobby after checking in, you sit next to another pregnant woman.

She glances at you and smiles a bit before nodding in greeting.

“How far along are you?”

“Oh, I’m 16 weeks but almost 17 weeks.”

“Wow!” She claps her hands, she looks to be much farther along than you.

“So you’ll be going in for your anatomy scan soon. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“I actually haven’t given it much thought, I just hope they get here safely.”

“That’s my exact feeling! My husband wants a girl though. Does your partner have a preference?”

The question was innocently asked but it made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know if he did. He died before he found out that I was having a baby.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The other woman twists her hands and looks like she badly wants her name to be called next.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you. Not your fault, really.”

You smile a bit and then you hear your name called. Getting up a bit awkwardly, you trundle over to the nurse with the clipboard.

They weigh you before you bringing you into a small examination room. The OB comes in five minutes later, looking cheerful.

“How has your pregnancy been?”

“It’s been good, I started feeling them move a bit recently.”

“That’s great! Hopefully they’ll be cooperative in a few weeks when you come back in for your anatomy scan.”

“Ha, hopefully.” Your heart wasn’t really in this but it was necessary. Caleb would want you to have a good life with your baby.

“Everything good at home?” The OB asks this as she examines your belly while you lie down.

“It’s been rough. I’m worried that I’m going to do something wrong and I’ll lose the baby.”

“Yes I read in your chart about what happened. I’m sorry to hear about that. But, as long as you don’t overdo it and take care of yourself. There’s no reason to worry!”

She pulls her gloves off with a flourish

“After all! Your weight gain is back on track and everything else looks great. We do need you to do a gestational diabetes test but other than that. You are golden!”

This does bring some comfort to you, your efforts weren’t wasted after all.

You sit up and thank her with a small but genuine smile.

“If you need someone to talk to, I have a social worker and therapist you could contact.”

“Maybe.”

“Well I’ll put their information on your after visit paperwork, don’t forget to schedule your anatomy scan and you can come in anytime for your sugar test!”

Your OB leaves the room with a cheerful wave. At least that’s over now, you thought to yourself.

You exit the offices, going back into the lobby where thankfully the lady you had that awkward conversation with was gone.

“Are you here for an appointment?”

Turning around at the voice, it’s Zayne.

“Actually I just finished with my OB, I’m going to head home for the day.”

He reaches out and touches your shoulder, gently as if you’ll break from anything more.

“Why don’t you come get some lunch with me?”

“What you usually eat can’t be considered a proper lunch Zayne.”

“Really? Have your eating habits been exemplary as of late?”

“Well I do have an excuse but for your information, I am eating lots of basic things that I need. I won’t neglect my baby.”

“What about neglecting yourself?”

You look at that. That was a subject that was too difficult to talk about.

Zayne knew about the whole situation with you and Caleb now. You didn’t tell him before when your relationship had been all up in the air but it didn’t seem to matter now.

He sighed before motioning you to follow him.

“Come on, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Well, you were due to eat anyway. So you followed him to the nearby cafe where you had ran into him before.

A basic sandwich was on the menu for you today.

Sitting down at the table with Zayne was a hint of normalcy that you hadn’t had in a while.

Picking at your sandwich listlessly, you stare out the window at the cloudy sky. All you did nowadays was think, letting your mind roam and thoughts were all you had to keep you company during lonely nights.

“Hey.” You turn your head head to meet Zayne’s eyes over your sad sandwich “Where you are you going off to?”

“My mind goes everywhere now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.”

He sips his drink, looking at you over the rim.

“You know, I knew Caleb too. We all grew up together. He got on my nerves but I missed him bugging me when I left when we were younger.”

Smiling at the thought of the two of them bantering when you guys were younger.

“Yeah, you guys always fought over my head. I was always stuck in the middle.”

He chuckles a bit before sobering.

“I’m worried about you, I want to help. I-“

Cutting himself off, he takes a deep breath as if preparing for something.

“I could marry you to help out.”

Your jaw drops

“You want to marry me?”

“I want to help you. I care about you and I’m offering this, you don’t have to but I just want you to know that I’m here for you however you need me.”

“Caleb left everything he had to me, I don’t need any money or a place to stay.”

“Just having someone there to rely on or to help with the baby even. Again, you don’t have to, it’s a no pressure offer. Okay?”

You had never heard Zayne talk like this, he must really be worried to express himself this much.

“I- well thank you Zayne, for the offer. But it’s not something I can even think about at this time.”

“I understand, it’s just an open offer.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you, you deserve a marriage where someone actually loves you. Someone who isn’t coming with the baggage of a dead love and another man’s baby.”

You pack your half a sandwich left, up in the box it came in.

“Thank you for lunch, I’ll head home now.”

Leaving before he can say a word, you head over to the transit center to head back to Skyhaven.

Caleb’s house was now your only true personal haven.

Laying down in your bed after putting the sandwich in the fridge, you let out a loud groan.

Why was everything such a mess?

A small flutter brought a smile to your face.

“At least I still have you little one.”

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier

@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08 @dummiebunny

[callmrmorrow]

mark v cecil debate is way too polarized for what it is

cecil is reacting exactly how he should react. omni-man pretty much deceived them all for 20 years to the point where cecil was actually “hurt” by his betrayal (yes he might’ve known he was lying, but had no clue what he was lying about — was his planet fake, was his government fake, was he here to protect him, was he even really a viltrumite). mark defenders saying “how many times does he have to save the world for cecil to think he’s good” ignore the fact that omni-man saved their world MULTIPLE times over, and still was intent on committing genocide. the inner-ear device is extreme, but so is the threat that mark poses. this guy disappeared to go help his father on a faraway planet, came back with another overpowered kid, and is talking shit about how “it’ll take a long time for anyone to forgive him,” which implies that mark thinks, on some level, his father should be forgiven.

wanting to forgive nolan for everything he did but refusing to forgive any of the murderers that cecil employs is… super hypocritical from mark, and is exactly what he scolds oliver for doing: prioritizing people he knows and cares for over the world at large. objectively, the reanimen (who aren’t even ALIVE, they’re donated corpses) and darkwing 2 will save more people than they hurt. mark is a killer. oliver is a killer. omni-man is a killer. mark has more compassion in his heart for killers that he loves than innocent people that he doesn’t know.

on the other hand, we the audience KNOW mark is a good guy. we know it’s his prerogative to be offended, even scared, at the idea of cecil having that kind of power over him, over ANYONE that he cares about. mark is 18, first and foremost, and he didn’t get much choice in the situation he’s in (though he does have choice in how he reacts to it, which he did badly because of how morally conflicted he is). it really is as simple as mark wanting to be a good person and cecil wanting to save the world. of course cecil sees his heroes as tools! it’s shocking that none of the new GOG understood that earlier. the guy isn’t lying and acting like he cares any more than he does. mark is very caught up in his own situation — reasonably so, it’s a really fucking nasty one — and can’t see things objectively, and has a sort of entitlement to him that is very normal for a guy his age, half-alien or not. it’s shown when he gets pissed at debbie for sharing his identity with paul, as if it isn’t debbie’s prerogative to talk about her kids, as if she hasn’t been through the same shit that he has regarding nolan. it’s shown when he’s berating oliver for ideas that he fostered when he killed angstrom (albeit accidentally), that it’s not okay to kill even if it’s to save others. no wonder oliver was confused — he’s just following his brother’s example.

on that note… why have a no-kill rule and then be anti-rehabilitation? mark won’t kill the bad guys, but he won’t accept cecil using them to save other people. there’s nuance to the situation, i’m sure, but mark’s flying off the handle because he thinks his might is right. it’s obvious from the pilot of the show, where the moment he realizes he has powers, he tells his own mom to “make him” go to bed. mark has always wanted to be like his father, and he’s trying to find a way to be LESS like him now that he knows the truth, and that’s confusing. his path is diverging unexpectedly in so many ways, and of course he’s gonna struggle. he’s holding onto the only stuff he knows for sure, which is that “good guys do not kill. i am a hero, and i don’t work with villains.” when something flies in the face of that, he freaks out, because he’s losing a moral foundation of his that he grew up on.

i would even go as far as to say the fact that they call him “invinciboy” in the news is kind of symbolic of a moral regression, where he’s just going back to what he knows to be true, and sticking to it even if the ideas clash with how the world has to be — because it isn’t all so black and white anymore, and mark has a hard time slotting himself into a world that isn’t clear-cut.

tl;dr cecil’s idea is right, but mark’s reaction is justified not for cecil’s handling of the situation, but due to mark’s difficulties with figuring out who “invincible” is.

[plutosillywrites]

some simon x gamer! reader mentioned, just a little angst comfort for a certain self indulgent writer (me. it’s for me…)

you were sat nice on your boyfriends, simon’s, couch. playing some new online video game that you’ve never played before because you usually play more peaceful slice of life style games.

you’re trying to shoot at the characters in front you but you swear they’re going so fast you can’t see them— simon is laughing with you and trying to help until you hear another players mic cue up and it’s just angry yelling.

you can’t even tell what he’s saying but you hear “fucking trash at the game—“ “are you stupid or dumb?” and you kinda retreat back into your shell, sliding the controller into simon’s hands.

“i don’t want to play anymore.” you say solemnly, hands tucked in your lap. simon can’t— won’t stand for this fucking shit. his pretty, smart girl sad because of what some worthless bloke said? hell no. he slides the headset off your head and onto his, flipping the mic down and just letting loose.

every frustration, every small angering thing left him bellowing at this man, berating him— “you think you’re so good? you’re the reason we’re losing..” you listen in n out of the conversation which is more just simon’s yelling and the other guy not getting a word in.

as the match concludes your boyfriend ends it with a “if you ever tell my smart girl she’s dumb again, i’ll gut you, and feed you to your worthless family.” which is shockingly scarier with a deep british voice.

he looks to you, a soft smile on his face and sliding the headset off. “well… at least you’ll never be matched up with him again probably.” he says, rubbing your knee softly, but you can’t shake the words of some random guy.

he frowns and pulls you close to his chest, laying down onto the couch and softly playing with your hair. “people are awful mean sometimes— and i know it’s hard to let their words wash off you..” he begins, hand tracing circles on your back. “there will be people like that— and you just have to remember that i think you’re the smartest, most talented person in my life.. besides- i thought it was funny you kept dying.” he laughs a little breathlessly at the memory of you dying two times in a row.

“what i’m trying to say is— i love you, and i will always yell at someone for you, cus no one speaks to my girl that way.” he mumbles, his lips kiss the crown of your head, and forehead, and both of your cheeks before finally giving you a soft, gentle kiss on your lips that makes you wanna melt into a puddle.

and when you pull away you tell him, “thank you. you know i’d do the same too..” you both snuggle up, you falling asleep first, and and simon’s slowly drifting off after.

an: i had the biggest asshole in a video game and desperately craved some comfort and who better to write it than me.. ANYWHO enjoy!! :33 srry if it’s bad i just wrote what word vomit was coming out

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

IM SO TORN BETWEEN WANTING MIKE TO INITIATE THE BYLER KISS AND WANTING WILL TO DO IT, Will has suffered sm let him have his moment y’all but ALSO! MIKE INITIATING IT WPULD BE POWERFUL AF!! LIKE YES BOI GO GET YO MANNN AND DONT LET THE INTERNALISED HOMOPHOBIA DEMONS STOP YOU NO MORE I TELL YOU!!! GO BE THE HOMOSEXUAL U WAS BORN TO BE

But like… Will initiating the kiss tho… WOULD GO HARD Y’ALL… but on the other hand…

Buttt WHAT IF I SAID: let the kiss be exactly what they both need. Like yeah they obviously need to shut tf up and kith so fucking bad, but yk what they also need? Mike needs reassurance and to hear that he’s enough. Will needs mental help to get his gay shit together to work on his self esteem to put himself first for ONE SECOND AND HAVE SOME CONTROL OVER HIS LIFE. Mother Universe owes him that let’s be real

sooooo what if I said Mike is the one to initiate the kiss by asking Will if he’s allowed to kiss him (we all know that Michael Wheeler is the consent king)… and Will, with his face mere inches from the face of the dude he’s been dreaming of kissing for the longest time… h e s i t a t e s.

Because what if it’s all some sick joke? Or not real? What if this i Vecna, or a dream, or Mike wanting to mess with him? But something about the situation convinces him that this isn’t the case, and Will… Will says yes, and it’s merely a whisper but Mike is close enough to feel Will’s breath against his skin.

That’s all Mike needs to finally make a move and go in for the kiss… but he miscalculates somehow and misses Will’s lips by enough distance to throw him off completely, and god, he’s embarrassed, his cheeks flush red and he cannot believe he actually messed this up, of all things. He’s messed up so bad! Mike feels horrible and starts to stutter an apology, but Will just isn’t having any of it, simply giggles laughs it off and smiles softly, and the look in his eyes does things to Mike that makes him lose his fucking mind… which is probably the reason why leaning back in doesn’t feel too bad, not bad at all, and maybe wanting this kiss isn’t as wrong as he’s always thought it is. Because how can it be wrong when it feels so right?

This time they both lean in at the same time, making sure not to miss. They’re both smiling, and most importantly: they don’t miss. Not this time.

[tunastime]

lucky number 13 with Pearl and Scar

HI ANON! this was such a fun song for them!

I originally though of doing the end of secret life but the thoughts that are season 8 overtook me and well! here's some end of season s8 pearl and scar! they are so special to me I think <3 (728 words)

There’s a large section of mostly untouched land that Scar decides he wants to be his base of operations. Around it, the earth is pocked with missing chunks of grass and dirt, missing stone from paths, flowers and garden plants. It would be odd if it hadn’t been happening for weeks now, which was why Scar was standing in a hull of metal with his hands smeared in grease. He tugs rather roughly on a set of wiring and grumbles when it doesn’t come as loose as he wants it to.

“Scar?”

He blinks, poking his head up from where he’s bent over. It’s not great for his back, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. When he pushes his hair back, he knows he smears his forehead with grease. His expression brightens.

“Pearl!” he says, smiling at her. Her face goes from concern to slightly-more-reassured as the warmth of his voice shows through, but the tension of her shoulders is clear. Her elytra flit, folding in on themselves. She crosses one arm over herself to cup the other elbow. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, sure,” she says, laughing to herself. It does a little to soften her features. “I, ah, wanted to know if you needed any help? Lookin’ for somethin’ to do. To keep my mind off things.”

Scar blinks. It takes him a second to understand, but his expression softens well before that. He rises from his crouch beside the flight console’s central wiring and leans over the half-built middle shell of the rocket, looking down at Pearl slightly below him. He nods, his smile genuine.

“Y’know what,” he says. “I’ve actually got a lot of shulker boxes to move over here and some top bits that I can’t reach without my rockets. I’d really love some help with that.”

Pearl brightens, her relaxed expression balling Scar’s worry into something small and inconsequential. He relaxes too, shoulders losing tension as she nods. 

“I don’t see why not,” she says, smiling back at him. “They’re just over by the Swaggon, right?”

“Should be right next to one of the big ‘ol wheels,” Scar nods. 

As Pearl makes it up into the air, Scar’s eyes follow her until she’s out of sight. The company of her whizzing by every so often is more comforting than Scar had anticipated, the tightly wound knot of anticipatory anxiety fading slightly as he catches glimpses of her bright green wings. She hops around above him with light enough feet not to hear, aside from his shoddy hearing, but he can see her reflected in the metal and glass. As he finally finishes the diagnostics for his less-than-ideal computer, she leans over the lip of the still open hatch.

They’d made good progress, it was almost done.

She studies him for a moment as he turns to look at her upside-down expression.

“Well howdy, Pearl,” he says, setting his hands on his hips. She raises her eyebrows.

“Lookin’ good in here!” she says. Scar ducks his head.

“Thank you! I’ve been messing with this dang wiring for ages.”

Pearl climbs down from her perch, dropping somewhat ungracefully, snorting to herself, into the crew cabin. As her eyes sweep around the interior, Scar finds himself leaning back against the darkened console, finally letting the modicum of dread spiral just a little more.

They were leaving in this. And soon.

Pearl must sense something is wrong, because her wings shudder slightly. She turns to him, that same expression of worry from the first time back on her face.

“Me too,” she says without prompting. Scar blinks. “I’m worried, too.”

“Ah,” Scar deflates. “Yeah… I think we’ll be alright. I just can’t help it.”

Pearl sighs. She wanders over to stand, then lean, next to him. He tries to remember the first time, not here, but the first time he’d met Pearl. It was through Grian—they’d been friends for a long time, Grian and Pearl, and Grian and Scar, too, and Scar had always liked Pearl’s attitude toward things, and if she was worried now, it meant that he should be really, really worried. He bumps his shoulder into hers. She makes a small, acknowledging sound.

“We’ll be okay,” he says, a little more sure. “As long as Boatem’s all together, right?”

Pearl smiles at him. It feels safe.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think you’re right.”

[starlightsuffered]

Treasure (p1)

Info - plus sized reader, reader who isn’t conventionally attractive, medieval AU, bullying

I grabbed another dress out of the washing and hung it up on the clothing line. I looked longingly over at my sister Maryam who was talking very closely to the town’s most desired man, Cain.

His sheep pranced around his legs. He leaned on his Shepard's crook. He was always hanging around our house. We’d been friends as children, and he hadn’t liked Maryam because she never wanted to play or get dirty.

Things changed once puberty began. I’d had a crush on Cain for as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt the same. This had all been worsened when I hadn’t grown into my looks whatsoever. My ratty ginger hair had gotten more unruly. My strong features did not meet the feminine ideals of what a man wanted in a wife.

Maryam had been the complete opposite. Her auburn hair was smooth and tidy. Her features were sharp and almost feline in their grace. She didn’t have dirt caked under her fingernails from gardening, nor did she have smears of freckles from the sun or calluses on her hands. Her skin was soft and smooth and she was a dainty beauty.

Cain no longer spoke to me. He was doing knights training, and he had to tend to his flock. I saw the way Maryam turned her nose up at the creatures, even the sweet lamb. I knew the only reason that Cain hadn’t proposed was because he knew Maryam wouldn’t say yes while he was still a farmer. It didn’t matter that his family owned the most lucrative farm in the village, and provided livestock and food for the king himself.

I knew Maryam was waiting for him to be knighted so she could say her husband was part of the royal house. It was only a matter of time before I saw my sister get all I wanted. She was so beautiful it didn’t matter how low our station was.

Part of the issue I knew was no matter how hard I worked, no matter the jobs I did or the little I ate, my body stayed curvy. I was not naturally slender like Maryam. I had heavy breasts, wide hips, and rolls that I couldn’t seem to lose. Where Maryam was angular and elegant I was soft and full. I had not a single suitor in all the town.

This was why I did so much manual labour. My parents knew I wouldn’t be able to be traded for a boon in marriage. Instead, they trained me like I was a son and could pay my way in that regard.

“Y/n have you noticed anything odd lately?” Cain called to me. I was shocked he was addressing me. Ever since that one summer afternoon, when I’d leaned in to what I thought was a kiss and saw the disgust on his face, we hadn’t spoken. I’d felt extremely ashamed. I had also been so depressed I’d thrown myself into house work and avoided him at all costs.

“What do you mean?” I asked, pushing sweaty fly away hairs from my eyes.

“Some of my sheep have disappeared, not even a tuft of wool left, they’re just gone. There’s no blood or a trail of any kind. Also, when I’ve gone out in the field, a lot of the rocks have scorch marks.”

“You don’t think….” I trailed off.

“Don’t worry y/n,” tittered Maryam. “Dragons only kidnap beautiful maidens who they can trade for treasure.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“God only knows if a dragon could carry you,” Maryam said in a much too loud whisper. I glared at her, feeling tears of anger fill my eyes. Cain made a sympathetic face but said nothing.

I felt anger boil up inside me. It was something I could rarely control or hide. I waited until Maryam turned back to Cain to giggle with him. I lifted the bucket of suds and dirty water. I tossed the lot onto Maryam and her new sky blue dress.

“You bitch!” Maryam screamed. I couldn’t help the wild laugh I let out as I ran into the house. I knew she wouldn’t follow. She would get much more happiness from whining and making herself the victim to Cain.

He and I used to tease Maryam for how reactive she was. Now, I was sure he’d soothe her every little moan. That was just how it worked for pretty people.

I hummed sad songs to myself as I prepared the dinner. Mom and dad would soon be home from managing our meagre fruits stand.

“Well, that boy of yours is going to run us out of business,” My father sighed and let loose the three coins he’d gained that day. My mother didn’t say a word as she came in and all but fell into her chain at the dinner table.

“Well, when Cain finally gets his knight ship I will marry him and then you’ll be hired on in his stead to the most lucrative farm in the village,” Maryam said plainly. She had begun to cut into the chicken I’d prepared and the steamed carrots.

“Thank you for making dinner sweetheart,” my mother said softly. Though she didn’t speak much, she was about the only person who understood I was less than thrilled with my life. She often offered up apologies and thanks but no solutions.

“There may be a dragon about,” I said offhandedly.

“A dragon!” My father asked in completely disbelief. “There hasn’t been one of those in centuries.”

“Well Cain has been seeing burn marks and missing sheep,” I claimed. “You know it might be exciting to meet a dragon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my father sputtered. “Business is bad enough as it is without a dragon driving away trade and burning crops.”

“Well thankfully Cain has a remedy for that as well, he wants to go into dragon hunting,” Maryam said casually.

“He used to want to be an explorer,” I commented wistfully. “He always said we’d travel together and find a new continent or something.”

I pushed my food around on my plate sadly. The whole table was quiet. They’d all assumed that Cain would be the one to take the burden of me off their hands. I’d always been seen as undesirable and not nearly as pretty as my sister. When Cain and I had been so close they’d accept the miracle with open arms.

When it was clear he wouldn’t be proposing or even close to interested, they were forced to realise even the best of people knew looks mattered. I wasn’t something people would look past.

That night I laid in bed, and had such a strange dream. The scent of sweet fire wood burning filled the air. All around me was hot, so unbearably hot. I heard a screech but it was like I was paralyzed in my dream. I could not break free and move to see who needed my help. I wanted to move, to get up, to be useful in some way.

“Treasure,” the word was repeated over and over in my mind. It seared itself into my brain.

I jerked awake. Around me was the echoing sounds of droplets plinking into pools. I sat up, feeling completely disoriented. My head was throbbing and my clothing was drenched with sweat.

I did not feel the straw mattress underneath me. Nor did I feel the sheep’s wool pillow Cain had made me as a long ago Solstice gift. Whatever I was on was hard and cold. It admittedly felt good against my burning skin.

My eyes began to adjust when I saw a movement before me. I sucked in a breath of utter fear, nearly losing my bladder as I took in what I was seeing.

A large, scaly beast had stepped into the small bit of light where I was. It was a glittering navy blue, claws, and teeth, and armour that looked impenetrable. I had to still be dreaming. A dragon, a real life dragon was in front of me.

Just as my brain had processed what I was seeing, it changed. The mighty beast shrunk and curled in on itself. The scales turned to soft skin, and the mouth detracted. Its wings slipped into its back, and its neck shortened.

Finally, before me, was a man. He looked about my age. He still had long, razor sharp, black finger nails, but otherwise he looked mostly normal. He was handsome even. He had layers of thick brown curls. His eyes were shards of emerald. He did have a small pattern of dark blue scales under his eyes, but it looked more like the kohl women in the village wore than anything reptilian. He was tall, and slender, and nearly all sharp angles. He could have been mistaken for a prince if I hadn’t just seen what he truly was.

“Dragon,” I breathed.

“Half,” he corrected me.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker @therealbeabodoobee

[tilly-tittle]

OMG THIS IS SHOCKWAVE????! WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM???

(I have an idea and it should’ve been obvious but I literally could not connect the dots and OMG HE HAD A FACE)

[quietwingsinthesky]

the amount of time i spend thinking about Even carrying the metacrisis doctor’s fob watch is really quite disproportionate to how much ive fleshed out that part of the story in my head

[kisakunt]

BABY TRAP? LIKE THE MOVIE WITH THE TWINS?

description… you two are meant to be. sealed by fate, star crossed lovers. you’ll keep each other around however you need to.

warnings… dark content! baby trapping! noncon! obviously they’re being baby trapped they say something trying to stop it. consensual sex. full penetrative sex.

a word from the writer… i’ve had this in the drafts for aWHILE. it’s about time. do yall still read dc? i’ll never stop supplying… are we too woke now?!

TRAPS YOU

you’re hot under him, and he’s making that face he always makes right before he cums. it’s like repetition; eyes blanked out, mouth ajar but not fully open, brows furrowed like he’s desperate— and it’s scary.

“baby,” the word is cut in two with how fast he’s going, tease of pain as he hilts into your cervix with every thrust. “baby, you’re not wearing a condom.” your voice is uneasy, shaky from the movement and pleasure and build up. you think, in a way, the way you have sex is unfair. he gives you so much, orgasm after orgasm, rubbing your clit as he drills you to the point you go fucking stupid.

you feel safe with him. sex is sacred with him, no matter how sick it gets. but right now, with your calves pressed into his shoulders, his hands pushing your thighs impossibly back, you feel uneasy.

“baby, baby, pull out.” he gasps, sweat dripping down right near your eyes as a shaky groan escapes him.

“fuck,” a chaste kiss to your forehead, a shakiness in his movements, an unmatched rhythm as he gets closer and closer. “fuck. oh my, god. you feel so fucking good— so fuckin’ good.”

and so does he. but you’re scared.

“you’re gonna make such a good mommy, gonna be such a good mama. gonna— gonna give you my babies. gonna get you pregnant, gonna make you mine.”

“hey, wait,” your hands raise to his chest but he hits that angle that makes your eyes roll and they fall back. it feels so good you almost don’t care. “baby, baby, baby stop. baby, you gotta pull out.”

“you’re gonna be such a good mommy. gonna give you my kids. gonna give you my kids.” and it’s instant. it’s before you can even think— if you could anyway— it’s pressed so deep in you you betray yourself and cum, too.

he places his head to yours, kisses you greedy and whole, and whines into your mouth. it’s him, it’s real, it’s love. but— and you know this— it’s something so wrong.

“did you just…?” and before you can finish your question, he’s regaining his rhythm, fucking his cum into you with a half hard dick. it’s precise, it’s calculated, it’s intention.

he looks at you, eyes wide, breath heavy, and gives you a little grin. “gonna keep fucking you even when you’re pregnant, baby. gonna make sure i can keep you all to myself.”

GOJO, GETO, SUKUNA, YUJI

GETS TRAPPED

your legs hurt. you’ve been on top for all of thirty minutes, which you have no one to blame other than yourself. you love to edge him, love to get him so close and then take it all away from him. you think it gets him a little addicted.

but right now, as he squirms under you, losing every ounce of masculinity he’s ever had, something takes over you.

“gonna cum,” it’s breathless, short and sweet. “oh shit, i’m gonna cum.” you think he must think you’re edging him again. you think he’s expecting you to slow down, stop all together, pick up off him fully for ten or so seconds and then slam back down.

but you pick up the pace, grinding your hips into his, hitting his pelvic bone with your own as your hands grip at his pecs.

“wait, are you—” he falls apart under you, voice failing him, body failing him, hands only finding the strength to grip at your hips. “baby girl, i’m gonna cum.”

it’s melodic, tactile and articulate, a steady flow of bounces while your squelch fills the room.

“sweetheart, you gotta stop.” your right hand lifts from his chest to his mouth, shoving your fingers between his lips while he groans. he’s so easy to you, for you, because of you.

and then you feel it, milk it, relish in it— the way he comes undone at your touch, loses himself deep inside you. you don’t say a word about it, don’t think about it too much as you press your wet fingers to your stomach.

it’s a quiet giggle as reality washes over him. he looks cute, you can’t help but realize, panic and flushed under you. you’re sure of it then; he’s gonna be a sexy dad.

MEGUMI, NANAMI, CHOSO, TOJI

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

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thanks for reading!

[connorsui]

Strong-looking vulnerable men......Strong-looking vulnerable men.

You know the type. Big hands, big shoulders, could probably bench-press a car, but the moment they sit down, they look like they’re carrying the weight of the whole damn universe. Eyes that are just a little too soft for a face that sharp. Like, are you okay? Do you need a hug? Do you want to cry into my arms for three hours?

They look like they could destroy you, but deep down, you know they'd rather let themselves break first. What is it about them? Why do they look like they could hold you together when they’re clearly held together with duct tape and desperation? It’s unhinged. It’s unfair. I want to fix them. Or maybe I want to fall apart with them. I don’t even know anymore.

I love them so much they make me lose myself

AAAAAAHHHHHH

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.